======================================================================== A COMPENDIUM OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY by John Wesley ======================================================================== Wesley's survey of natural philosophy tracing the development of scientific knowledge from ancient times through the modern era, covering discoveries in anatomy, physics, astronomy, and other natural sciences. An unusual work from the Methodist founder reflecting his broad intellectual interests beyond theology. Chapters: 29 ------------------------------------------------------------------------ TABLE OF CONTENTS ------------------------------------------------------------------------ 1. 0.3 - Preface 2. 0.4 - Introduction - Of The Gradual Improvement Of Natural Philosophy 3. 0.5 - Compendium of Natural Philosophy - Appendix 4. Appendix - CHAPTER 1 SECTION I OF THE IDEAS OF SENSATION 5. Appendix - CHAPTER 1 SECTION II OF THE IDEA OF SPIRITS 6. Appendix - CHAPTER 1 SECTION III THE PROPERTIES OF IDEAS OF SENSATIONS 7. Appendix - CHAPTER 2 SECTION I OF THE PURE INTELLECT AND ITS OPERATIONS 8. Appendix - CHAPTER 2 SECTION II OF THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF KNOWLEDGE AND EVIDENCE 9. Appendix - CHAPTER 2 SECTION III OF THE IMPROVEMENT OF KNOWLEDGE BY REVELATION 10. Appendix - GENERAL REFLECTIONS 11. Part 01 - Chapter 1 - Of the Structure of the Human Body 12. Part 01 - Chapter 2 - Of the Natural State of the Human Body 13. Part 01 - Chapter 3 - Of the Preternatural State of the Human Body 14. Part 01 - Chapter 4 - Of the Soul, and of the Origin of Man 15. Part 02 - Chapter 1 - Of Beasts 16. Part 02 - Chapter 2 - On Birds 17. Part 02 - Chapter 3 - Of Fishes 18. Part 02 - Chapter 4 - Of Reptiles 19. Part 02 - Chapter 5 - Of Insects 20. Part 02 - Chapter 6 - General Observations and Reflections 21. Part 03 - Chapter 1 - Of Plants 22. Part 03 - Chapter 2 - Of Some Particular Plants 23. Part 03 - Chapter 3 - Of Metals, Minerals, and Other Fossils 24. Part 04 - Chapter 1 - Of Earth and Water 25. Part 04 - Chapter 2 - Of Fire 26. Part 04 - Chapter 3 - Of Meteors 27. Part 05 - Chapter 1 - Of the System of the World 28. Part 05 - Chapter 2 - Of the Heavenly Bodies in Particular 29. Part 05 - Chapter 3 - Of Some Particular Properties of Matter and the Elements of Natural Bodies ======================================================================== CHAPTER 1: 0.3 - PREFACE ======================================================================== Preface But I cannot find such a treatise as this in any modern, any more than ancient language. And I am certain there is none such in the English tongue. What comes nearest to it, of any thing I have seen, is Mr. Ray’s “ Wisdom of God in the Creation ;“ Dr. Derhani’s “Physico and Astro-Theology ;“ Niewentyt’s “Religious Philosopher;” Mather’s “Christian Philosopher,” and “Nature Delineated.” But none of these, single, answers the design. And who will be at the pains to extract the substance of them all, and add the later discoveries, of which they had little knowledge, and therefore could take but little notice This is a desideratum still; and one that a lover of mankind would rejoice to see even tolerably supplied. I am thoroughly sensible, there are many who have far more ability, as well as leisure, for such a work, than me. But as none of them undertake it, I have myself made some little attempt in the ensuing volumes. Herein following Mr. Derham’s plan, I divide the work into text and notes. [So it was in the first edition. Many of’ these are now taken into the text.] The text is in great measure translated from the Latin work of John Francis Buddœus, the late celebrated professor of philosophy, in the university of Jena, in Germany. But I have found occasion to retrench, enlarge, or alter every chapter, and almost every section. So that it is now, I believe, not only pure, containing nothing false or uncertain; but as full as any tract can be expected to be, which is comprised in so narrow a compass: and, likewise plain, clear, and intelligible to one of a tolerable understanding. The notes contain the sum of what is most valuable, in the above named writers: to which are added the choisest discoveries both of our own, and of the foreign societies. These likewise, I trust, are as plain and clear, as the nature of the things spoken will allow: although some of them, I know, will not be understood by an unlearned, or inattentive reader. Mean time I must apprise the reader, that I have sometimes a little digressed, by reciting both uncommon appearances of nature, and uncommon instances of art: and yet this is not properly a digression, from the main design I have in view. For surely in these appearances also, the wisdom of God is displayed : even that manifold wisdom, which is able to answer the same ends by so various means. And those surprising instances of art do likewise reflect glory upon Him, whose spirit in man giveth that wisdom, whose inspiration teacheth understanding. It will be easily observed, that I endeavr throughout, not to account for things; but only to describe them. I undertake barely to set down what appears in nature; not the cause of those appearances. The facts lie within the reach of our senses and understanding; the causes arc more remote. That things are so, we know with certainty: but why they are so, we know not. In many cases we cannot know; and the more we enquire, the more we are perplexed and entangled. God “ hath so done his works,” that we may admire and adore : but “ we cannot search them out to perfection.” And does nothing open to us another prospect although one we do not care to dwell upon. Does not the same survey of the creation, which shews us the wisdom of God, shew the astonishing ignorance, and short-sighted-ness of man For when we have finished our survey, what do we know How inconceivably little! Is not every thinking man constrained to cry out, “and is this all Do all the, boasted discoveries of so enlightened an age, amount to no more than this “ Vain man would be wise ! But with how little success does he attempt it How small a part do we know even of the things that encompass us on every side I mean as to the very fact: for as to the reasons of almost every thing which we see, hear, or eel, after all our researches and disquisitions, they are hid in impenetrable darkness. I trust, therefore, the following sheets may. in some degree, answer both these important purposes. It may be a means, on the one hand, of humbling the pride of man, by shewing that he is surrounded on every side, with things which he can no more account for, than for immensity or eternity: and it may serve on the other, to display the amazing power, wisdom, and goodness of the great Creator; to warm our hearts, and to fill our mouths with wonder, love and praise! JOHN WESLEY MARCH 25, 1775 I HAD finished the additions which I designed to make to the System of Natural Philosophy, before I saw Dr. Goldsmith’s “ History of the Earth and Animated Nature.” I had not read over the first volume of this, when I almost repented of having wrote any thing on the head. It seemed to me, that had he published this but a few years sooner, my design would have been quite superseded: since the subject had fallen into the hands of one, who had both greater abilities, and more leisure for the work. It cannot be denied, that he is a fine writer. He was a person of strong judgment, of a lively imagination, and a master of language; both of the beauty and strength of the English tongue. Yet I could not altogether approve of this, that it seemed the design of the author, to say all he could upon every article; rather than all he should say. Hence arose his numerous and large digressions, making no inconsiderable part of his work. Hence his minute description of cows, horses, dogs; of cocks, hens, and pigeons, and of abundance of animals equally known to every man, woman and child: descriptions that are of little or no use, and no more entertaining than useful: at least useful only t the bookseller, by swelling the bulk, and consequently the price of his book. Indeed this, the price of it, must ever remain a weighty objection to many readers. They cannot afford to purchase eight volumes, at six or seven shillings a volume. Ten or fifteen shillings they may possibly afford, for five or six smaller volumes;, especially when they contain all that is curious, or useful, in the far more costly work. Nay, I hope considerably more than all; as I have con-suited abundance of authors, and taken abundance of passages from them, whom, I apprehend, the doctor had not seen, I have another objection to this ingenious book: I doubt, some parts of it are not true. The author indeed has corrected many vulgar errors; but has, I fear, adopted others in their place. Many times he exposes the credulity of other writers: but does he not sometimes fall under the same imputation As where he terms presumption, to deny the existence of Bishop Pontopedan’s cracken, and the sea-serpent: the one a mile across, the other raising himself out of the water, higher than the main mast of a man of war! Could one who made the least scruple of rejecting these gross absurdities, accuse other writers of credulity Mean time the accounts which he has given of many animals, being taken from the best, and latest authorities, are both more accurate, and more to be depended on, than any which had been published before. Many of these I have inserted in their places (only contracting thirty or forty pages into four or five); often in the room of those, which were less accurate, and probably, less authentic: as also several of his beautiful remarks, such as directly tended to illustrate that great truth, “0 Lord, how manifold are thy works! In wisdom hast thou made them all !“ ======================================================================== CHAPTER 2: 0.4 - INTRODUCTION - OF THE GRADUAL IMPROVEMENT OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY ======================================================================== Introduction - Of The Gradual Improvement Of Natural Philosophy 2. The method of philosophising among the Hebrews and Egyptians 4. The different method pursued by the four Greek sects 6. The revival of philosophy by lord Bacon 8. The improvement made in every branch of it: in anatomy; the discovery of the circulation of the blood; of the lacteal veins; and the thoracic duct 10. Of the transfusion of blood 12. Many anatomical discoveries have been made my microscopes 14. Many likewise, with regard to plants, stones, metals and minerals 16. Discoveries concerning the loadstone 18. The nature of the air is more accurately discovered by means of the barometer, the thermometer, and the air-pump. 20. Discoveries which shew the nature of fire, gunpowder, aurum fulminani, phosphorus 22. Of the sun, the planets and their satellites 24. Of spirits and divine things 1. NATURAL PHILOSOPHY treats both of God himself, and of his creatures, visible and invisible. Of these I purpose to speak in such a manner, as to ascend from the consideration of man, through all the orders of things, as they are farther and farther removed from us, to God the centre of all knowlege. (I mean, of visible things ;—of the invisible world we cannot know much, while we dwell in houses of clay.) Thus speculative philosophy ascends from man to God; practical, decends from God to man. 2. The most ancient nations, the Egyptians and Hebrews in particular, philosophized much concerning God, and concerning Genii, good or evil spirits, of an order superior to man. What they taught concerning the visible world, related chiefly to its origin, the changes it was to undergo, and its final dissolution. But on all these heads they only delivered to their posterity, what they had received from their forefathers. 3. Among the Greeks, Thaics Milesius and his followers, applied themselves, with great industry, to discover, with the best helps they had, the material causes, of’ natural things. They were succeeded by others, who more curiously searched into the structure of natural bodies. Here the foundation of natural history was laid, in various observations on plants, animals, and other things. And herein the endeavors of Aristotle, and Theophrastus in particular, are to be commended. Yet in other respects, Aristotle did not promote, but rather obstruct the knowlege of nature: for he made philosophy as unintelligible, by his abstract and metaphysical notions, as Plato, Pythagoras and others did, by their ideas, numbers and symbols. 4. In succeeding times, when the four Greek sects, the Platonic, Peripatetic, Epicurean, and Stoic divided the western world between them, the Platonists almost confined themselves and their opinions to the subject of divinity; the Peripatetics regarded little but logic; the Stoics little but moral philosophy; and the Epicureans had small concern about any, being immersed in sensual pleasures: so that none of them made any considerable improvement in any branch of natural philosophy. 5. When the utter barbarism which followed, was a little dispelled, Aristotle began to reign. His followers (the school-men, as they were called) might have improved natural philosophy, if (like their master) they had diligently cultivated the knowledge of nature, and searched out the properties of particular things. But it was their misfortune, to neglect what was commendable in him, and to follow only what was blame-worthy; so as to obscure and pollute all philosophy, with abstract, idle, vain speculations. Yet some of them, after the Arabians had introduced the knowlege of chemistry into Europe, were wise above the age they lived in; and penetrated so far into the secret recesses of nature, as scarcely to escape the suspicion of magic. Such were Roger Bacon and Albertus Magnus.’ 6. After the revival of learning, as all other branches of philosophy, so this in. particular received new light. And none was more serviceable herein than lord Bacon: who, well understanding the defects of the school-philosophy, incited all lovers of natural philosophy to a diligent search into natural history. And he himself led the way, by many experiments and observations. “ ‘ . . 7. After this, not single persons only, but whole societies applied themselves carefully to make experiments; that having accurately observed the structure and properties of each body, they might the more safely judge of its nature. And the advantages, which have arisen from hence, manifestly appear from the memoirs of the royal society at London; of the academy of sciences at Paris; and those of the same kind in Germany, as well as several other parts of Europe. 8. To mention but a few of the late discoveries in each branch of natural philosophy. With regard to the structure of a human body, how many things have modern anatomists discovered, which were either little understood by the ancients, or wholly unknown to them Such, for instance, is the circulation of the blood, discovered by Dr. William Harvey, whose “Anatomic Exercitations,” concerning it were first published in the year 1628. Such were the lacteal veins, discovered first in brutes, by Casper Asellius, of Cremona; and soon after in men. Such the thoracic duct, and receptacle of the chyle, observed first by Dr. John Pecquet, of Paris, whereby the whole course of the blood is now clearly understood. 9. Dr. Harvey improved natural philosophy, by another ‘no less eminent discovery: for he was the first of the moderns that shewed all animals to be generated from eggs. That the ancients knew and taught this, (Orpheus in particular) cannot reasonably be doubted. But as the knowledge of it was entirely lost, to revive was the same thing as to invent it. It is obvious, how great a light this pours upon that dark subject, with regard to the generation of men, as well as of other animals. 10. Another remarkable discovery in the last century, was that, of the transfusion of the blood. The blood of a young, lively, healthy animal was transfused, by means of a small, silver tube, properly adjusted into the veins of another, which was old, weak, and sickly. And the effect amazed all the beholders. When the experiment was tried before several of the royal society, a feeble, worn-out dog, ready to die with age, and hardly able to trail his legs after him, was no sooner filled with young blood, than he leaped up as from sleep, shook himself, and ran up and down, as lively and active as a puppy. In France the experiment has been made upon men, and with as surprising success. What pity, that so important an experiment should ever fall into disuse! That it is not still repeated upon proper occasions ! Especially where all other means fail. 11. It cannot be denied, that physicians have signally improved this branch of philosophy, as they have continual opportunities of making new discoveries in the human body. In diseases themselves, the wonderful wisdom of the Author of nature appears: and by means of them many hidden recesses of the human frame are unexpectedly discovered. The powers of medicine also variously exerting themselves, lay open many secrets of nature. 12. And how many things in all bodies, as well as in the human, which eluded all the art and industry of the ancients, have the moderns discovered by the help of microscopes Although these are not properly a modern invention: it being certain, something of this kind was in use many hundred years ago. There are several works of great antiquity still extant; the beauties of which cannot even be discerned, much less could they have been wrought, by the finest naked eye, which ever was in the world. Such is that seal, now in the cabinet of the king of France, allowed to be at least fifteen hundred years old, six-tenths of an inch long, and four broad, which to the naked eye presents only a confused groupe, but surveyed with a microscope, distinctly exhibits trees, a river, a boat, and sixteen or seventeen persons. 13. Now whatever assists us in searching out the structure of a human body, equally helps us to find out the nature and properties of other animals. Hence in these likewise we have received great light, from anatomical and microscopical observations. Those especially who have bestowed their whole time and thoughts on one kind of animals (as Dr. ‘Willoughby, on fishes, Dr. Swammerdam, of Amsterdam, on insects), have illustrated to a surprising degree, the subjects on which they wrote. 14. Many have diligently searched into the nature of plants; particularly Mr. Ray, who has not only ranged them in a new method, but also wrote an elaborate history of them. Others have described, with equal diligence, either plants in general, or those of a particular country. And others have shewn die like industry in finding out and explaining the nature of stones, metals, minerals, and other fossils. 15. Nor is it strange that the moderns have penetrated farther into the recesses of nature than the ancients, considering the advantages they have received, from the art of’ chemistry. Not that this is an invention of later ages: it was in some measure known long ago. But as this art has been cultivated in our age, with far greater accuracy than ever, so by this means many properties of’ natural bodies have been discovered; of fossils in particular. 16. But none of these have so much engaged the study of the learned, or so well deserved it, as the load-stone. Its attractive force was known to the ancients, and the origin of that discovery is recorded by Pliny. But it does not appear that they knew of its pointing to the pole, or of the use of the compass. This (the compass) was invented by John Goia, in the year 1300. But it has since been observed, that the magnetic needle seldom points exactly to the pole; but varies from it some degrees to the east or west, in a fixt and regular order. . 17. Nearly related to the nature of fossils is glass, which was well known to the ancients, being mentioned by Plutarch and Lucian among the Greeks, by Lucretius, Pliny, and others among the Latins. Yet the art of making glass has been since their times abundantly improved. One branch of this is, the art of making burning-glasses, which are now brought to so great perfection, as either to melt or reduce to ashes the most solid bodies, in a few moments. If these were known to the ancients at all (which may reasonably be doubted), yet the art was wholly lost for many ages, and not recovered till of late years. 18. Later ages have likewise made many discoveries with regard to earth, water, fire, and air: the last of which, AIR, though it he of so fine a texture as to be wholly invisible, yet producing such amazing effects, has excited the most diligent enquiries of the curious. Nor does any part of philosophy afford a wider field for experiments and discoveries. The weight of it we can ascertain by that curious instrument, the barometer, invented by Torricellius; the degrees of heat and cold, by the thermometer. By the air-pump (invented by Otto Gucrick, mayor of Magdeburg) the air is drawn out of any bodies, or more largely thrown into them. And hereby many effects are produced, which deserve our diligent consideration. 19. With regard to WATER, the discoveries of later times are numerous and important. Such are the (living-bell, invented by George Sinclair; the diving-machine of Alphonso Borelli, a kind of boat, which is so contrived as to be navigated under water; and the art of making salt-water fresh, which is now done with little expense, so far that the saitness is taken away, and it is fit for almost all uses. 20. The nature and properties of FIRE also have been accurately traced in late ages: for which new occasion was given by the invention of gun-powder, by Berthold Schwartz, in the fourteenth century. Aurum fulminans, a yet later invention, goes off with a louder explosion than gun-powder. Other bodies there are, which do not burn, yet emit light. Such is the Bononian stone, which, placed in the dark, diffuses light like a burning coal. It is well known that the preparation called phosphorus, has the same property. 21. Various theories of the EARTH have lately appeared. But they are no more than ingenious conjectures. The same may be said of the systems of the universe, a few particulars excepted. The Ptolemaic system, which supposes the earth to be the centre of the universe, is now deservedly exploded: since Copernicus has revived that of Pythagoras, which was probably received by most of the ancients. Tycho Brahe’s, which jumbles both together, is too complex and intricate, and contrary to that beautiful simplicity, conspicuous in all the works of nature. 22. The telescope (invented by Galileo) has discovered many stars unknown to the ancients, together with the nature and motion of the planets, both primary and secondary. By this also have been discovered the spots of the sun, the inequality of the surface of the moon, the nature of the galaxy, or milky-way, and many other particulars relating to the heavens. 23. With regard to body in general, it is commonly supposed, that our age has a vast advantage over antiquity, by having found out new principles and new hypotheses, whereby we can accQuflt for all the secrets of nature. But this will bear a dispute. For beside that the chief of our hypotheses, are not new, but known long ago, the learned have hitherto very little profited by all their hypotheses. And in truth, all their disquisitions touching the causes of natural bodies, terminate in mere conjectures: one whereof is often more probable than another; but none admits of any solid proof. 24. What remains of natural philosophy, is, the doctrine concerning God and spirits. But in the tracing of this we can neither depend upon reason nor experiment. Whatsoever men know or can know concerning them, must be drawn from the oracles of God. Here therefore we are to look for no new improvements; but to stand in the good old paths : to content ourselves with what God has been pleased to reveal; with the faith once delivered to the saints." ======================================================================== CHAPTER 3: 0.5 - COMPENDIUM OF NATURAL PHILOSOPHY - APPENDIX ======================================================================== A Compendium of Natural Philosophy - Appendix Before I conclude, it seems highly necessary to enlarge a little on some particulars, which were before but slightly mentioned. One of these is the HUMAN UNDERSTANDING, which was just mentioned in the Fourth Chapter of the First Part. On this important head I now intend to speak particularly; chiefly on the plan of the pious and learned Dr. Peter Brown, late Bishop of Cork, in Ireland. It is needful, first, to trace out the bounds and extent of human understanding. These bounds being fixed, we are next to consider, how the mind dilates itself beyond them: how it supplies the want of direct ideas, by raising up secondary images in itself: insomuch that things, otherwise imperceptible, grow familiar and easy; and we meditate and discourse even on those beings, whereof we have not the least direct perception. Chapter I Section I - Of The Ideas Of Sensation Section II - Of The Idea Of Spirits Section III - The Properties Of Ideas Of Sensations Chapter II Section I - Of The Pure Intellect And Its Operations Section II - Of The Different Kinds Of Knowledge And Evidence Section III - Of The Improvement Of Knowledge By Revelation General Reflections ======================================================================== CHAPTER 4: APPENDIX - CHAPTER 1 SECTION I OF THE IDEAS OF SENSATION ======================================================================== CHAPTER 1 SECTION I OF THE IDEAS OF SENSATION Our senses are the only source of those ideas, upon which all our knowledge is founded. Without ideas of’ some sort or other, we could have no ‘knowledge ; and without our senses we could have no ideas. But these being once transmitted to the memory, the soul, which till then was still an unactive being, supplied with materials to work upon, begins to exert her operations. Before we speak of the properties of ideas of sensation, it is proper to observe three things : 1. That it is not necessary to decide whether sensitive perception be performed, by an impression of the object upon the sense, or by an operation of the sense upon the object. It is certain that either way of sensitive perception necessarily requires the presence of the object, and an immediate action, either of the organ upon this, or of this upon the organ : consequent upon which is a sort of representation of the object to the mind. This is the case of all external objects, which have left any representation of themselves with us by our senses: which representation being transmitted by the senses to the memory, is properly termed an IDEA. If any one asks, what an idea is, let him look upon a tree, and then immediately shutting his eyes, try if he retains any resemblances of what he saw; and that is an idea. Thus is it is, that all the varieties of the visible creation is let in upon our minds through the senses, as all parts of a delightful and spacious landscape are contracted and conveyed into a dark chamber, through an artificial eye in the wall , and so become conspicuous and distinguished in miniature. Nor, 2. Is it material whether the ideas of sensible objects are true images of their real natures: or whether the objects be only occasions of producing these ideas, by virtue of an arbitrary law of God, such a thought in the soul should follow such a motion in the body. For whatever impression sensible objects occasion in us, this we call their idea; it being the only perception of them we are capable of, and the only way we now have of knowing them. And such a way it is, as answers all the ends of knowledge in this life, and lays a groundwork sufficient for all that knowledge which is necessary in order to another. The third thing proper to be mentioned, is, that to prevent confusion, the word IDEA is, in all that follows, confined to the images we have of sensible objects, and the various alterations of them by the understanding. And taking the word in this sense, the mind has no idea of her own operations For these are originally within us themselves, and so are known by inward consciousness; not as outward things are, by any similitude of them, conveyed through the senses to memory. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 5: APPENDIX - CHAPTER 1 SECTION II OF THE IDEA OF SPIRITS ======================================================================== CHAPTER 1 SECTION II OF THE IDEA OF SPIRITS When we observe such effects among material things, as we know cannot proceed from any inherent power in them, we necessarily infer, There are some other beings not material which have the power of producing those effects: though as these beings are imperceptible to our senses, we have no idea of them. It has been said indeed, that we have as clear an idea of SPIRIT, as we have of BODY; and to prove this, it is said farther, that we conceive THINKING, as clearly as we do EXTENSION. But what if we did A pure spirit, if we speak strictly, does not THINK at all. Thinking is the property of an EMBODIED SPIRIT, as requiring the concurrence of material organs, and being accordingly ever performed more or less to advantage, as these are better or worse disposed. They are soon relaxed by the labour of thought and attention, and must be constantly wound up anew by rest and sleep. A distemper puts the whole machine out of frame, and turns our sober thinking into madness, And if the vessels of the brain are entirely obstructed, as in an appplexy, we think not at all. How then can we imagine that a pure spirit THINKS It KNOWS indeed ; but we cannot tell how: to be sure, not by playing upon a set of material springs, exquisitely wrought up into a curious contexture for that purpose. It is because we have no idea of a spirit, that we are naturally led to express it by a negative; to call it an immaterial substance, or something that is not matter; something that is not any thing that we know; which forces us to conceive and express it in this imperfect manner. Yet it has been affirmed farther, that we have as clear an idea of God himself, as we have of man; and that we are as ignorant of the essence of a man, as we are of the essence of God. Do we not then know, that it is essential to man to be finite And have we not a distinct idea of Finiteness But who has any idea of Infinity, the essential attribute of God ‘Tis plain, we have not; and therefore we express it by a negative, “Without bound.” Properly speaking, we have no idea of God. We come to our knowledge of his very existence, not from any idea of him, but from our reasoning, upon the works of the visible creation. And hence, for want of a simple and direct idea, we form an indirect and very complex notion of him. This we do in the best manner we can, by removing from him all the imperfections of the creatures, and attributing to him all their perfections, especially those of our own minds. Yet in truth, even these cannot be supposed to be in God, as they are in us. And therefore we are said to ascribe them to him only in the ABSTRACT’: saying, in other words, that they are of a different species Creator, from what they are in the creature. . Accordingly, that there are incomprehensible perfection in answerable to knowledge and power in man, whereof these are only the faint, though true resemblances, is natural and easy to But the conceiving his power as an ability to change things infinitely his knowledge as only infinite thinking: the multiplying and enlarging our own perfections in number or degree only, to the utmost stretch of our capacity, and attributing them so enlarged to God, is than raising up an unwieldy idol of our own imagination, without any foundation’ in nature. The sum is this. We have no idea of God, as he is in himself. for want of one, we frame the best conception we can, by putting together the perfections of the creatures, particularly those we observe in our selves, to stand for his perfections: not grossly inferring, That God is in effect, such an one as ourselves; but, concluding, that our greatest excellencies are the aptest representations of his incomprehensible perfections, I bough these infinitely transcend the most exalted of what are in any created beings, and are far above, out of the reach of alt human imagination. So true it is, that, though it may be justly affirmed, we can have no knowledge WITHOUT ideas, yet it is most unjust: and absurd to infer thence, that we can have no knowledge BEYOND them. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 6: APPENDIX - CHAPTER 1 SECTION III THE PROPERTIES OF IDEAS OF SENSATIONS ======================================================================== CHAPTER 1 SECTION III THE PROPERTIES OF IDEAS OF SENSATIONS Since then the IDEAS OF SENSATION are the foundation, and rough materials, of all, even our most abstracted knowledge, (out of which every man raises a superstructure, according to the different turn of those organs, that are more immediately subservient to the operations of the understanding, and the different ways in which he employs those operations:) it will be convenient to say something concerning’ the properties of these ideas. Their first property is, that they are ORIGINAL. ‘We receive them from our first coming into the world without any immediate concurrence of the understanding, antecedently to any of its operations. The soul, till these are received, is wholly unactive, and cannot so much as form one thought. These ideas are, in respect of our subsequent notions, like the first particles of matter in respect of the things compounded of them. They run through infinite changes, as the mind works upon them; yet in themselves remain unchangeable. And as our compound notions are made out of these, so are they all ultimately resolvable into them. Ideas of sensation are by this property distinguished. 1. From such ideas, as are supposed to be innate, and antecedent to the impression of any outward object. That we have no such ideas, sufficiently appears even from hence, that we have no occasion for them. We have no occasion for innate ideas of sensible objects, because there is an obvious way of obtaining them by the senses. And as to our knowledge of spiritual things, as it cannot be accounted for by innate ideas, so it easily may be accounted for without them. The rise and whole extent of this knowledge is easily accounted for, from the ideas we have of sensible objects, the necessary consequence we draw from, their existence, to the. existence of things not sensible, and from that manner of conceiving these, which we naturally fall into, by the help and mediation of such things. as are within our present sphere. 2. From such ideas as are supposed to be acquired by, and seated in the understanding, to be the ground-work of our knowledge of spiritual things, as others are of our knowledge of things material. Now if there were any such ideas, we must acquire them one of these ways: either, First, by the presence of the object itself, and its immediate impression on some faculty disposed to receive and retain the impression. But every one may be conscious, that immaterial objects were never so present to any faculty of his mind, as to imprint and leave upon it any just and real similitude and resemblance of themselves. Or, Secondly, these ideas must proceed from the immediate power of God. That he can impregnate the mind with them, is certain. But bow is it proved, that he does If ever he does, it is by an extraordinary, supernatural act. Whereas, we are now speaking what our perceptions are, in the ordinary way of nature. Or, Thirdly, the mind has a power of raising up to itself ideas of things. whereof, it can have no actual view, of objects which have no communication with any of our faculties. But if it cannot form one idea of any material object, without the actual presence of it, much less can it frame ideas of immaterial objects, without their immediate presence. Perhaps the power of raising up to itself ideas, without the presence or impression of any object, is the privilege of the Divine mind, answerable to that of creation. But the power of our mind in the little world, is much the same with that of the whole man in the greater. It is as impossible for it to raise up to itself any new idea, independent of all sensation, as it is for a man to add one particle to the common mass of matter. A second property of an idea of sensation is, that it is simple ; by” which I mean, that it is an appearance, which cannot be resolved more than one of the same kind. Simple ideas are generally confined within too narrow a compass For not only those of sounds, smells, tastes, colours, and qualities, are simple, but the ideas of all single bodies. All strikes the sense at once, is to be accounted a simple idea. For you cannot divide the idea you have of any one body, into’ the idea of more bodies than one; though it may be subdivided into the ideas of the several parts of that body. By this property, ideas of sensation are distinguished. 1. From the various alterations and combinations of them made by the mind. The mind cannot indeed destroy any of these ideas any more than it could create them. But it alters, enlarges or diminishes them; it separates and transposes them, and thus is furnished, with a new set of ideas from within, as well as with simple ones without. 2. From those notions, which the understanding forms out of simple, and complex ideas, considered together with the various operations of the understanding upon them. Such is the notion we form of most virtues and vices: each of which is apprehended by ideas of sensation, and the action of the mind upon them put together into one complex conception. A third property of ideas of sensation is, that they are direct and immediate. These original, simple ideas, necessarily presuppose the presence of the object, arid its actual impression on the’ sense: whence follows a direct and immediate representation of it, without the intervention of any thing else. Thus we could not have had the idea of’ a tree, if the eye had not actually seen it; nor of a trumpet’s sound, if some of the undulating air had not actually struck upon the ear. By this property, ideas of sensation are distinguished I From the ideas we have of those objects of the same kind, which we never actually perceived Thus, the Idea of a man we have been, is put for a man we never saw having no way of conceiving a rn-in that was never Wesent, but by substituting for him the idea of one that was. 2. From all conceptions of things, which are purely metaphorical There are two sorts of metaphor, human and divine. Divine metaphor is the substituting our ideas of. sensation, which are direct and immediate with ‘the words belonging to them, for the things of heaven of which we have no direct idea, or immediate conception as when God’s knowledge is expressed by His BEING In EVERY PLACE his power by a STRONG HAND Divine and human metaphor agree ‘in this. That the words, figuratively transferred from one thing to another, do, not agree with the things to which they are transferred, in my part of their literal sense. So hands and eyes, when applied to God, are not spoke in any part of their literal signification : as neither is the word SMILING, when applied to the verdure of the field. They differ in this, that in human metaphor, the things, for which the figurative words are substituted. may be as immediately and directly known, as the ideas placed in their stead. But in Divine metaphor, only the substituted ideas are direct and immediate. We have no direct or immediate conception of the things they are substituted for. 3. From all conception of things, which are purely analogical. Divine analogy is the substituting words. that express our ideas for heavenly things, whereof we have no ideas. Thus far it agrees with metaphor; but here lies the essential difference. Metaphorical words are spoke of heavenly things, in no part of their proper sense: analogical, in some part of it, though not the whole. So the word HAND is spoken of God metaphorically: for he has no kind of any sort whatever. The word POWER IS spoken of’ him annologically for he has some sort of power, though of quite a different sort from ours. The true nature of our present knowledge of divine things, is by the apostle very aptly described by our SEEING IN A GLASS DARKLY, or IN A MIRROR, IN AN OBSCURE REPRESENTATION. To shew the aptitude and significancy of which expressions. I shall observe two things: 1. That a glass exhibits to us nothing of the substance of the thing represented in it: the similitude therein having no more of the essence of the thing itself, than a mere shadow. Yet we cannot say, but there is a real likeness of the substance in the airy form. There is such a proportion between them, that the idea of a Lice we never saw, but in a glass, is a just one, and may well be substituted for the face itself, of which it gives some real knowledge. Thus as to those conceptions, which stand in our minds to represent spiritual things, though the things they stand for are of quite another sort, and though these substitutes are no more in respect of them, than a fleeting appearance in the glass is to the man represented by it: yet there may be such a proportion between them, as to make our conceptions of natural things just representations of things supernatural. So that the knowledge we have of them is true, and our reasonings upon them substantial. is long as they are kept within the due compass of those’ representations. For then it is, that men run into absurdity, concerning spiritual things, when not content with this analogical knowledge, they argue from things natural to the intrinsic nature of the supernatural, and suppose, that what is affirmed of these representations only, is literally true of the things they represent. The second thing I would observe concerning this phrase is, That in all instances we use the same expressions, by which we express the things themselves, for their appearances in the glass. And indeed justly: for though there is nothing of the real nature of the objects, in those appearances, yet, Seeing there is such a proportion between them, the same words aptly serve for both. So we say, We see a man in the glass, or the sun or moon in the water, ;vhen we see only an appearance. which has nothing of the real nature of a man, or the sun or moon. And there is such a proportion between the object and its appearance, as would give us some idea of it, though we had never seen it, hut in a glass, or in the water. By what has been already said, analogy in general may be easily distinguished from metaphor: but because the distinction between this and divine analogy is of so great importance, I shall set the difference between these two in a clearer and opposite light. Metaphor expresses an imaginary analogy, a real correspondence metaphor is no more than an allusion; analogy, a substitution of ideas and conceptions. The intention of’ metaphor, is only to express more emphatically something known more exactly before : the intention of analogy, to inform us of something, which we could not have known without it. Metaphor uses ideas of sensation to express things, whereto they have no real resemblance; analogy substitute our notions and complex conceptions of things, with which they’ have a real correspondence. To conclude: Words applied metaphorically, are not understood in any part of their proper sense analogical words are understood in a part, though not the whole of their literal meaning. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 7: APPENDIX - CHAPTER 2 SECTION I OF THE PURE INTELLECT AND ITS OPERATIONS ======================================================================== CHAPTER 2 SECTION I OF THE PURE INTELLECT AND ITS OPERATIONS Having hitherto considered the ideas of sensation as the only materials the mind of man has to work upon, I come to treat of the mind itself, or the pure intellect. I do not mean by this the imma terial part of us, nor yet the most refined and exquisite parts of the body, which are immediately subservient to its nobler operations but both of these operating together in essential union. Our present knowledge is gradually performed, by the concurrent motion of some bodily part within us; which is the cause of that weariness we feel, after long continued thinking. We should never be tired with this, if the pure spirit could reason independently of all material organs. But experience shows us, the case is otherwise: we find it a labour to the brain, and feel ourselves as much wearied with intense thought, as with hard bodily labour: having premised this of them in general, I proceed to consider the particular operations of the intellect, which presuppose sensation, and contain the whole process and utmost extent of human understanding. The first of these is a simple view or survey of the ideas of sensation, just as they lie in the memory This the logicians have rightly termed SIMPLE APPREHENSION; but they generally confound it with pure sensation, whereas, it is easy to observe essential differences between them. I. In simple apprehension the mind is often active, in sensation always passive. 2. Simple apprehension presupposes sensation, and is always subsequent to it. ‘3. By sensation the mind receives ideas; by simple apprehension she surveys those already received. The second operation of the intellect on the ideas of sensation is JUDGMENT. This may be divided into several species; the most considerable of which are these that follow. 1. The SEPARATING our ideas from each other, and ranging them under distinct heads. 2. The COMPARING them with each other, and observing their agreements or disagreements. 3. The ENLARGING OF DiMINISHING them. So we can enlarge the idea we have of a tree, to any size, even to reach the clouds; or diminish it in our thoughts, till we reduce it to what it was in its first principle or seed. 4. The DIVIDING or COMPOUNDING them. So we divide any simple idea into its several parts, or compound the ideas of several houses, to make up that of a city. All these species of judging are peculiar to men, and not enjoyed by brutes in any degree. Another act of the intellect, generally reduced to judgment, is ABSTRACTiON. This, some suppose to be performed, by drawing the mind off from all ideas of sensation, from all compositions of them, and from all complex notions, in order to form ideas of incorporeal beings. But it may be doubted, whether this be practicable in our present state. The true abstraction seems to consist, not in forming ideas independent on sensation, but in substituting the only notions we have, which are natural, easy and familiar, to represent those supernatural things, of which, otherwise we can have no notion; in transferring our thoughts from the literal propriety of the words, by which we express them, to that analogical signification, whereby they are, as it were, spiritualized. This seems to be the only abstraction we are capable of, with regard to things spiritual. And this is so far from being independent on sensation, and the operations of intellect that we can no otherwise think or speak of such objects, than in these worldly and human symbols; and that if we abstract from these; we extract from all thought of heavenly beings, and can have neither names nor ideas for them. What has been hitherto said of the operations of the intellect relate only to ideas of sensation. Therefore, it is proper to observe here that the same operations are likewise exercised upon all our alterations and compositions of them. When the memory is once furnished with those voluntary alterations and combinations of simple ideas, the mind has the same full power over them, as over the ground work of them, namely, that of simple apprehension, and of judgment in all its branches .And the same arbitrary sway it has over all the complex notions and conceptions, which are formed out of those simple or complex ideas considered together with the operations of the intellect upon them. Before we close this head of judgment, it is worth while to take particular notice of that species of one of its branches, comparing which is distinct from all the rest, and is commonly called RELATION. This is that act of the mind, whereby it considers the dependence , of things on each other. I shall dwell on it no longer than is necessary to show the procedure of the understanding, in attaining knowledge, First when we consider the relations of sensible objects to each other, as they are in their own nature, without any respect which they bear to our understanding, hence opens a spacious field of knowledge that of natural causes and effects, of the manner, wherein natural things act, upon, or. suffer from each other : in short, of their influence one another numberless ways: and this ‘is natural philosophy. Secondly, from our ideas of sensation we infer the existence of those outward objects, that occasion them in us. And from the existence of these we infer a first cause of all things, eternal and necessarily existing. Hence again we have the knowledge of the relation he bears to us, as our Creator and our preserver. From these relations flow all the duties of piety; such as love, reverence, praise, and prayer. Again. When we consider the relation, we bear to our fellow creatures, of the same nature and degree in this world hence we come to be sensible of our obligations to justice and humanity. And when we distinguish these by particular, nearer relations, such as parent or child, servant or master, hence we deduce all the duties necessary to the well-being of the whole kind, and of every individual. Lastly, when we consider the relation we bear to ourselves, the regard every man ought to have for his own happiness ; hence we may infer all those duties, that naturally, tend to promote the good either of our body or mind. And all comprehended under this second head, is properly natural religion. For the sanction of this, and to show the tendency of its precepts to our future happiness, the understanding proceeds thus. From the unequal distribution of rewards, to those who observe them, and of punishments to those who transgress them in this life, so evidently inconsistent with the goodness and justice of an All-perfect Being we infer the necessity of future rewards and punishments, and consequently the immortality of human souls ======================================================================== CHAPTER 8: APPENDIX - CHAPTER 2 SECTION II OF THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF KNOWLEDGE AND EVIDENCE ======================================================================== CHAPTER 2 SECTION II OF THE DIFFERENT KINDS OF KNOWLEDGE AND EVIDENCE It being a matter of the utmost consequence to the right procedure of the intellect, to state the several kinds of knowledge, as well as the degrees of it in each kind, which can admit of any, I shall observe that there are three kinds of knowledge, and as many kinds of evidence, on which they are built. The first is that we have from our senses, which consists in an intellectual view of the ideas transmitted through them to the memory. This is a knowledge direct, immediate, and intuitive, and carries in it the highest certainty. Consequently, it admits of no proof from reason: for all such proof has less of perspicuity and certainty, than that which it already contains in its own nature This is a knowledge which admits of no degrees of evidence : for all sensation is in itself equally certain, and the evidence of all the senses is equally clear, with respect to their proper objects. When the sensation is regular, and perfect, the assent of the intellect necessarily follows all at once; though in a manner quite different from demonstration, which extorts it by immediate proof. Not that it yields to the clearest demonstration, when the organ is rightly disposed, and exercised upon its proper object, at a just distance, and in a due medium. Against sensitive knowledge, reason can never interpose, unless there is a suspicion of failure in the act of sensation. Nor does it inquire then, whether the evidence of sense be true ; but whether it be truly the evidence of sense. So that to argue against the evidence of sense, is to oppose the evidence of reason, to what in its nature admits of no reasoning at all. And highly necessary it was, that this evidence of sense should be so immediate, clear and undoubted, because it is the foundation of all knowledge, human and divine. If then the truth of this admitted of’ any doubt or were capable of any proof, we should wander about is endless skepticism, without the least certainty an any thing. For no proof for it could be more evident, than that which it was brought to prove, and would therefore itself require another proof; and on. with endless confusion. A second kind of knowledge is that we have from self-consciousness We come to the knowledge of things without us, by the meditation of of their ideas ; but we are immediately conscious of what passes in our own minds, without the intervention of any idea. Thus we have a’ knowledge of all the faculties of our soul, very different from sensitive knowledge; though we have no degree of it antecedent to the exercise of those faculties upon the ideas of sensation : as we should have had no knowledge of our bodily motions, if the parts had not actually moved. Though this kind of knowledge be more complex, it is equally tertam with that we have from sensation. The assent as necessarily’ follows upon consciousness : indeed it falls in with it. The conscious ness itself is the very assent ; nor can they be distinguished even in thought. When this internal sensation is truly natural, we are never deceived in this article of knowledge. And this also is so clear and distinct that it admits of no proof from reason.- So that neither can this, any more than the former, be called demonstration : since, like that, it is so immediate and intimate to us, that nothing can increase its evidence, And for a man to argue away any instances of this knowledge,’ or to deny their certainty, is no less absurd, than to contradict the clear perceptions of external sense. Only it is to be observed, that all here said of this knowledge, is said of the first, immediate, internal perceptions; not of any farther observations, made upon them by the intellect, or of any deductions afterward drawn concerning them. These two kinds of knowledge are immediate, and consequently a sort of intuition : entirely different from which is, —The third kind of knowledge, REASONING, which is mediate, and wholly acquired by deduction, by the exercise of that one operation of the mind, illation or consequence. This we may subdivide into different species, according to the different manner of the intellect’s’ procedure, in making its deductions. The first species is science or demonstration, which appears clearest in the syllogistic form; by applying a common measure to two extremes, which have an infallible connexion with it. So that the conclusion follows by an absolute certainty, and compels the assent And the knowledge is as infallible, as the direct, clear perception bf sensation, or consciousness. The second species of it is moral certainty, the utmost degree of which is nearest to demonstration. This knowledge is acquired by proofs that have only an undoubted connexion with the two extremes. The force of this every plain understanding perceives; and it rarely requires the syllogistic form, unless for the confuting perverse opposers. The arguments for it are deduced from all kinds of knowledge; but still the assent is free; and the will has a great share in promoting or hindering it. And hence it comes, that there is room for passion and prejudice of all sorts, to interpose and bias the intellect. We ought not therefore to call the evidence of moral truths, by the name of demonstration. It is true, both mathematical and moral truths are founded on the strongest proof. Yet they admit not of the same sort of proof nor indeed are they capable of it. Because it is so great a disadvantage both to natural and revealed religion, to have a moral certainty confounded with mathematical, I shall distinguish the different natures of them more fully, under two different propositions. Mathematical Certainty As in this proposition, the three angles of a right-lined triangle are equal to two right ones. Moral Certainty As in this proposition, there isa God. 1. Here there is the utmost degree of mathematical certainty: the evidence is infallible, and the consequence follows by a natural necessity. 1. Here there is the utmost degree of moral certainty : the evidence is indubitable, and the consequence follows by a moral necessity. 2. The demonstrative evidence of this, when understood, compels and extorts assent. 2. The moral evidence of this, when understood, demands and requires assent 3. In this point of knowledge, no concurrence of the will is re-quisite. The intellect assentswithout it, and no prejudice or passion can so interpose, as to in-fluence its judgment. 3. In this point of knowledge, the concurrence of the will is requisite. The intellect cannot assent without it. Any prejudice or passion may so interpose, as entirely to alter its judgment. 4. This sort of knowledge admits of no degrees of certainty, and there can be no proof of it, but of one kind, 4. This sort of knowledge admits of many degrees of certainty, and draws its proofs from all kinds of knowledge. 5. One demonstrative argument makes the utmost mathematical ‘certainty, which excludes all possibility of falsehood. 5. Many arguments concur to make the utmost moral certainty, which excludes all probability, though not possibility of falsehood. 6. This takes place in things natural and material, such as quantity, figure and extension; ideas of which we have from direct and immediate sensation. 6. This takes place in things supernatural and spiritual, such as God and his attributes ; of we have no idea from direct and immediate sensation, but only from analogy. 7. Our reasonings on this side are about simple ideas, concerning which there is general consent 7. Our reasonings on this side are about complex notions anticonceptions, concerning which, men extremely disagree From the very different, and even opposite nature of moral certainty, and that which is strictly mathematical, it must appear 1. That there is as little room for the latter in natural religions, as in revealed. To show this clearly, I have instanced in the’ fundamental truth of both ; which, though founded upon the utmost moral evidence, so as to render a dissent from it inexcusable yet appears not to be strictly demonstrable. Indeed, were there one demonstrative argument for it, all others would be entirely needless. 2. That natural religion includes faith, founded on moral evidence. When, upon full proof to our understanding, we assent to this, There is a God, then the hearty concurrence of the will completes that assent into faith. Faith therefore, is altogether as necessary in natural religion, as in revealed. For though we have a moral certainty for the existence of a Deity, which so far is knowledge only ; yet still because the intrinsic nature of God is utterly incomprehensible, and can be no immediate object of human understanding, men must give the assent of the intellect here, together with the consent of the will, to the truth of things, as mysterious as any in all revealed religion; anti which they are obliged to conceive by the same analogy, by which we conceive all the mysteries of christianity. 3. That evangelical faith is no precarious or implicit assent, but founded on the utmost evidence we are capable of receiving, for, a. truth of that nature. To see this clearly, we must well distinguish two things: First, The assent of the understanding to a proposition upon moral, evidence, which is thus far merely knowledge. Here we are, to fix our foot, and join issue with all ranks’ of unbelievers; the ground of whose condemnation will be, that they wilfully withheld their assent from the truths of revelation, when they had the same evidence, which would have fully convinced them in matters merely human. Secondly, A consent of the will, following the assent of the intellect. The whole process of the mind in obtaining such a faith, as performed in this manner: 1. A proposition being offered us, the will consents to weigh the evidence for it. 2. The intellect weighs it, and if the moral evidence be full, assents to it. Thus it commences a point of knowledge, and on a second consent of the will, a point of faith. But it is worth observing, that there can be no immediate assent to any thing inconceivable or incomprehensible. To explain this by a few instances. “ There is a God.” When, upon full evidence, we assent to this, what is intelligible in that proposition, is the immediate object of our knowledge. The incomprehensible nature and attributes of God, are only the remote and mediate objects of it, Again. “ This is my beloved Son.” We assent to this, as a perfectly intelligible proposition, on full evidence that it was spoke from heaven; being assured, that Christ, not in any unintelligible manner, but according to the plain sense of the words, is as really and truly the Son of God, as one man is the son of another. He who believes thus far. without any respect to what is incomprehensible in that proposition, namely, the supernatural generation, and the ineffable manner of it, has an evangelical faith. But what then, you will say, becomes of the mysteries of the gospel They are all laid up safe, out of our reach, to be the immediate objects of our knowledge, when we come to see face to face. From hence it appears, that Christian faith is not an implicit assent to things unintelligible and inconceivable : since nothing, that is incomprehensible, can come into any question between us and unbelievers. We can have no controversy, but about what is perfectly understood, as far as it is so; and concerning the moral evidence, upon which propositions, as clear as any in ‘human language, are founded. Our controversies turn wholly upon what is clear. As to what is incomprehensible, in any proposition, it can be no immediate, direct object, either of knowledge or of faith. The third species of knowledge, which we have from reason, is OPINION. This Plato well defines a medium between knowledge and ignorance. it is a sort of knowledge, loosely speaking, inferior to any of the foregoing, but approaching nearest to that founded on moral evidence. Only whereas moral certainty, in its highest degree, leaves but a bare POSSIBILITY of the thing’s being otherwise ; all opinion leaves room, more or less, for DOUBT, yea, for some fear of its being otherwise. But as for all the degrees between the highest moral certainty on one hand, and the lowest probability on the other, these two sorts of knowledge run into each other, and are not easily to ‘be distinguished. This may be illustrated by a parallel, drawn from common mechanism. While you are offering the reasons, for and against any morally certain or probable proposition, imagine yourself throwing them into the scales, and weighing them in a balance. If the balance inclines not at all to either side, there is no sort of knowledge, but downright ignorance : the reasons on each side destroy each other, SO that the intellect cannot assent to either. And if there be any decision, it is the arbitrary imposition and precarious act of the will. If either from its natural weakness, or for want of improvement, the intellect cannot find out reasons, so that each scale preponderates in its turn, then it in a state of doubt. If one scale preponderates but a little, and continues at a stay, so that the difference is barely discernible, it is then’ only a conjecture. But if this preponderancy is very plain, though there is weight enough on the other side, to keep the scale still pru dent, then it is probability or opinion. When, lastly, the arguments are so strong that one of the scales weighs to the ground, then it is moral certainty, and there is no reasonable cause for any farther scrutiny. The proposition then concludes as surely, though ‘not so necessarily, as demonstration ; which admits of no weight whatever to be thrown into the opposite scale. Of probability in general it may be observed, 1. That, while we are weighing a probable proposition, there are two latent causes of deceit; the one in the intellect itself, which holds the balance; for if a man is ignorant or weak, so as not to discern the proper reasons, he may be imposed upon by false weights: the other in the will, when, instead of plain reason, a man throws his pride, or passion, or prejudice, into the scales. And these will, by the invisible’ turn of a false balance, outweigh the strongest arguments. 2. That the higher degrees of probability, in matters of religion, demand our assent. So they do in all other things. here the. difference is not great, between the opposite sides of a question, men ever close with the greatest appearance of truth, and that in all things’ of the greatest moment. Nay, the main conduct of human life is governed by the highest probability: so that, in many instances, it would be downright madness, not to be determined by it. Yet, 3. Mere probability is not a sufficient ground for religious faith. This must be built on certain knowledge, which opinion, properly speaking, is not. Indeed the word is vulgarly taken for any assent, whether formed on probability, or moral certainty. And so, it is commonly said, “a man is of such an opinion,” with regard to the very fundamentals of christianity. But-this loose way of speaking ought never to be used, seeing it has a tendency to betray unwary men, into a favourable judgment of such principles, as are destructive of all religion. The fourth species of knowledge, which we have from reasoning, (if it be not rather a particular species of moral certainty) is an assent upon testimony: to make which truly knowledge, there must be a concurrence of our own reason in the following particulars: 1. Our own reason must judge ,of the subject matter of the information, whether it be made in intelligible words. For no man can be informed, of what he cannot understand : there can be no revelation to us, concerning the intrinsic nature of things, that are incomprehensible to us. And accordingly, no part of the christian revelation, concerning God and things supernatural, reaches farther than their existence, and that lively analogy, under which they are represented; which is as plain and obvious, and intelligible, as any thing in common life. 2. Our reason must convince us, that the matter of the information is possible. that it implies no contradiction. And if the information relates to things supernatural, this is a fundamental rule to induce no contradiction, but from what is plain and intelligible in every proposition. Whence it follows, that such absurdities and contradictions, as arise from a comparison of what is plain and intelligible, with what is incomprehensible, in respect of their intrinsic nature are all groundless and imaginary. 3. Our reason must judge concerning the ability and integrity of the informer. information or testimony may he divided into human, and ‘divine. To human testimony we assent only so far, as it appears agreeable to truth. Yet this assent is very extensive, and makes up the greatest part of human knowledge. It takes in all we have of the history of mankind, all the accounts of whatever we have not seen ourselves. And we acquiesce in all this, not as probable only, but as so much real knowledge; being an assent, which is founded on such evidence, as often amounts to a moral certainty. As to Divine information or revelation, reason, knowing it to be Divine, is already convinced that it exceeds all human certainty. The only thing, therefore, which is to be convinced of here, is, 4. That the revelation is divine, or that the scripture is of Divine authority, in order to this, we may observe, First, that, as God has made men the immediate instruments of all those revelations, so evangelical faith must be partly founded on human testimony. By men were both the Old and New Testament wrote; and if we consider them abstracted from their Divine authority, they must be allowed to be of equal credibility, at least, with all other ancient writings. Though we should suppose them to,be upon the foot of mere human testimony, yet would our knowledge of them be, at least, of equal certainty, with that founded on any profane history. Now, if to this human, we add such Divine testimony, as cannot be pretended for any other writings in the world, as the miracles of Christ and his apostles: the concurrent completion of all the prophecies, from the beginning of the world, in him alone; the scriptures being the only book in the world, that gives us any account the whole series of God’s dispensation towards wan, from the creation for four thousand years; the great exaltation of natural religion, visible in every part of it; and, lastly, the providential care so fest in every age, for transmitting down several books, writing at such great distances of time one from another, and all of them from us ; their being at this day so void of any material error, that in the infinite various readings, which have been carefully Collected, there cannot be found one contrariety in any’ fundamental point of faith -or practice : if these things, I say, are thoroughly considered, they: give the scriptures such a certainly, as no writing merely human can have, and are the greatest evidence for the truth of them which they are capable of receiving, with a continued, daily repetition of miracles. We may observe, Secondly, that, as God has made men the immediate instrument of all his revelations, so he hath condescended to make use of human language, as well as of our natural ideas and conceptions, for the’ clear and easy representation of things supernatural, and otherwise incomprehensible. indeed the intrinsic nature of heavenly things could not otherwise have been revealed to us; seeing we had neither capacity to apprehend, nor language to express it. Or had ‘it been miraculously revealed to a particular man, yet it would’ ‘-not have been possible for him to utter it. This made it necessary to adapt all the divine revelations to our natural way of thinking and speaking. And accordingly we are not obliged to believe any doctrine, which is not plain and intelligible. All in scripture, beyond this, is no immediate object of our faith, but belongs to another world: and we are at present to believe no more of it,. than’ that it is incomprehensible. Nothing therefore is more absurd, than ,the objections of unbelievers against the Christian mysteries, as unintelligible; since Christianity requires our assent to nothing, but what is plain and intelligible in every proposition. Let every man first have a full conviction, of the truth of each proposition in the gospel, as far only as it is plain and intelligible, and let him believe as far as he understands. Let him firmly believe, there is but one God, the object’ of any Divine worship whatever; and think and speak of him under that plain,, scriptural distinction, of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost; leaving the incomprehensible nature of that union and distinction, to, the great Author of our faith himself. Let him believe Christ to be the only begotten Son of God, in the obvious import of these words, and leave the manner of that inconceivable generation to the veracity of God. Let him believe, that Christ did as truly make an atonement to God for us, as one man atones for another to a third person; ‘and leave, the unintelligible part of that Divine operation, for the subject of future praise and contemplation. Let men, I say, believe as far as they thus clearly understand, without perplexing themselves or others with what is incomprehensible; and them they fulfil the whole purpose of God in all his revelations. By thus carefully distinguishing the several kinds of knowledge and evidence, what endless confusion may be prevented, in religious controversies! Most of these have arisen from supposing these heads of knowledge to differ in degree only, not in kind; and from confounding the different kinds of evidence, peculiar to each of them; from men’s insisting upon the evidence proper to one kind of knowledge, for that of another, which will not admit of it; from opposing to each other the different kinds of knowledge, which can never interfere or clash with each other; and lastly, from not distinguishing between a blind, implicit assent to the testimony of another, and that faith, which implies a full, rational conviction of the truth of what is believed. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 9: APPENDIX - CHAPTER 2 SECTION III OF THE IMPROVEMENT OF KNOWLEDGE BY REVELATION ======================================================================== CHAPTER 2 SECTION III OF THE IMPROVEMENT OF KNOWLEDGE BY REVELATION We have now brought the mind of man, by several steps, to the utmost knowledge it can reach by its own faculties. Whatever is beyond that contained under the foregoing heads, is communicated to it from heaven. When we observe, 1. The more particular and full discoveries of those relations we had some knowledge of, by the light of nature ;* and, 2. Those relations we bear to God, and God to us, which are entirely new, and undiscoverable by the light of nature: this knowledge includes the foundation and substance of all revealed religion. As to the first. When to that general knowledge we have by the light of nature, of God, as the Creator of all things, it is revealed, that he “spoke them” into being, and created them “by his word ;“ that he made man in particular “out of the earth,” and breathed into him a principle of a higher kind; that he was created in innocence, and “in the image of God ;" and that from him all mankind descended. Again. When to the general relation of his providence over us, it is more particularly revealed, That he “upholdeth all things by the word of his power ;“ that “in Him we live, move, and have our being ;“ that “not a sparrow falls to the ground without Him ;“ nay, that “the hairs of our head are all numbered ;“ and, lastly, when his relation to us, as a Judge, is rendered more full and express by these particulars, that “the eyes of the Lord are in every place beholding the evil and the good ;“ that “He shall bring every work into judgment, with every secret thing, whether it be good or evil. that “he hath appointed a day, in which He will judge the world; and that, in order to this universal judgment, there shall be a resurrection of the dead, both of the just and of the unjust. *I believe all "the light of nature,” so called, to flow from preventing grace Again. When it is revealed, that “there is but one God :" opposition to the multitude of heathen deities; that this God "is a Spirit,” that “ there is none good but He ;“ that “He only is wise," and his wisdom is infinite; that he is Almighty, bath all power, is “above all, the only Potentate, King of kings,” and “Lord of lords:" that "He is the Most High, the Lord of hosts,” who “ only hath immortality :“ these and such like equally express declarations, concerning the One God, are evident improvements of that which we have by the light of nature.These expressions are all plain and intelligible, so that, when we use them we know what we say. But as to the following expression concerning the One God, That he is “God of himself, Root, Principle, and Original :“ that he is a “ Pure Act, simple, undivided, Self. existent, absolutely supreme ;“ together with the words, “Subordinate, co-ordinate,” and above all, his metaphysical "Substance and essence :“ these are not the language of revelation, especially when used to explain the Unity of God; but affected terms, invented by un to express their several sentiments of that Unit) Can we sufficiently lament the mischief, which has been done, by. the rumbling of these, and such like sounding words, through whole volumes; to the confounding both the writer and the reader, and perplexing that great article of our faith, the Trinity: which as it lies in the scripture, is, so far as we are to believe it, the plainest thing in the world All this pompous affectation of being more knowing in the Christian mysteries, than the scriptures can make men, tends only to propagate absurd and inconsistent notions, which a plain, rational man would be ashamed of. Such as these, That the Son of God was produced by an external act of the Father’s power, but was not made or created That there are Three Persons truly Divine; one of them the true God, the Second, truly God, the Third, no God at all. That we may arid must pay divine worship to Two Gods, and divine honour to a Third Person, who is no God. That by the term TRINITY we must mean, a Trinity of Two Gods, and a Divine Person, but no God. These and many such positions are either expressly, or by plain consequence, contained in some of our modern systems of religion, and are set down here, not as they are a total subversion of the Christian faith, but as they are a bold and arbitrary imposition on the common sense and reason of mankind. The relation we bear to God as our Creator, which was partly discovered by the light of nature, is made nearer yet, and more dear and engaging, by that entirely new distinction in the One God, revealed to us under the different characters of Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, and by the unspeakable blessings we derive from their several offices and operations. This distinction, utterly incomprehensible in itself, could never have been known to men, but by revelation. Nor could we have conceived it in any degree, had it not been discovered to us, under the semblance of such relations, as are familiar among men : as that of a Father and a Son, and the Spirit of a man, which is in him. And, if we admit this distinction at all, we must hold it to be so really founded in the Divine Nature, that we cannot think or speak of it any otherwise, than as a personal distinction. For the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, are, in respect of one another, thus distinguished through the’ whole language of revelation: and, in respect of mankind, they are ever distinguished by such different operations, as we distinguish human persons by. So that whatever is denoted by Father, Son, and Spirit, we must either flatly reject the scriptures, or else always speak and think of those Three, as we do of three human persons. That Christ, the second person, had a being, before lie was born of a virgin, is so evident from revelation, that we can make no sense or coherence of scripture, without allowing it; and there can be no other purpose, in revealing all things concerning him, under the character of a son, and only begotten son, but to convince us, that he has all the natural, essential attributes of his Father, that, as a human son possesses the entire human nature, so the Son of God possesses the entire divine nature. That the Holy Spirit, who is in scripture distinguished from the Father and the Son, is a distinct person from both, is plain from the commission given the apostles to baptize, in the name of the Father. and the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. This form, if each of these be not a distinct person, sufficiently tends to confound mankind, If the Holy Ghost be not a distinct person, but only a tower of the Father, then the sense of it runs thus: “Go and baptize in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Father again.” Therefore to say the third person, here mentioned, is a mere name, and imports only the power of the Father, is not only charging God with laying a snare to deceive us, but denying his commission to be common sense. That the Holy Spirit is God, is evident from revelation, which every where distinguishes him by this peculiar character of Holy. For absolute holiness is the peculiar attribute of the absolutely supreme God; and he being every where called “the Holy Spirit,” by way of excellency, and distinction from all created spirits, that epithet must imply an original intrinsic and essential holiness in him Especially, if we observe, that this is his constant distinguishing character not only where he is mentioned with relation to us, but also where he is named together with the Father and the Son. Insomuch, that He alone is expressly styled holy, wherever the three persons are’ expressly named together in scripture. The word holy in those places cannot be added, in opposition to the Father and the Son; nor as exclusive of them; because they are both absolutely holy, as well as the Spirit: so that they naturally lead us into a belief, that his is the same holiness with that of the Father and the Son, namely, the intrinsic holiness of Jehovah, the most’ high the supreme God. To this if we add, that He is called, “The Spirit of Holiness, the Spirit of Glory, the Eternal Spirit,” and very often, the Spirit of God, as particularly at the baptism of Christ, where be was personally distinguished from the Father, even in a visible appearance. We must have our reason strangely amused by subtlety criticism, and be turned quite out of the plain way of thinking, before we can understand these revelations to mean any thing else, than that lie is God, equal with the Father. The sum is this. Since both reason and revelation show, there is but one God, we can own and worship but one. And since that One God is set forth to us in scripture, under three distinct relations, and accordingly represented by distinct personal names, and characters, and operations, and offices; therefore we worship but one God, with this distinction of his own making, not of ours. It is said, “Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him only shalt thou serve :“ by which all Divine worship is utterly cut off from the Son and Holy Ghost, unless they are one with the Lordour God. Again, it is written, “The Lord thy God is one Lord, whom we are to love with all our heart, mini, soul and strength.” But if so, all Divine love is cit off from the Son and Holy Ghost, unless they are that one Lord our God, who is a jealous God, and will by no means suffer any part of his worship to be paid to any other. According to this plain and natural way of Thinking, as we are baptized by one anti the same solemn act of worship, “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost:” so we ever after adore them, without any degrees or inequality of worship; which, indeed, as it is truly Divine, can admit of no degrees or inequality. Whereas, they who argue for an inequality in the divine Persons, and for an inferiority of nature in the Son and Holy Ghost to the Father, necessarily involve themselves and all their adherents in endless uncertainty and confusion. For they can never settle the different kinds and degrees of that lower Divine worship, “a contradiction in the very terms” which is to be pail to the Son and the Holy Ghost. They can never distinguish it with such exactness, that it shall neither be the worship due to the supreme God, nor that honour, which is to be paid to mere creatures, and varied according to their several dignities. But to make it vet more clear, that the mind of man cannot, without absurdity, have any other conception of the Son and Holy Ghost, than as being one absolutely Supreme God with the Father, and one joint Object of all Christian worship ; let us collect the two seemingly inconsistent doctrines, into opposite propositions. There is no other God but one. Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and Him only shalt thou serve, On this side time precepts are express and positive, for our believing in one God alone, and for paying Divine worship to Him only. They are full and peremptory, against addressing ourselves religiously to any other, than that one Supreme God, who is a jealous God, and will not suffer any degree of Divine worship to be directed to any other. Nor can we frame any other notion of idolatry, than the addressing our- selves either in body or mind by way of religious worship, to any other being than to the Supreme God. Let all the Angels of God worship Him. Baptize all nations in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. On this side, the precepts are equally express and positive, for our believing the Son and the Holy Ghost to be God, and for the whole intelligent creation to pay Divine worship to the Son in particular. They are likewise full and peremptory for our addressing ourselves in one of the most solemn acts of Divine worship, jointly to the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. And as we are initiated into Christianity by this act, so we are ever after blessed in the name of the Three jointly: and all this, with- out the least direct or indirect mention, or intimation, of any inequality in their natures, or of any distinction in their worship. Now both these precepts are express scripture, and therefore equally objects of our faith; it being evident, that here is no contradiction in terms, and that the seeming contradiction is with regard to a unity and distinction, for the direct apprehension of which, there is no capacity in the mind of man. The wisdom of God has left it for us to believe them both, and to reconcile them according to the best of our understanding: not by taking upon us to show, how the Divine Nature is One, and how it is Three; but by solving the seeming opposition, in a way most obvious to a plain capacity; that is, by concluding, since there is but One God, who alone is to be worshipped, and since the Son and Holy Ghost are both called God in Scripture. and expressly commanded to be worshipped therefore they are One with the Most High God, though how they are One we cannot comprehend. Thus has the Gospel revelation improved the knowledge of man kind, in these important points. And it has no less improvement Our knowledge, in the grand article of future rewards and punishments. As to rewards. 1. Whereas, all that was before expected in the: other world, was sensual pleasure for the body, and pleasing contemplation for the soul. Now we learn the joys of heaven to be of a sort, whereof nature can give us no conception: we shall be as the angels of God in heaven. 2. The resurrection of the same body. is a point entirely new, of which Christ’s rising with the same body assures us. That this body will be CHANGED, is likewise entirely new ; that this change shall be effected in a moment; that the dead in Christ shall rise first; that their change shall be into the likeness of Christ’s glorious body: alt which particulars are beyond whatever could have been suggested, by the mere understanding of man. Another instance of revelation, entirely new with respect to these rewards, is, that of living for ever in the immediate presence of God, the Fountain of All happiness. We are now informed, that we “shall see God as lie is. face to face, in whose presence is fulness of joy ;“ that we “shall be where he is,” shall “behold his glory,” and shall shine forth as the sun in the kingdom of our Father. This is a strain, no imagination, merely human, could ever reach or aspire to. We may add, that whatever the wisest heathens spoke of future rewards, was only from faint conjecture; whereas now we have the plain, and express, and repeated promise of God for, them. As to future punishments, we learn from revelation alone, 1. That they are both for soul and body, which are distinguished by “the worm that dieth not,” and “the fire that is not quenched.” And accordingly we are bid to “fear Him, who is able to destroy both body and soul in hell.” 2. That the soul will be “punished with everlasting destruction, from the presence of the Lord.” That the chief of all misery, in another life, would be, exclusion from the sight of God, was never thought of by the wisest heathens, who placed all happiness in themselves. 3. That the body will be punished by fire, than which we have not any revelation more express and positive. And as it is an instance of the great goodness of God, that the joys of heaven are represented, figuratively, as exceeding the utmost of our conceptions; so it is an argument of his strict justice, that the pains of hell are more literally foretold. 4.The eternity of these punishments is revealed, as plainly as words can express it. Not that the punishments denounced are mere arbitrary sanctions, like those annexed to human laws. But those denunciations are withal so many previous warnings of the inevitable consequence. the natural tendency of sin to misery. So that an unrepenting sinner cannot be otherwise than miserable, in another life, by a necessity of nature: since there never can be any alteration of his condition, without such a change of the whole man, as would put the natural and settled order of creation out of course. With respect to these rewards and punishments, we have these farther revelations: that the very “day is appointed by God, in which lie will judge the world in righteousness, by the man, whom He bath ordained ;“ that He hath committed all judgment to the Son; and that all mankind must come upon their trial at once. The glorious pomp and majesty of his appearance, the awful solemnity of the whole procedure, nay, the very words of the sentence, both on the just, and on the unjust, are discovered to us. It is farther revealed, that in this day of God, while He descendeth with ten thousand of his angels, “the heavens being on fire, shall be dissolved, and the elements shall melt with fervent heat.” These are “the terrors of the Lord,” which are sufficient to make the stout hearted tremble, and are such motives to all holiness of heart, and holiness of conversation, as nothing but infidelity, or wilful want of consideration. can render ineffectual. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 10: APPENDIX - GENERAL REFLECTIONS ======================================================================== GENERAL REFLECTIONS Having now, as my leisure and abilities permitted, taken a survey of the wisdom of God in the creation; before I conclude, it may not be improper to add something, in answer to those on the one hand, who imagine all inquiries of this kind to be vain, fruitless labour: and those on the other, who spend more time therein than is consistent either with religion or reason. I do this chiefly in the words of that great ornament of his profession, the lord chief justice Hale. He supposes the good steward giving in his account, at the last day, thus to speak. “Happy is he, who can adopt his words, in speaking to the Judge of all !" 1. I have not looked upon thy works inconsiderately, and passed them over as ordinary things. But I have studiously and diligently searched into them, as things of great eminence and wonder; and have esteemed it part of the duty, which the wise God of nature requires of the children of men, who, for that very end, exposed these his works to the view of his intelligent creatures, and gave us not only eyes to behold, but reason, in some measure, to understand them. Therefore I have strictly observed the frame of the world and its several parts, the motion, order, and divine economy of them I have searched into their quality, causes, and operations; and have discovered as great, if not greater matter of admiration therein, than in the beauty, which at first view, they presented to my sense. 2. And this observation did not rest in the bare perusal of the works themselves, or in the searching out, so fir as that could be. done, their immediate natural causes. But I traced their being, dependence, and government, unto Thee, the first cause of all. And by this tracing of things to their original, I was led to a demonstrative conviction, that there is a God, who is the great came, both of their being and motions : yea, that there is but one God; that He is most powerful, most wise, knowing all things, governing all things, supporting all things. Upon these convictions, I was strengthened in the belief of the holy word, which had so great a congruity with these truths. 3. And, upon these convictions. I did learn the more to honour, reverence, and admire Thee; and to worship, serve, and obey Thee; to walk humbly, and sincerely, and lawfully, before Thee as being present with me, and beholding me; to love and adore Thee, as the fountain of all being and good. When I looked upon ‘the glory and usefulness of the sun, I admired the God that made it, chalked out its motions, placed it in that due distance from the earth, for its use and conveniency. When I looked upon the stars, those huge and wonderful balls of light, placed at that immense distance from the inferior bodies, and one from another, their multitude and motion; ‘I admired the wisdom and power of that God, whose hand spans the heavens, and has fixed every thing in its place. Nay, when I looked upon the poor little herbs that arise out of the earth, and considered the secret spark of life, which is in every one of them, that attracts, increaseth. groweth, produces seed, preserves them and their kinds; the various virtues that are in them, for the food, medicine, and delight, of the more perfect creatures ; my mind was sweetly carried up, to the adoration and praise of that God, whose wisdom, and power, and influence, and government, are seen in these footsteps of his goodness. So that take all the wisest and ablest men, the most powerful and the most knowing, under heaven, they cannot all equal the wisdom and power, that are seen in a blade of grass. Nay, they cannot so much as trace out, or clearly and distinctly decypher, the great varieties in the production, growth and process of its short, yet wonderful continuance. Insomuch, that there is scarce any thing upon earth, be it ever so inconsiderable, but yields me inscriptions of the power and wisdom of its Maker written upon it. 4. In the contemplation of thy great works of the heavens, these goodly, beautiful and numerous bodies, so full of glory and light, I could not but. make that natural reflection, " Lord, what is man, that. thou art mindful of him, or the son of man, that thou regardest him” it is true, man, considered in himself, is a creature full of wonder; but compared with these goodly creatures, he seems but an inconsiderable thing. I learned hereby, to be humbled to the dust, and to adore thy condescension, that thou art pleased from heaven, the dwelling-place of thy Majesty, to take care of such a worm as man, sinful man! 5. in the contemplating thy power and wisdom, in creating and governing the world, I have learned submission to thy will, as being the will of that most wise God, that by his wisdom, not only created at first, but still governs all things. I have learned to depend upon thy providence, who, though I am but a worm, in comparison of thy heavenly works, yet am an excellent creature in comparison of the ravens, and the herbs of the field. Yet, those he feeds, and these he clothes: and shall he not much more clothe and feed me Thus I have, in some measure, improved the talents of thy works, to trace out thy Majesty and my own duty. Now is it vain or fruitless labour, thus to survey the wonderful works of God And yet it is certain, we may run to excess,, even in inquiries of this nature. We may spend far more time and pains therein, than is consistent either with religion or reason. Have we not a curious instance of this in the writings of a late eminent philosopher; at the same time, a divine by profession, and rector of a considerable parish. “ During the whole time,” says he, “that I have resided here, [have not been able by all my industry, to discover any more than fifty-three species (of butterflies!) in this neighbourhood. But, I verily believe, if God spares my life a few years longer, I shall be able to find several more !“ Was it not a pity, but his life should. have been spared fifty years for so excellent a purpose’ To those who lean on this extreme, I would recommend a few more reflections, extracted from the same masterly writer. 1. My learning of natural causes and effects, and of arts and sciences, I have not esteemed to be the chief, or the best furniture of my mind: but have accounted them dross in comparison of the knowledge of Thee, and thy Christ, and him crucified. In acquiring them, I have always taken care, 1. That I might not too prodigally bestow my Lime upon them, to the prejudice of that time and pains, which were most profitably bestowed, on the acquiring of more excellent knowledge, and the greater conceraments of my everlasting happiness. 2. I carried along with me, in all my studies of this kind, the great design of improving them, and the knowledge acquired by them, to the honour of thy name, and the greater discovery of thy wisdom, power and truth; and so translated my secular learning, into an improvement of divine knowledge. And had I not ever preserved that design in my acquirement of natural knowledge, I should have accounted all the time misspent which had been employed therein.. For I ever thought it unworthy of a man, who had an everlasting soul, to furnish it with such learning, as either would die with the body, and has become unuseful for his everlasting state, or that in the next moment after death, would be attained without labour. 3. My knowledge did not heighten my opinion of myself; for the more I knew, the more I knew my own ignorance. I was more and more convinced, that I was very ignorant, even in what I thought I knew. And I found an infinite latitude of things, which I did not know at all. Yea, the farther I waded into knowledge, the deeper still I found it. And it was with me just as it was with a child, that thinks, if he could but come to such a field, or climb to the top of such a hill, he should be able to touch the sky. But no sooner is he come thither, than he finds it as far off as it was before. Just so, while my mind was pursuing knowledge, I found the object still as far before me as it was, if not much farther; and could no more attain the full and exact knowledge of any one subject, than the hinder wheel of a chariot can overtake the former. Though I knew much, that others were ignorant of, yet still I found there was much more, whereof! was ignorant, than what I knew, even in the compass of the most inconsiderable subject. And as my very knowledge taught me humility, in the sense, of my own ignorance, so it taught me the narrowness of my understanding which could take in things only by little and little. It taught me, that thy wisdom was unsearchable, and past finding out,: yea, and that thy works though they are but finite in themselves, and necessarily short of the infinite wisdom that contrived them, are yet so wonderful, as fully to confirm the observation of the wise man, “No man can find out the work that thou makest, from the beginning to the end.” If a man were to spend his whole life, in the study of a poor fly, he will still leave much more undiscovered, than the most singular wit ever attained. 4 It taught me also, with the wise man, (when I looked back on what I had attained) to write vanity and vexation, upon all my secular knowledge and learning. That little I knew, was not attained without much labour, nor yet free from much uncertainty. And the great remainder, which I knew not, rendered that I knew, poor and inconsiderable. 5. Hence, I most evidently conclude, that the perfection of my understanding was not to be found; as neither my happiness,, in this kind of knowledge; in a knowledge thus sensibly mixed with ignorance, in the things I seemed to know, mingled with pain and dissatisfaction, in respect of the things I knew not. And the more I knew, the more impatient my mind was, to know what I knew not. My knowledge did rather enlarge my desire of knowing than satisfy me. The most intemperate sensual appetite, was more capable of being satisfied by what it enjoyed, than my intellectual appetite was, of being satisfied with the things I knew. The, enlarging my understanding with knowledge, did but enlarge the desire I had to know. So that the answer which was returned to Job, upon his inquisition after wisdom., “The depth saith, it is not in me; and the sea saith, it is not in me.” The same account, all my several kinds of knowledge gave, when I inquired for satisfaction in them. My metaphysics, when I had perused great volumes of it, was so mercurial, I could hardly hold it; and yet so endless, that the more I read or thought of it, the more I might. Natural philosophy, almost in every branch, was full of uncertainty. Much of it was grounded on suppositions impossible to he experimented. The latter philosophers censured the former, and departed from them. The latest, despised and rejected both, as equally ignorant. The subject to be treated of, was as vast, as the visible or tangible universe. And yet, every individual thing was so complicated, that if all the rest were omitted, this alone had more lines concentred in it, than any one age could sift to the bottom. Yet, any one lost, or not exactly scanned, left all the rest precarious and uncertain. And what could we expect to know, while we know not ourselves, not even our own bodies Yet none could ever do this: the disquisition concerning any one part of the human body, the brain, the eye, the blood, the nerves, utterly perplexed the most exact scrutators. But suppose it were otherwise: suppose we could attain a full knowledge of philosophy, that we could master every branch thereof, yet three unhappinesses attended it: First, That most parts of it are of little use: they are only known, that they may be known. That which is of ordinary, use, is soon attained, and by ordinary capacities the rest are little better than laborious trifles, curious impertinencies. Secondly, That they serve only for this life: a separated soul, or a spiritualized body will not be concerned in them. But admit they should, yet thirdly, a greater measure of such knowledge will be attained, in one hour after our dissolution, than the toilsome expense of an age in this life would produce. What a deal of pains is taken’ here, concerning the habitableness of the moon, and other primary and secondary planets; concerning the nature, the magnitude, and the distance of the fixed stars: concerning the various influences of the heavenly bodies, in their oppositions, conjunctions, aspects When once the immortal has taken its flight through the stories of the heavens, in one moment all these will be known distinctly and evidently. All our doubts will be resolved, and our souls filled with light, without any mixture of darkness. Upon all these considerations I concluded that my intellectual power, and the exercise of it in this life, was given for a certain, useful and becoming object, “even to know Thee, the only true God, ad Jesus Christ, whom thou has sent.” In many parts of the preceding tract, I have occasionally touched on the littleness of human knowledge. Perhaps, a few more observations on this important head, may not be unacceptable to the serious reader. I propose them barely as hints, which may be pursued at large, by men of reflection and leisure. To begin (where we ended before) with the things which are at the greatest distance from us. How far does the Universe extend, and where the limits of it Where did the Creator “stay his rapid wheels “ Where “fix the golden compasses “ Certainly, himself alone is without bonds, but all his works are finite. Therefore he must have said at some point of space, “Be these thy bounds This be thy just circumference, O World “ But where, who can tell Only the morning stars who then sang together, the sons of God, who then shouted for joy. All beyond the region of the fixed stars is utterly hid from the children of men. And what do we know of the fixed stars A great deal, one would imagine : since, like the Most High, we too tell their number, yea, and call them all by their names! Those at least, which appear to the naked eye, both in the northern and southern hemisphere. But what are these, in comparison of those which our glasses discover, even in an inconsiderable part of the firmament What are one and two and twenty hundred, to those which we discover in the Milky Way alone How many are there then in the whole expanse, in the boundless field of ether But to what end do they serve, to illuminate worlds To impart light and heat to their several choirs of planets Or (as. the ingenius Mr. Hutchinson supposes) to gild the extremities of the solar sphere, which, according to him, is the only inhabited part of the universe; and to minister in some unknown way, to the perpetual circulation of light and spirit! For our sakes only, that great man apprehends the comets also to run their amazing circuits! But what are comets Planets not fully formed; or planets destroyed by a conflagration Or bodies of an wholly different nature, of which, therefore, we can form no idea How easy is it to form a thousand conjectures: bow hard to determine any thing concerning them! Can their huge revolutions be even tolerably accounted for, by the principles of gravitation and projection Has not Dr. Rogers overturned the very foundation of this fashionable hypothesis What then brings them back, when they have travelled so immensely far beyond the sphere of the solar attraction And what whirls them on, when by the laws of gravitation, they would immediately drop into the solar fire What is the sun itself It is undoubtedly the most glorious of all the inanimate creatures. And its use we know. God made it to rule the day. It is “Of this great world, both eye and soul.” But who knows of what substance it is composed Or even, whether it be fluid or solid! What are those spots on his surface that are continually changing What are those that always appear in the same place What is its real magnitude Which shall we embrace, amidst the immense variety of opinions Mr. Whiston, indeed says, that eminent astronomers are nearly agreed upon this head. But they cannot agree concerning his magnitude, till they agree concerning his distance. And how far are they from this t he generality of them believe, that he is near a hundred millions of miles from the earth. Others suppose it to be twenty, some twelve millions, and last comes Dr. Rogers, and brings a clear and full demonstration, so he terms it, that they. are not three millions from each other. What an unbounded field for conjecture is here! But what foundation for real knowledge Just as much do we know of the feebly shining bodies that move regularly round the sun : of Jupiter, Saturn, and other planets. Their revolutions we are acquainted with. But who is able, to this day, regularly to demonstrate either their magnitude or their distance Unless he will prove, as is the usual way, the magnitude from the distance, and the distance from the magnitude : and what are Jupiter’s belts Can any man tell What is Saturn’s ring The honest ploughman knows as well as the deepest philosopher. How many satellites, secondary planets, move round Jupiter or Saturn Are we sure even of their number How much less of their nature, sizes motions, or distances from the primary! But what wonder we are so ignorant concerning Saturn’s moons, when we know so little of our own For although some men of genius have not only discovered but have travelled over the whole hemisphere which is obverted to us, (and why is the same hemisphere always obverted What reason can be assigned, why we do not see the other hemisphere in its turn) have marked out all her seas and continents, with the utmost exactness: yea, and carried selenography to so great perfection, as to give us a complete map of the moon: yet do others (and not without reason) doubt, Whether she has any atmosphere. And if she has not any. she can have no rain or dews, nor consequently either seas or rivers. So that after all, we have nothing more than mere conjectures, concerning the nearest of all the HEAVENLY BODIES. “Rivers and mountains on her spotty globe.” What is it that contains them all in their orbits And what is the principle of their MOTIONS By what created power, what outward or inward force, are they thrown forward to such a point, and then brought back again to a determinate distance from the central fire. Dr. Rogers has evidently demonstrated, that no conjunction of the centrifugal and centripetal force, can possibly account fur this, or ever cause any body to move in an ellipsis. Will LIGHT moving outward, and returning inward in the form of SPIRIT, account for them ‘ Nay, if they take away some, they plunge us into other difficulties, no less’ considerable. So that there is reason to fear, that even the NEWTONIAN, yea, and HUTCHINSONIAN system, however plausible and ingenious, and whatever advantage they may have in several particulars, are yet no more capable of solid, convincing proof, than the PTOLEMAIC OF CARTESIAN. But let us come to things that are nearer home, and see what knowledge we have of them. And how much do we know of that wonderful body. that enables me to see and know all things around us I mean LIGHT T. How is it communicated to us Does it flow in a lucid river, in continued stream from the orb of’ the sun to the earth Or does the sun impel those particles only, which are contiguous to his orb, which impel others, so on and on, to the extremity of his system Again, are the particles of light, naturally and ESSENTIALLY LUCID Or only by accident, when they are collected Or when put into motion Yet again, does light GRAVITATE or not Does it ATTRACT other bodies, or REPEL them Is it the strongest, or the only repellent in nature, and what communicates that power to all repellents in nature Is this power the same with electricity, or wherein does it differ therefrom Is light subject to the GENERAL LAWS, which obtain in all other matter Or is it a body sui generis, altogether different from all other bodies Is it the same, or how does it differ from ETHER Sir Isaac Newton’s SUBTILE MATTER What is ETHER Wherein does it differ from the ELECTRIC FLUID Who can explain (and demonstrate the truth of his explanation) the phenomena of electricity Why do some substances CONDUCT the electric matter, and others arrest its course Why does a globe of glass and another of sulphur just counteract each other. Why is the coated phial capable of being charged just to such a point, and no farther 0 crux philosophorum! Superabundant proof of the shortness of human knowledge! But let us consider what is not of so subtile a nature, nor therefore so liable to elude our inquiries. Surely we understand the AIR we breathe, and which encompasses us on every side. By its ELASTICITY, it seems to be the grand mover and general spring of all sublunary nature. But is elasticity essential to air, and consequently inseperable from it Not so. It has been lately proved, by numberless experiments, that it may be FIXED, divested of its elasticity, and GENERATED or restored to it anew. Therefore elasticity is not essential to air, any more than fluidity is to water. Is it then elastic any otherwise than as it is joined to another body As every particle of air is, in its ordinary state, attached to a particle of ether or electric lire, does it not derive its whole elasticity from this, (perhaps the only true, essential elastic in nature) and consequently, when separated from this, lose all its elastic force For want of which it. is then effete, and will neither sustain flame, nor the life of animals. By what powers do the dew, the rain, the other vapours, rise and fall in the air Can we account for all the phenomena of them, upon the common principles And can we demonstrate that this is the true, the most rational way of accounting for them Or shall we say with a late ingenious writer, that those principles are utterly insufficient and that they cannot be accounted for at all, but upon the principles of electricity Do we thoroughly understand the nature and properties of the atmosphere that surrounds us That immense congeries, not only of air and vapours, whether of a watery or inflammable nature, but likewise of effluvia of every kind, which are continually streaming out from solid as well as fluid bodies, in all parts of the terraqueous globe Do all our instruments, with all the improvements of them, suffice to give us a thorough knowledge of its constituent parts Do they inform us of their innumerable combinations and changes, with the remote and immediate causes of them Very far from it ; and yet it is not a barely curious knowledge, but useful in the highest degree : seeing for want of it, not only various diseases, but often kath itself ensues. Let us descend to what is of a still more firm and stable nature, and subject to the scrutiny of all our senses: namely, the earth we tread upon, and which God hath peculiarly given to the children of men. Do the children of men understand this Of what parts then is it composed I speak now of its internal parts, in comparison of which the surface is next to nothing. Many arguments induce us to believe that the earth is between seven and eight thousand miles in diameter. How much of this do we know Perhaps some cavities, natural or artificial, which have been examined by men, descend one, or even two miles beneath its surface. But what lies beneath these Beneath the region of fossils, of stones, metals and minerals These being only a thin exterior crust. Whereof consist the inner parts of the globe Of a nucleus, (as an eminent man supposes, in order to account for the variation of’ the needle,) and a luminous medium interposed between that and the outer shell Or is there a central fire, a grand reservoir, which supplies all the burning mountains : as well as ministers to the ripening of gems and metals, if not of vegetables also Or is the great deep still contained in the bowels of the earth, a central abyss of waters Who bath seen; who can tell; who can give any solid satisfaction to a rational inquirer But what wonder if we are ignorant of its internal nature For how many parts are there on the surface of the globe, which after alt the discoveries of later ages, are still utterly unknown to us How very little do we know of the polar regions, either in Europe or Asia In Asia particularly, where all but the seacoast, is mere terra incognita How little do we know of the inland parts either of Africa or America Either of the soil, the climate, the fruits, the animals, or the human inhabitants. So far are we from having any proper knowledge of these, that we can scarce form any rational conjecture about them. And who knows what is contained in the broad sea, in the abyss that covers so large a part of the globe Many indeed, go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their business in the great waters. But what know they of what is contained therein: either of its animal inhabitants, its productions of the vegetable kind, or those of a mineral r metallic nature Most of its chambers are inaccessible to man, so that how they are furnished, we know not. Leviathan may take his pastime therein: but they are not designed for the children of men. But let us come nearer home. How little do we know even of the furniture of the dry land Survey those things which fall directly under our notice, even the most simple stones, metals, minerals. How exceeding imperfectly are we acquainted with their nature and properties! What is there in the inward constitution of metals, which distinguishes them from all other fossils From stones in particular “Why, they are heavier.” True, but what makes them heavier I doubt whether Solomon himself was able to assign the reason. What is the original internal difference between gold and silver, or between tin and lead ‘Tis all mystery to the sons of men. And yet vain man would be wise! “If all the men in the world,” says the great Mr. Boyle, “were to spend their whole lives in the search, they would not be able to find out all the properties of that single mineral, ANTIMONY.” And if all men could know so little of one thing, how little can one know of all Let us proceed to the higher parts of the creature. Observe the vegetable kingdom. And here also, whatever displays the wisdom of the Creator, discovers the ignorance of’ his creature. Who can clearly determine even the fundamental question, concerning the general nature of vegetables. Does the sap perform a regular circulation through their vessels or not How plausible arguments have been brought, both on the one side and the other Who knows the several species of vegetables, from the cedar of Lebanon to the hyssop on the wall Or rather, if we would descend from the highest to the lowest, to the innumerable grove of plants which appear in the form of mouldiness; or those more innumerable, if the expression may be allowed, which do not appear to the naked eye at all Who is able to discover the proper specific difference, between any one kind of plant and another Or the peculiar internal conformation and disposition of their component particles Yea, what man upon earth thoroughly understands the nature and properties of any one plant under heaven. Ascend we higher still from plants to animals. But here we are stopped in the midway. Under which of these shall we place the innumerable tribes of microscopic animals, so called Are they real animals in the common sense of the word Or are they animals in quite another sense: essentially different from all other species of animals in the universe: as neither requiring any food to sustain them, nor generating or being generated Are they no animals at all, (according to the supposition of a late ingenious writer) but merely inanimate particles of matter, in a state of fermentation So much may be said for each of these opinions, that it is not easy to fix upon any of them. If they are animals of a peculiar kind, which neither generate, nor are generated, they spread a veil over one continued branch of human ignorance. For how totally ignorant are the most sagacious of men, touching the whole affair of generation I do not say the generation of insects and fishes: the countless fry, “That by unnumber’d millions multiply. But let us come to that of the most perfect animals, yea, of man himself. In the book of the Creator, indeed, were all ours members written; which day by day were fashioned. But by what rule were they fashioned In what manner By what degrees from the moment of impregnation Who can explain “How the dim speck of entity began, To extend its recent form, and swell to man.” By what means was the first motion communicated to the punctum sallens When and how was the immortal spirit added to the mass of senseless clay There is no need of descending to particulars : for ‘tis mystery all! And after all our researches, we can only say, “I am fearfully and wonderfully made !“ But is there any such thing as equivocal generation, whether of plants or animals it is impossible any thing can appear more absurd to the eye of reason. Was there ever an instance since the world began, that a house grew of itself Nay, so much as a bed, a table, a chair, or the smallest particle of household furniture. And yet how trifling and inartificial is the construction of these to that of the meanest plant or animal What is the workmanship of Whitehall or Westminster abbey, to that of a tree or a fly And yet, on the other hand, if we deny spontaneous generation, what difficulties surround us If we can give a plausible account of the propagation of misselto on trees, and a few of the plants growing on the tops of house or on the walls of churches and towers, yet how many more confound all our sagacity And how many animals are discovered in such places as no animal of that kind ever frequented With regard to the lowest class of animals, INSECTS, almost innumerable are the discoveries which have been made within a few years, particularly by the ingenious and indefatigable Mr. Reaumur : but how inconsiderable is all this, in comparison of that which still remains undiscovered How many SPECIES, how many entire genera of these are we totally unacquainted with How many millions, by their extreme minuteness, elude our most careful inquiries And the minuter parts of larger animals, escape our utmost diligence so that all we can attain to, is an imperfect knowledge of what is obvious in their composition. Have we a more perfect knowledge of FISHES than of insects How many inhabitants of the waters, entirely concealed from human view, by the element wherein they live It is not permitted to the sons of men, to “ walk through the paths of the sea,” nor consequently to trace out their several kinds or species with any exactness. But it is highly probable these are far more numerous than the species of land animals: as the distance between the smallest and the largest of sea animals, is so immensely great; from the MINNOW, for instance, (though this is far from being the least) to the NORWEGIAN WHALE: to say nothing of Bishop Pontoppidan’s CRAKEN and SEA-SERPENT, which I doubt never existed but in his own imagination. And, with regard to the species we are acquainted with, how little is it that we know Only a few of their general properties: enough to satisfy our need, but not our curiosity. We are something better acquainted with the inhabitants of the air; BIRDS being more accessible to us: yet upon the whole, we are very far from being perfectly .acquainted with them. Of many we know little more than the outward shape. We know a few of the obvious properties of others, but the inward, specific difference of very few. And we have a thorough, adequate knowledge of none. “However, we have a more extensive knowledge of BEASTS, many of which are our domestic companions.” Certainly we have. And yet a thousand questions may be asked even concerning these, which we are in nowise able to answer. To touch only on two or three general heads. Do they REASON, or do they not Whence arise the different QUALITIES and TEMPERS, not only in different kinds and species; but even in the individuals of one species, as in dogs, eats, and horses Are they MERE MACHINES If we assert they. are, it inevitably follows that they neither SEE, nor HEAR., nor SMELL, NOR FELL. For of this, mere machines are utterly Incapable. Much less than they KNOW or REMEMBER any thing, or MOVE any otherwise than they are impelled. But all this, as numberless experiments show, is quite contrary to matter of fact. On the other hand, IT they are not mere machines ; if they have either sensation, or knowledge, or memory, or a principle of self motion, then they are not mere matter: they have in them an immaterial principle. But of what kind Will it die with the body, or not Is it mortal or immortal Here again we have got into an unknown path. We cannot order our speech by reason of darkness. But although we know so little of the things that are above us; of those that are beneath us ; or of those that surround us on every side: yet it is to be hoped, we know OURSELVES ; and of all, this is the most useful, the most necessary knowledge. But do we truly know our. selves Do we know the most excellent part of ourselves, oar own soul That it is a spirit, we know. But what is a spirit H ere again we are at a full stop. And WHERE is the soul LODGED in the pineal gland The whole brain In the heart! The blood In any single part of the body Or, is it (if any one can understand those terms) all in all, and all in every part How is it UNITED to the body What is the secret chain, what the bands, that couple them together Can the wisest of men give a satisfactory answer, even to these few. plain questions As to the BODY, we glory in having attained abundantly more knowledge than the ancients. By our glasses we have discovered very many things, which we suppose they were wholly unacquainted with. But have we discovered, why we perspire three parts in four less, when we sweat than when we do not What a total mistake is it then to suppose sweat is only an increase of insensible perspiration! Have we discovered, why one part of mankind have black skins, and the other white It is not owing to the climate: for both black men and white are born in the same latitude. And have not negroes the same flesh and blood with us But what is FLESH That of the muscles in particular Are the fibres, out of which it is woven, of a determinate size So that when you have divided them into smaller and smaller, to a certain point, you come to those of the smaller kind Or are they resolvable (at least in their own nature) into smaller and smaller in infinitum How does a MUSCLE ACT If you say, by being inflated, and consequently shortened: I ask again, But what is it inflated with If with blood, how and whence comes that blood And what becomes of that blood; whither does it go, the moment the muscle is relaxed What is BLOOD Of how many sorts of particles does it essentially consist Of red globules and serum But in the famous instance, the man bled at the nose, till what was discharged had no redness left, By what force is the circulation of the blood performedCan any one suppose the force of the heart is sufficient to overcome the resistance of all the arteriesAre the NERVES pervious or solidHow do they actBy vibration or transmission of the animal spiritsIf they have any beings, are they of the nature of blood or etherWhat is SLEEPWherein does it consistWe do not inquire, What are the effects of it (cessation of voluntary motion and so on,) but what is the thing itself, the cause of these effectsWhat is DREAMINGBy what criterion can we distinguish dreams from waking thoughts I mean by what means may a dreaming person then know that he is in a dreamWhat is (the eonsanguineus somni) DEATH When do we dieYou say, “ When the soul leaves the body.”This cannot be denied.But my question is, When does the soul leave the bodyWhen we cease to breathe, according o the maxim, nullus spiritus, nulla vitaThis will not hold for many have revived after respiration was utterly ceased.When the circulation of the blood stopsNay, neither will this hold: for many have recovered after the pulse was quite gone.When the vital warmth ceases, and have juices lose their fluidityEven this is not a certain mark. For some have revived after the body was quite cold and stiff: a case not uncommon in Sweden.By what token than can we surely knowIt seems, none such can be found.God knows then the Spirit returns to him: And the spirit to itself: but none that dwells in a body. What cause have we then to adore the wisdom of God, who has so exactly proportioned our knowledge to our state!We may know whatever is needful for life or godliness, whatever is necessary either for our present or eternal happiness.But how little beside can the most penetrating genius know with any certaintySuch pains, so to speak, hath God taken to hide pride from man!And to bound his thought within that channel of knowledge, wherein he already finds eternal life. THE END ======================================================================== CHAPTER 11: PART 01 - CHAPTER 1 - OF THE STRUCTURE OF THE HUMAN BODY ======================================================================== Chapter 1 - Of the Structure of the Human Body 1. The similar, solid parts 28. The external parts of the ear, The internal: particularly the drum. 2. A fibre. 29. The bones, passages. windows, labyrinth. 3. The cellular membrane. 30. The nostrils. 4. A bone. 31. The tongue and teeth A person speaking without a tongue. Persons deaf and dumb taught to speak. Dumbness suddenly removed 5. A cartilage. 32. The palate. 6. A membrane. 33. The uvula and tonsils. 7. An artery. 34. The hair. Hair turned white through fear; through grief. White hairs triangular. 8. A vein. 35. The heart 9. The lymphatic vessels, and their use 36. The pericardium. 10. A nerve. 37. The lungs. 11. The flesh. 38. The thorax, intercostal muscles, Diaphragm. 12. A gland. 39. The pleura and mediastinum 13. A muscle. 40. The external parts of the middle cavity. An old woman giving suck Account of a man without arms. 14. The cuticula and skin A boy with a dappled skin 11. The stomach. 15. The tat 42. The intestines and mesentery 16. The panniculus carnosus. 43. The lacteal reins 17. The dissimilar parts; in particular the head, cerebrum, cerebellum, medulla ablongata 44. The omentum, peritoneum, pancreas 18. The meninges. 45. The liver, gall-bladder, and ducts 19. The brain. 46. The spleen 20. The origin of the nerves. 47. The kidneys, ureters, bladder 21. The pineal gland. 48. The hands 22. The guards of the eye. 49. The feet 23. The muscles of the eye. The tunics adnata. The structure of the eye 50. The animal spirits 24. The coats of the eye 51. Secretion of the other fluids 25. The humours of the eye. 52. The blood 26. Peculiarities relative to them 53. What are the first elements of The body 27. Queries concerning the eyes Help for decayed sight. Account of a person couched. 54. Reflections 1. As man ought to know himself best, we begin our treatise here. And first, let us contemplate the human body. The parts of this are either solid or fluid. Those of the solid, of which the rest are formed, are termed similar parts. Such as fibres, bones, membranes, ligaments, arteries, veins, lymphatic vessels, nerves, flesh, muscles, tendons: and those general coverings of the body, the cuticle, the skin, fat, and the paniculus carnosus. 2. A FIBRE is a kind of slender thread, of which all the other parts of the body are woven: according to the difference of which, the substance of the fibres is different also. Earth, as an element, is a solid, opaque, angular, friable substance, of such small volatile particles, that it readily diffuses itself through air and water, and resides invisibly in them. And earth eagerly imbibing both air and water, by their means forms the permanent basis and growth of all mineral, vegetable, and animal bodies. These earthly particles have their connexion and power of cohesion, not from themselves, or a mere contact, but from the intermediate glue placed betwixt them. That this glue is composed of oil, combined with water, by the vital attrision in animals, appears from the chemical analysis of bones and hair; from the jelly ‘of bones, ivory, and horns; and from the nature of our aliments themselves. Nor is there any kind of glue that .could more powerfully join the parts of animals, as we experience in fish-glue, and that of joiners or cabinet makers. Earthly particles then cohering longitudinally, and tied together by an intervening cohesive glue, compose one of the least or most simple fibres; such as we have a knowledge of rather from reason than sense. The finest microscopes have been hitherto insufficient to lead us to a sight of the smallest moving and nervous fibrils, and still less can we ever expect from them, to get any sensible idea of the mechanism by which sensation and motion are effected. But the least fibres which appear to the sight, are of two kinds. Of these two kinds of fibres, as we shall presently see, we may distinguish the former by the title of filamentary, and the latter of membranous. * The first kind of these fibres is lineal, namely, such a form as makes their length considerably large in proportion to their breadth; and which, by disposing of the elementary particles in a right line, must of course lay them generally parallel with the neighbouring or contiguous fibres. Examples of such fibres we see in the bones, and most easily in those of a foetus; and Jikewise in the tendons, ligaments and muscles; only we must here always remember, that the eye never reaches to the smallest fibres, but to larger ones made up of the smallest, and like to them in slenderness, placed together in a rectilineal course. That these are not different from the smallest fibres, we are persuaded by the most accurate microscopes of Muyses and Lewenloeck; by which the muscular fibres, divided even to the last, appear similar to the larger, till, at length, they . seem mere lines, like spiders threads. The second kind of fibres arc those winch are conjoined with a breadth frequently larger than their length. From what has been said, we may admire nature no less for her wise economy than simplicity, in thus forming all that variety of parts we see in an animal, from one simple mass of clay or slimy matter, compounded of earth and glue; from whence the body is not only augmented from a single point in the ovum to its full growth and stature; but like the timbers of a ship, is also every day repaired during life, till at length, not two jots of the old or first materials remain. This renovation of parts is made slower in some constitutions, and in some organs, than in others. How quickly the animal humours, with the hair, nails, &c. are renewed, every one knows: and we may venture to say, that once in three years the change is universal; at the end of which time, though a man remains the same identical person, he is not the same matter. 3. But we proceed from these simple fibres, to the next least compounded solid which they compose; viz. the cellular web-like. substance. This is made up partly of the simple fibres, and partly by an infinite number of little plates or’ scales, which, joined in various directions, intercept small cells and web-like spaces; and by extending round every, even the least moving solid parts of the body, conjoins them altogether in such a manner as not only sustains, but allows them a free and ample motion. The extension of this substance, not only with the skin round the whole body, but also round every viscus or organ, and round every individual moving fibre or vessel of them, into the cavities of the bones, and even the substance of the brain and its medulla, is a modern and wonderful discovery. This substance, in its ultimate state being composed of simple membranes, when compacted and convoluted, gives birth to the least or most simple vessels, which again reflected through plates of the same substance compacted together, make compound and vascular membranes; to the consideration of which we next proceed. Out of this cellular substance compacted by a concretion of the membranous plates or partitions, and pressed together by the force of the incumbent muscles, and distending fluids, arise other broad and flat plates or skins in various parts of the body; which being generally disposed in one and the same direction, seem to have a better right to the name of membrane than the former; and these being convoluted into cones and cylinders, pervaded by a flux of some juice or liquors brought to them; put on the name of vessels, or else being extended round some space that is in a plane, parrallel to itself, we call it a tunic or coat. This cellular substance in the human body, is found throughout the whole; wherever any vessel or moving muscular fibre can be traced, and this without the least exception, that I know of, in any part whatever. flut so far as we can trace, it hardly ever admits of any fat into the cells; which are rather moistened by a watery vapour, somewhat oily, exhaled out of the arteries and received again into the veins. Its plates or scales are still more loose and open where it divides the muscles and all their fibres (even to the ultimate fibre); and likewise where it surrounds and sustains the least vessels with their free motion. That within the cavities of the bones is also made up of boney plates, with membranous ones intermixed; and lastly, it is the most loose and open of all, round the surface of the body on all sides, betwixt the muscles and the skin. Through this cellular substance the small vessels are spread, and ramified in all parts of the body; from whose arterial extremities the fat is deposited into the cells, and afterwards absorbed by the venal orifices. This passage from the arteries, into the adipose cells, is so free and short, that there must needs be very large mouths by which they open, and by which they give admittance to injected mercury, air, or water. The oily fat, in this substance, is separated and expelled from the artery; not by any long ducts, but by transuding on all sides through the whole extent of the vessel. How quickly it is collected from the arteries, appears from the speedy renovation of it, by a returning fatness after acute diseases. With regard to the sponge-like communications of this substance, it is remarkable, the intervals or spaces betwixt the plates or scales that make up their sides in the cellular membrane, are every where open, and form one continuous cavity throughout the whole body. That out of this substance, joined with vessels, nerves, muscular and tendinous fibres (a great part of all which are before formed of this substance only), all the viscera, all the muscles and glands, with their ligaments arid capsules, are entirely composed; and that only from the different length, tension, quantity or proportion of this, the diversity of our glands, and viscera arises; and lastly, that this alone makes up by far the greatest part of the whole body, we are certain, if the whole be not formed out of the cellular filaments, of this kind. 4. The hardest part of the body, white and void of sense, is termed a BONE- The bones are covered with a thin skin, called the periosteum, extremely sensible. The bones consist of thin plates, lying one upon another ; and these again, of fibres running lengthways; some to the extremity of the bone, some not so far. Yet none of them terminate there; but are continued transversely, and as it were arched, the fibres of one side meeting and uniting with those of the other, and this at each extremity. These plates are differently disposed in different bones: in those that have a large cavity, they are contiguous on each side,. and very closely united. In those whose cavities are small, many of the inner plates arc distant from each other; having little long cells between them. In bones whose plates are contiguous, there are pores through and between them (beside those for the blood-vessels). The first pierce them transversely, from the cavity to the external surface of each plate. The second run lengthways between . the plates, and diffuse an oil with which they are supplied by the transverse pores. The bones are generally bigger at each end than in the middle, that the joints may be firm, and the bones not so easily dis-located. But to strengthen the middle of the bone, the fibres there are more closely compacted. Likewise, the bone, being large and hollow, is not so easily broke, as if it had been solid and smaller : for of two bones of equal length and equal number of fibres, that is stronger which has the larger diameter. The blood-vessels usually enter the ends of the bones; the arteries at one end, the veins at the other. The medullary vessels commonly enter the sides of the bone, and that obliquely. The marrow is covered with a membrane, wherein are inclosed little bags. In these’ bags are glandulous bladders, serving both to screen the marrow from the blood, and to receive it. Both these and the bags have passages into each other, whereby the marrow has free course. It. passes first through the transverse pores of the first internal plate into the longitudinal ones. Thence it proceeds into other transverse pores, when it alters its course again, and exsudes farther. Thus it passes alternately through and between the plates, till it is diffused throughout. In this manner it is diffused through bones, whose plates are contiguous. But where the plates are at a distance, the small cells contain glands, which directly supply the plates with marrow. The marrow not only serves to keep the substance of the bone moist, but to lubricate the joints, and to hinder the ends of the bone, from being worn or over-heated with motion. It also moistens the ligaments, which tie them to each other: as do likewise the glands found in all the joints. The back-bone hath these two things peculiarly remarkable: I. Its different articulations from the other joints of the body. For here most of the Joints are fiat, and withal guarded with asperities and hollows, made for catching and holding; so as firmly to lock and keep the joints from luxations, but withal to afford them such a motion, as is necessary for the incurvations of the body. 2. The difference of its own joints in the neck, back and loins. In the neck the two upper vertebra, are curiously made, and jointed (different from’ the rest) for the commodious and easy bending and turning the head every way. In the thorax, and back, the joints are more close and firm; and in the loins more lax and pliant; also the knobs and sockets are turned a quite contrary way, to answer the’ occasions, the body hath to bend more there, than higher in the back. ‘So that its structure is the very best that can be contrived; for’ had it been all bone, we could have had no motion in our body; had it been two or three bones articulated for motion, the medulla spinalis must have been necessarily bruised at every angle or joint; besides, time whole would not have been so pliable, for the several postures we have occasion to put ourselves in. if it had been made of several bones without intervening cartilages, we should have had no more use of it, than if it had been but one bone. If each vertebra had had its own distinct cartilage, it might have been easily dislocated. And lastly, the oblique processes of each superior and inferior ‘vertebra, keep time middle one, that it can neither be thrust backwards nor forwards to compress the medulla spinalis The pelvis made in the belly by time ilium, ossa coxendicia, and pubis, is larger in a female than in a male skeleton, that there may be more room for the laying of the viscera and fatus. So the cartilage bracing the two sharebones, is twice thicker and laxer in women than in men. As also is the cartilage that ties time os sacrum to its vertebra; and all, to give way to the passage of the foetus. -. Another considerable difference is, in the cartilaginous production of the seven long ribs, whereby they are braced to the breastbone. These are harder and firmer in’ women than in men ; the better to support the weight of the breasts, the sucking infants, &c. It is remarkable in the joints, and a manifest act of caution and design, 1. That although the motion of the limbs be circular, yet the centre of that motion is not in a point, but an ample sperficies. In a point, the bones would wear and penetrate one another, and the joints would be exceeding weak. But the joint consisting of two large superficies, concave and convex, some furrowed and ridged, some like a ball and socket, and all lubricated with an oily substance; they are incomparably prepared both for motion and strength. 2. That time bones next the joints are not spungy, as their extremities commonly are, nor hard and brittle; but capped with a strong, tough, smooth, cartilaginous substance, serving both for strength and motion. For affording this oily matter there are glandules very commodiously placed near the joints, so as not to suffer too great compression by the motion of time neighbouring bones, and yet to receive a due pressure, to cause a sufficient emission of the oil into the joints. Another thing considerable is, that time excretory ducts of the mucilaginous glands have some length in their passage from the glands to their mouths; which is a good contrivance, to prevent their mouth being oppressed by the mucilage, and also to hinder the too plentiful effusion thereof, but yet to afford a due expressure of it at all times, and on all occasions; particularly in -violent and long-continued motions of the joints, when there is a greater than ordinary expense of it. That the nourishment .taken, is continually conveyed through, the bones, as well as the flesh, appears from an easy experiment. Mix red liquor with the ‘food of any animal, and in a short time the bones are died red. When madder root was mixed with the food of a cock, which died after sixteen days, all his bones were red, the internal parts as well as the external. And the most solid parts were the most deeply tinctured; in swine, the teeth above all’ the rest. 5. Annexed to the bones are the CARTILAGES, white, flexible and smooth; most of which in process of time become bones, hard and quite void of sense. A cartilage is an elastic substance, uniformly compact and somewhat transparent, harder and more brittle than a ligament, softer than a bone. It is covered with a fine membrane, folded over the bone, from where the ligament is inserted. Every joint is inserted with a membrane, which forms a complete bag, and covers every thing within the articulation. The blood-vessels are so small, that they do not admit the red globules, and are demonstrable only in very young subjects. All round the neck of the bone, there are numerous arteries and veins which spread into smaller branches, and communicate with each other. These divide into still smaller branches on the adjoining surface, as they run toward the centre of the cartilage. We can seldom trace them into its substance, because they end abruptly, at time edge of the cartilage. The larger vessels plunge in by numberless small holes, and disperse themselves into branches between the cartilage and bone. From these again there arise many short, but small twigs, which shoot toward the outward surface, This distribution of time blood-vessels is very peculiar, and calculated for obviating great inconveniences. Had they run on the outward surface, the pressure and motion of the two cartilages must have occasioned frequent obstructions and inflammations. But by creeping round the cartilaginous brim, where there is little friction, or under the cartilage, where there is none, they are perfectly well defended from all such accidents. Cartilages are admirably contrived for all the purposes of motion. By their uniform surface they move one upon another with ease: by their soft, smooth and slippery surface, mutual abrasion is prevented. By their flexibility, the contiguous surfaces are constantly adapted to each other. By their elasticity, the violence of any shock, which might happen in running, jumping, or the like, is broken; which must have been extremely pernicious, if the hard surfaces of bones had been immediately contiguous. ‘The cartilaginous fibres appear calculated chiefly for this last advantage.. To conclude, the insensibility of these cartilages, is less wisely designed, that by this means the necessary motions of the body may be performed without pain. 6. The various parts of the body. are clothed with MEMBRANES, which are whitish tunicles, extremely thin and flexible, composed of fibres interwoven with each other, as a piece of cloth is of threads. They are fastened together by a kind of cartilages, which are termed ‘ligaments. - 7. An ARTERY is a hollow canal, composed of fibres closely twisted together, which conveys the blood from the cavity of the heart to all the, parts of the body. All the arteries spring from two, the aorta or great artery, and the pulmonary artery. The latter conveys time blood from the right ventricle of the heart, through the lungs, into the left ventricle. ‘The former conveys it from the left, to all other parts of the body. The arteries ordinarily Consist of three COATS or membranes. The, outermost has been generally thought to be composed of fine blood-vessels. The second is muscular, and made of firm and strong circular, or rather spiral fibres: of which there are more or fewer strata, as the artery is larger or smaller. These fibres are extremely elastic. The inmost coat is a fine dense, transparent membrane, containing the blood, which otherwise would easily ooze through the spiral fibre, On a more accurate examination it has been found, that the outermost coat of all arteries is a cellular substance, composed of’ fine, pellucid membranes, which may be stretched, even suddenly to a great extent without breaking. And they as suddenly collapse, when that stretching force is removed. These cells contain an oily liquor which their coats secern from the branches of the artery that are spread over them, This cellular substance of the arteries serves to connect them with the surrounding part, without hindering their actions or motions. It gives a safe passage to the vessels of their other coats, and supplies oil for lubricating them. There is also another cellular substance, between the membranes and the muscular coat. All the arteries begin with a larger trunk, and grow less and less till they are no longer seen by the naked eye. Hence they are continued till, they inosculate with the veins, and so form one uninterrupted channel. They appear white, because their coats are of so dense a contexture, that the blood is not visible through them. This proceeding from wider to narrower canals, is continually obstructed in its passage. But being pushed ‘on from behind, it distends the coats, and causes that leaping motion called the PULSE. By this, as well as by their whiteness, arteries arc distinguished from veins. The pulse of a. healthy person, rising in the morning, beats 65 in a minute; but after the fatigue of the day, it will in the evening beat 80 in that time’ and again, by the night’s rest or sleep, it will become less frequent, till in the morning you will find it return to 65. For the voluntary motions of the muscles, and actions of the external and internal senses, urge the venal blood on to the heart, which, being thereby oftener stimulated, makes more frequent contractions. This is the cause of those paroxysms or fits of increase, observable in all fevers towards the evening. For sleep not only retards the motion of the blood, but of all the other humours and actions in the body. It is one Of the curious observations of Dr. Hales, that the pulse is quicker in small animals. He found the pulse of a horse slower by half than in a man, viz. 32 only in a minute; whereas in a dog, the pulse beat 97 in that time. And this we see is conformable to the blood’s heat, measured by the mercurial thermometer of Fahrenheit’s scale, For the blood in oxen, horses, and other large animals at rest, being five or six degrees cooler than in us, will not rise to our heat, but by labour; whereas, dogs, cats, and fowls, are five or six degrees hotter than we (viz, about 102); and the latter, when sitting or brooding on their eggs for young, are still four or’ five degrees hotter, viz. 107 or 108, which is commonly the heat of our blood in the fit of an ague; where it is observable, that during the greatest sense of cold chill, time blood is three or four degrees hotter than in health, after which it gains four or five degrees more in the height of the hot fit, viz. 104 or 105 degrees; but in ardent fevers, where the pulse beats 140, the heat of blood will still be four or five degrees higher, viz. 110; i. e. two or three degrees more than equal to a brooding hen. The pulse is more quick in children, and becomes slower in persons as they grow older. Time salient point of an OVUM beats 134 in a minute. New born infants have their pulse 120, and from thence down to old age it grows slower, to 60 in a minute. A feverish pulse begins at 96 per minute; it is excessive at 130 or 140, which is the number of the pulse with which a person dies. The pulse beats slower in winter, and quicker in summer, by about ten strokes per minute; and under the torrid zone, it grows quicker, to 120. 8. A VEIN is a hollow canal, which receives the blood from the artery, and conveys it back to the heart. The chief veins are. three, the vena cava, which pours the blood through a wide passage into the right ventricle of . the heart; the pulmonary vein, which in like manner’ pours it into the left ventricle; and the vena porta, which does not, like the two former, end in a large. trunk; but spreads itself at each extremity into numerous’ branches. In the cavity of the veins, there. are certain thin tunicles, which are termed VALVES. These, during the regular motion of the blood, lie close to the side of the inner coat: but in case of any obstruction, recede from it and close the passage, to prevent the blood’s falling back. 9. The LYMPHATIC VESSELS are small canals full of valves, consisting of a thin, transparent tunic, which convey an extremely clear liquid into the mass of blood. Probably these’ (as well as the veins) and all the other vessels, are only continuations of the arteries. It has been lately discovered, that the lymphatic vessels have two coats; betwixt which there are innumerable fine filaments, containing a nutricious juice, which is conveyed into all parts of the body, by a motion from the centre to the circumference, and returns through the inner pipes, of the same watery vessels. But this juice when returning, is no more water or dew, but ferment; and the vessels may be termed ferment-vessels. This ferment is conveyed into the blood, by a motion from the circumference to the centre. The lymphatics carry their dewy particles through the glandules, which lie between the two coats. Jim the lowermost end of these glandules, the ferment-vessels take their rise. Most of the juice of the lymphatic-vessels is discharged between the coats of the veins, arteries, and vessels, in the mesentery; to be conveyed into all parts of the body, both internal and external. Even in bearing females, the fruit is not nourished by blood, but by this nutricious juice: the remaining part of which, is transmitted into time blood through the thoracic duct and jugular veins. - 10. A NERVE is a whitish, round, slender body, arising from the brain, which is supposed to convey the animal spirits to all parts of the body. What these spirits are, none can shew: nay, we are not sure they have any being. For none can certainly tell, whether the nerves are hollow canals, or only solid threads, enclosed in proper integuments. 11. The fibrous, soft, reddish part of the body is termed FLESH. All fleshy fibres are hollow, and divided through their whole length into little caverns, wherein the blood is detained, as occasion requires. 12. A GLAND is a soft and spungy body, which separates some particular liquid from the blood. The larger glands contain arteries, veins, and lymphatic vessels: but the glands of the intestines are nly the tops of the arteries. There is a kind of DOWN in the cavity of every gland, which probably does the office of a filter, and is that whereby a particular humour is separated from the blood. The structure of time down-vessel is different according to the different purposes of nature. Sometimes the liquor filtrated through it, falls drop by drop on a membrane, to which one end of the vessel is fastened, as where it is designed only to moisten the part. Sometimes many of these down-vessels spread over the inner surface of a membranous cell, into which they all pour their liquor, which is discharged at a small orifice. These vessels are often of a great length, though they take up little room, being wound over one another, sometimes in a single knot, and sometimes in several, enclosed in a common membrane. And hence is the distinction of glands into conglobate and conglomerate. A conglobate gland is a little, smooth body, wrapt up in a fine, double skin; with only an artery and nerve passing in, and a vein and excretory duct going out. A conglomerate gland is an irregular assemblage of several simple glands, which are tied together and wrapt up under one common membrane. 13. A MUSCLE is a bundle of fibres joined and fastened together, with their proper veins, arteries and nerves. It is divided into little cells by transverse fibres, parrallel to each one, whereby it may be contracted and shortened, or relaxed and lengthened again. ‘ Its extreme parts arc more closely compacted,, which we term tendons. By these time muscles are connected with the neighbouring parts. A muscle generally consists of three parts: the upper, termed the head, the middle, termed the belly, and the lower part, or tail. Every muscle is divisible into smaller muscles, and those into other still smaller; and so on, beyond all imagination. The last and smallest parts are muscular fibres. But there is no assignable point in any muscle, wherein there is not some nerve. And here all the nerves disappear (in other parts their extremities expand into membranes). It is therefore probable that the muscular fibres, are only the nervous continued. 14. The CUTICLE, or SCARF-SKIN, is an extremely thin and transparent membrane, void of sense, and covering the skin all over, sticking fast to its surface, to which it is also tied by the vessels that feed it. It consists of several layers of exceeding small scales, which cover one another where it is thick, But in the lips, where it is extremely thin, they little more than touch one another. In some creatures (as fishes), these scales are only the excretory ducts of the’ glands of the skin. In others, those glands have their proper ducts, opening between the scales. It is supposed, there arc in one scale 500 excretory ducts, and. and that a grain of sand will cover 250 scales. If so, a grain of sand will cover 125,000 of our pores. The cuticle serves to defend the nerves of the skin, both front the air, which would dry and make them less sensible, and from rough and hard bodies, which would make a painful impression on the naked nerve. Negroes have a skin between the cuticle and the true skin. They are born white; but the middle skin, in a little time, turns black, and gives that colour to the whole body. But who can account for the following case Sir Charles Wager had a boy about eleven years old, who was born in Virginia, of negro parents. Till he was three years old, he was like other black children. He then, without any distemper, began to have little white specks upon his neck and breast. These increased with his years, both in number and bigness, so that from the tipper part of his neck, quite down to his knees, he was dappled with white spots, some of them broader than the’ palm of a man’s hand. They were wonderfully white, equal to the skin of the fairest lady, only somewhat paler. His face, arms and legs were perfectly black. He was exceedingly active, sprightly, and more ingenious, than. is common among that generation. Perhaps the following fact is no less difficult to be accounted for: A negro woman, cook to colonel Barnes, in Maryland, about forty years of age, remarkably healthy, had her skin as dark as that of the most swarthy African. But that part of it next her finger nails, about fifteen years ago, became white. Her mouth soon underwent the same change, which has since gradually extended over the whole body. At present, four parts in five of her skin are white, smooth and transparent, as in a fair European, elegantly shewing the ramifications of the subjacent bloodvessels. The other parts daily lose their blackness, and partake of the prevailing colour. The neck and back retain most of their pristine hue; the head, face, breast, legs and arms are all white. Her face and breast, when anger or shame has been excited in her, have been observed immediately to glow with blushes. This is the naked fact; but upon what principles of philosophy can we account for it ‘ The SKIN covers almost all, the whole body, and is formed of whitish fibres, intermixt with mumberless ‘branches of nerves, veins and arteries. On its surface are many furrows, or indented lines, having generally hairs on each side, and pores, or little holes of various sizes, serving for the transpiration of superfluous particles. Under the skin lie the subcutaneous glands, which are supposed’ to transmit through the pores an insensible steam, commonly believed to be of the same kind with what, when sensibly thrown out, is called sweat. The PORES in our hands and feet are very remarkable. Survey with a glass the palm of your hand, well washed, and you may perceive innumerable little ridges, of equal bigness and distance, every where running parallel with each other: these are very observable on the ends and first joints of the fingers and thumb, and near its root, a little above the wrist. On these ridges stand the pores, all in even rows. Through a good glass every pore looks like a fountain. The sweat may be seen to stand therein, as clear as rock water. The ridges are so placed, that they may better suit with the use and motion of the hand: those on the lower side of each triangle, to the bending in of the fingers: those on the other two sides, and on the elliptic ridges, to the pressure of the hand or fingers’ ends, against any body, requiring them to yield to the right and left. The pores are placed on these ridges, not in the furrows between them, that their structure may be less liable to be injured by compression, whereby the furrows only are dilated or contracted: the ridges constantly maintaining themselves; and so the pores are unaltered. For’ the same reason the pores are very large, that they may be the better preserved; though the skin be never so much compressed and condensed, by the constant labour of the hand: and so those on the feet, that they may be preserved, notwithstanding the compression of the skin, by the weight of the whole body. Through the pores there continually transudes a subtle vapour from every point of the body, being what redounds of the aliment, comminuted to the highest degree, and sent to repair every particle of it. And the matter thus evacuated is more than is thrown out by all the Other passages together. A person of middle age found what he perspired was five eighths of the food taken in: so that there remained only three eighths for nourishment and all other evacuations. He observed also that so much is perspired in one day, as passes by stool in fourteen; and more particularly, that in a night’s time about sixteen ounces are usually thrown out by urine, four by stool, and about forty by insensible perspiration. If a. man eats and drinks eight pounds in a day, five pounds of it pass by perspiration: namely, about one pound within five hours after eating (perspiration being least of all soon after eating); from the fifth to the twelfth hour, about three pounds; and from the twelfth to the sixteenth, scarcely , half a pound. Exercise increases perspiration much; but it is naturally less in women than men. While this steam flows from our body, it constantly imbibes a supply of moisture from the air, which serves to keep all its parts soft, pliant and fit for motion. Hence, from the greater moisture of the air, we perspire less in winter than in summer, and in rainy weather than in fair. Live, therefore, if possible, in a clean house, arid in a pure, dry air. This inhalation is very considerable. Dr. Keil found his body to have imbibed in one night eighteen ounces of moisture. And on a sudden change of weather from dry to wet, the inspiration sometimes exceeds the expiration: there being absorbent veins, which accompany the numberless arteries from which the perspiration is discharged. To time matter thus imbibed, not the obstruction of the pores, he ascribes what we term a COLD-Sweating cures this, by throwing out the noxious matter which was imbibed before. The cutaneous vessels both exhaling and inhaling, are capable of contraction and relaxation, by the power of the nerves. This appears from the effects of the passions, which if joyful, increase the circulation, and relax the exhaling vessels. Those passions, on the contrary, which are sorrowful, and retard the circulation, contract the exhaling vessels, as appears from the dryness and corrugation of the skin, like a goose-skin after frights; and from a diarrhoea caused by fear. But the same affections seem to open the inhaling vessels; whence the variolus or pestilential contagions are easily contracted by fear. Time benefits of insensible perspiration are so great, that life cannot be preserved without it. And the subtilty, equability and plenty of wlmt we perspire, are the grand symptoms of health. But how little do we know even of our own frame! It has hitherto passed as an unquestionable truth, that the same matter which passes by insensible perspiration, passing in great quantities, is sweat. Whereas an ingenious physician, Dr. Rogers, has found by numerous experiments, that a person perspires abundantly less, when he sweats, than when he does not: that one who perspires twenty-four ounces in seven hours sleep, if he sweats, does not perspire above six. This he tried many times, and never found it to fail. Whence he infers, 1. That it is not the same matter which is evacuated by insensible perspiration and by sweat: 2. That it is not evacuated through the same pores: 3. That the sweat-pores are abundantly larger and fewer, than those which serve insensible perspiration: 4. That sweat greatly hinders that perspiration, both by covering those pores with a clammy liquor, and by constringing them so that they cannot open; which must be the case, when the sweat-pores are dilated. What a field does this open! Some queries proposed concerning perspiration, by an ingenious writer, seem to deserve a serious consideration. 1. “ Why do carnivorous animals sweat so little A fox hunted almost to death never sweats. 2. Why do those which feed on vegetables perspire so much Horses and cows for example. We may often see them involved in a cloud of their own vapours, yea, almost covered with froth. 3. Flow can animals, whose natural food is vegetables, be kept alive and in health, in very cold climates, by purely animal food Cows in Iceland and Norway, are fed in winter upon fish-bones.” I would beg leave to ask, 4. Do the sweat-pores only, imbibe Or those also, which serve for insensible perspiration 15. FAT, a whitish, oily substance, void of sense, is secreted from the blood, and lodged in small, oval, membranous bags, which shoot out of the arteries. It is found in various parts, but chiefly under the skin, where, unless a man be emaciated, it runs co-extended with the skin over most parts of the body. Fat is secerned from the arterial blood by the ADIPOSE GLANDS, and transmitted again from the membranous cells to the blood through the veins. It seems to be a portion of the blood coagulated by the nitrous air mixed with it in the lungs. Artificial fat is made, by mixing, for some days, oil of olives with spirit of nitre. Hence divers animals grow fat in frosty weather, the air then abounding with nitre. The uses of the fat are various; as to facilitate the motions of the muscles in all the parts, lessen their attrition against each other, and prevent a stiffness or rigidity; it fills up the intermediate spaces between the muscles in such a manner, with the cavities about many of the viscera, that it readily yields to their motions, and yet supports them when at rest; it serves as a stratum or bed to conduct and defend the vessels in their course to all parts ; it gives an uniform extension to the skin, and serving as a cushion to ease the weight of the body in many parts, at the same time it renders the whole of a comely, agreeable shape: it probably, by returning and mixing with many of the humours; abates their acrimony; it has a principal share in forming the matter of the bile, and by transuding through the cartilaginous incrustations of the bones, it mWes with the articular liniment or synovia; also by exhaling in a living person from the mesentery, mesocolon, omentum, and round time kidnies, it lubricates the surfaces of the viscera with an oily, emollient vapour, and by interposing betwixt their integuments, prevents their growing one to another. Yet too much fat is a real disease, which hinders the motion of the lungs, entangles the most active particles of the blood, and naturally creates dulness and heaviness. You may cure this, by following three plain rules eat and drink little ; sleep little work much. 16 The fourth general integument is the PANNICULUS cARNOsus, which in some parts is of a fleshy substance; in others, a mere membrane, lying just under the fat. 17. The dissimilar parts arc composed of the similar. The chief of these is the HEAD. The cavity of time SKULL is nearly filled with a soft substance, termed in general, time BRAIN. But this is properly that part of it which lies forward. The hinder part, considerably smaller, is called the cerebellum. Under both, but chiefly the latter, and springing from the internal substance of both, is the medulla oblongata. The skull is divided into two plates, one laid over the other. Between these is a spongeous substance, made of bony fibres detached from each plate. Hereby the skull is made not only lighter, but far less liable to fractures. The skull is covered with a membrane called the PERICRANIUM. This has several holes, which give passage to the spinal marrow, the nerves, arteries and veins. But these fill them so nicely, that nothing can pass into or out of the head, but through these vessels, It is round,, that it may contain the more; but a little depressed and longish, advancing out behind, and flatted Qf the sides, which contributes to the enlargement of the sight and hearing. It is divided into pieces by four sutures. This makes it less liable to break, gives passage to the membranes of the pericranium, and vent to the matter of insensible perspiration. 18. All these are involved in two membranes, the inner, called pia mater, extremely thin; and time outer, called dura mater, considerably harder and thicker. Where they involve the cerebellum, there is interposed between them the arachnoides, a very subtle arid transparent membrane, which descend ing through the hinder part of the skull, together with them involves the whole spinal marrow. 19. The outer part of the brain, called the cortex or bark,’ is of an ashy or greyish colour. It is formed from the minute branches of the neighbouring arteries, which being wove together in the pia mater, enclose the inner part, ordinarily to the thickness of about half an inch. It consists, therefore of innumerable little glands, contiguous to each other (supposed to secern the animal spirits), which are of themselves oval; but by their mutual pressure become angular, and run waving with each other. The inner part, called th medulla, is white, and terminates in another medullary substance, very white and hard, called the corflus callosum. The medulla is thought to consist of fine tubes, which when collected into little bundles, and covered with membranes, are termed nerves. 20. To trace this a little farther. From every point of he outer brain arise minute fibres, which in their progress uniting together, are easily perceptible. These constitute the substance of the inner brain, and of the spinal marrow. In their farther progress they are distinguished by coats, detached from the two membranes of the brain, into several bundles called NERVES, resembling so many horse-tails, each wrapt up in a double tunic. Several of these part from time rest, in the brain itself, of which there are ten pair; one on each side. From the spinal marrow there arise thirty pair more. All these, while within the skull or the spine, are pulpous; but afterwards harden, acquire a coat, and spread through the smallest points of the solid parts of the body. Their coats are every where furnished with bloodvessels, lymphatics, and vesicles of a very tight texture, which serve to collect, strengthen, and contract their fibres. And if we consider, 1. The great bulk of the brain, cerebellum, and spinal marrow, whereof the whole substance goes to constitute nerves, being continued into, and ending in them: 2. The great number of nerves distributed hence, throughout the whole body: 3. That the brain and spinal marrow are the basis of an embryo, whence the other parts are afterwards formed; and lastly, that there is scarce any part of the body which does not feel or move; it may seem not altogether improbable, that all the solid parts of the body, are woven out of nervous fibres, and wholly consist of them. 21. The brain is divided into four ventricles. Near the rise of the fourth there is a round hole, over which is suspended the pineal gland, so called from its resembling the shape of a pine apple. It is furnished with veins and arteries, and enclosed in a thin membrane, derived from the Jzia mater. Des Cartes imagined this to be the seat of the soul; but without any solid reason. Nor has any one yet been able to discover, what is the use of it. Is it such a reservoir of blood for extraordinary occasions, as some imagine the spleen to be The brain is abundantly bigger in proportion in man than in other animals. In other animals, it is commonly biggest, cteria /zari bus, in those that have most sagacity. There are in the brain multitudes of Vessels, SO extremely small, that if a globule of blood (a million of which exceed not a grain of sand in bigness) were divided into 500 parts, those parts would be too large to pass through them. And these vessels are as large in the brain of a sparrow as in that of an ox. Nor is there any difference between the brain of a large animal and a small, but that one contains far more of these vessels than the other. But the globules of the fluid passing through them arc in all animals of the same size. The outer part of a turkey’s brain is a very clear and transparent, oily matter. Innumerable fine blood-vessels are spread through every part of this. And if a small part is cut, there flows out a small globule of pellucid fluid. The brain is not absolutely necessary to animal life. Infants have been born, and lived some time without any. We have an authentic account from Paris, of a child that survived the birth four days, not only without a brain, but even a head: instead of which it had a mass of flesh, somewhat like liver. In 1673, a child was born alive without any brain, cerebellum, or medulla oblongata; the skull being solid: nor had it any communication with the spinal marrow. Mr. du Verney took out the brain and cerebellum of a pigeon: yet it lived and walked about. Mons. Chirac took out the brain of a dog; yet he lived. On taking out the cerebellum, he seemed dead; but revived when he blew into the lungs, and continued alive an hour. Nay, there are many instances of insects living a long time, after their head is cut off. Hence it appears, that the spinal marrow alone may, for a season, suffice both for life, sensation and motion. Are there distinct provisions for the vital or spontaneous, and for the animal or voluntary actions And does the cerebellum furnish the heart, and other vital organs, with nerves, while the brain supplies the nerves, which go out to the organs of sense and voluntary motion This is an elegant system, but is every where confuted by anatomy. From the cerebellum, time fifth pair of nerves is manifestly produced; but this goes to the tongue, to the muscles of the outward ear, of the eye, and of the nose, which are parts, all of them either moved by the will, or else destined to sensation. Again, from one and the same nerve there are vital branches sent to the heart and lungs, and others that arc animal and voluntary to the larynx, or sensitive in the stomach. Lastly, the repeated accounts of injuries to the cerebellum, being so speedily fatal, are not altogether true; for that both wounds and scirrhosities of this part have been sustained without any fatality ,to the patient, may be affirmed by certain experience. 22. The EYES next offer themselves to our observation, guarded by the eye-lids, eye-lashes, and eye-brows. The eyelids consist of the cuticle, the skin, a thin expansion of the fianniculus carnosus, and an inward coat. A palisade of short, but stiff hairs grows out of their cartilaginous edge, both to break the too fierce impression of the rays of light, and to prevent any thing from getting into the eye, when open. These hairs only grow to a convenient length, and their points stand out of the way; those of the upper eye-lids being bent upward, and those of the lower, downward. Mean time the eye-brows hinder sweat, or any thing else which might be hurtful, from f ailing down from the forehead. Both time eye-lids are moveable; but chiefly the upper. Animals which have hard eyes, as lobsters, need none, and therefore have no eye-lids. But most brutes have an additional eye-lid, called the nictitating membrane, which draws like a curtain, to wipe off what might incommode the eye. The monkey indeed has it not, as being furnished with hands like a man. 23. The eye can move upward, downward, to either side, and round, either toward the right or left. For these six motions, six muscles are allotted, which spread their tendons far’ into the eye. At each inner corner of the eye, there is a gland with two or three ducts, which opening on the inner surface of the eye.. lid, keep the eye-ball moist, to facilitate its motion. By these glands, tears also are secerned. The eye is connected with the surrounding bones by the tunica adnata, commonly called the white of the eye: in the midst of which is a large hole for the tunica cornea, through which the iris and pupil appear. The whole ball of the eye rises from the optic nerve, and is formed of three coats, propagated from it, and as many humours: two of which, have each a coat of its own also. The eye therefore has five coats in all: three common, and two to contain their several humours. 24. The outermost coat, proceeding from the dura mater, and surrounding the whole eye, is termed the sclerotica: the fore-part of it being transparent like horn, is thence stiled the cornea. This is more convex than the rest of the eye. It is composed of several parallel plates, which are nourished by many blood-vessels; but so fine as not to hinder the smallest rays of light. It has an exquisite sense, that on the least touch of any thing, the tears may be expressed, to wash off any filth, which by adhering to it might render it dim or cloudy. The rest of the scierotica is opaque, and of the same colour with the dura mater. The second coat is called the uvea. It is much thinner than ‘the former, though thicker than the pia mater, from which it proceeds. In time forepart of it is a round hole, which with the chrystalline humour interposed, constitutes the pupil, surrounded by the iris, so named from its supposed resemblance to time colours of the rainbow. The third and inmost coat is termed the retina. It is extremely thin and soft, and darker-coloured than time lower part of the optic nerve, of which it is a continuation. “If it be questioned,” says Dr. Hailer, “whether the object is painted upon time retina, or upon time choroides; we answer, this late supposition is inconsistent with known observation, by which the retina is evidently a most sensible expansion of the nerve, while the choroides has only a few nerves, with small vessels, which are certainly blind. It is also opposed by the great variety of the choroides in different animals, while the constant uniformity of the retina is equally remarkable; to which add the black membrane, that is interposed between time retina and choroides, in some kinds of fish. Finally, anatomy demonstrates, that the choroides is seated in the blind part of the eye, but is itself of a white colour.” 25. The AQUEOIJS HUMOUR, resembling the colour and consistence of Water, lies in the forepart of the eye, just behind the cornea; its interior surface is convex; the other, a little concave. Whence this humour is derived we cannot tell’; but its source must be plentiful: for if the coat containing it be so wounded that all the humour runs out, it needs only to keep the eye close for a season, and the wound will heal, and the humour recruit. Indeed an eminent Italian affirms, that he has slit the pupil of divers animals, and squeezed out all the humours, and has afterwards restored them perfectly to sight; nay, that the eyes of many, instead of being damaged thereby, seemed more lively and vigorous than before. The second humour, termed, improperly enough, the chrystalline, consists of many thousand filaments, tending from the circumference to the’ centre, and closely woven together. It is a little convex before, and more behind. It serves to refract the rays of light, so that they may meet and form an image, on the bottom of the eye. It is set in the forepart of the vitreous humour’, like a diamond in its collet, and is retained there by a membrane that surrounds it, thence called its apsula. It is toward the outside like a jelly; but toward the centre as hard as salt. Time figure of tire outer part is varied by a ligament annext, which can make it either more or less convex, or move it to or from the retina. And this is absolutely necessary in order to distinct vision: for as the rays of distant objects diverge less than those of nearer objects, the chrystalline must either be made less convex, or be set farther from the retina. When dried, it appears to consist of a vast number of thin, round scales, one upon another, 2000 of which have been counted in one chrystalline. Each of these consists of a single fibre, wound this way and that, in a stupendous manner, so as to run several courses, and meet in as many centres, and yet not interfere or cross in any place. The third, which is termed the VITREOUS HUMOUR, is not unlike melted glass. It is covered with an exceeding thin coat. The forepart is concave, as receiving the chrystalline; the other side is convex. The whole apparatus of the eye tends to this, that there be produced in the bottom of it, a distinct collection of all the rays, which proceeding from any point of an object, penetrate the chrystalline humour, that so an image of that object may be painted there. In order to this, the rays striking on the cornea, are reflected toward the perpendicular, and thus directed through the pupil to the chrystalline. Mean time the iris, contracting or dilating the pupil, admits fewer or more rays, as the object is more or less vivid. Now the flatter the cornea is, the fewer rays does it collect and transmit to the chrystalline, and those more diverging. The rounder it is, the more rays does it collect and transmit, and those more converging. It is too flat In old men; it is too round in them that are short sight-sighted. Time rays transmitted through the pupil to the chrystalline humour, are there refracted anew, collected and rendered converging, and those that come from the same point, are thrown in one point on the bottom of the eye. But if the chrystalline be too dense, the focus, or point wherein they unite, will be too near; if that be not dense enough, it will be too remote. And this is another cause of short-sighted.. ness, or the contrary defect. In all vision both the eyes are used at once. And both together (as any one will find upon trial) behold an object in another situation than either of them apart would do. Hence, a gentleman who had one of his eyes struck out, for some months after was apt to mistake the situation of things; and when he attempted to pour liquors into phials, often poured them quite beside the neck of the phials. Two eyes greatly contribute, if not to distinct, at least to extensive vision. When an object is placed at a moderate distance, by the means of both eyes to see a larger share of it than we possibly could with one; the right eye seeing a greater portion of its right side, and the left eye of its correspondent side. Thus both eyes in some measure see round the object; and it is this that gives it in nature, that bold relieve, or swelling, with which it appears; and which no painting, how exquisite soever, can attain to. The ‘painter must be contented with shading on a flat surface; but the eyes, in observing nature, do not behold’ the shading only, but a part of the figure also, that lies behind those very shadings, which gives it that swelling, which painters can never fully imitate. There is another defect, which either of the eyes, taken singly, would have, but which is corrected, by having the organ double. In either eye there is a point, which has no vision, so that if one of them only is employed in seeing, there is a part of time object to which it is always totally blind. This is that part of the optic nerve where its vein and artery run: that point of the object that is painted there, must continue unseen. To be convinced of this, we have only to try a very easy experiment. If we take three black patches, and stick them upon a white wall, about a foot distant from each other, each about as high as the eye that is to observe them; then retiring six or seven feet back, and shutting one eye, by trying sometime, we shall find, that while we distinctly behold the black spots that are to the right and left, that which is in the middle remains totally unseen. When we bring that part of the eye, where the optic artery runs, to fall upon the object, it will become invisible. This defect, in either eye, is corrected by both, since the part of the object that is unseen by one, will be distinctly perceived by the other. The form of the eye is the most commodious which can be imagined. It is fitest both to contain the humours within, and to receive the images of objects from. without. Was it square, or of any multangular form, some of its parts would lie too far off, and some too nigh those lenticular humours, which by their refractions cause vision. But by means of this form, the humours are fitly placed to perform their office of refraction, and the little darkened cell neatly adapted to receive the image of the object. Again: as it is necessary for the eye to move various ways, in order to adjust itself to various objects; soby this figure it is well prepared for such motions, and can %Ixh ease direct itself as occasion requires. No less commodious is the situation of the eye: in the most eminent part of the body, and near the most sensible part, the brain. By its eminence in the body, it can take in the more objects: and by ‘its situation in the head, beside its nearness to the brain, it is most conveniently placed for defence and security. In the hand it might have been more ready for service: but to how many dangers would it. have been exposed The same may be said, as to its site in any other part but where it is. But the head is a part that seems contrived and made, chiefly for the use of the principle senses. Some odd circumstances relative to the eyes, are related by a physician in the “Philosophical Transactions.” “A person had no visible disease in his eyes, yet could not see, unless he squeezed his nose with his fingers, or saddled it with narrow spectacles, and then he saw very well. “A maid, 23 years old, could see very well, but no colour besides white or black. She could sometimes, in the greatest darkness, see to read almost a quarter of an hour. “A saddler’s daughter had an imposthume, which broke in the corner of her eyes; and out of it there came about thirty stones, as big as small pearls. “A young man in Suffolk, about twenty years of age, has. all the day a clear and strong sight. But when twilight comes, he is quite blind; nor can he see any thing at all, either by fire-light or candle-light. No glasses give him any help. He has been thus, ever since he can remember. This cloudiness comes gradually upon him, like a mist, as day-light declines. It is just the same, both in summer and winter, and at all times of the moon. “When I was about sixty my sight was so decayed, that I could not distinguish men from women. I received no help from any glasses, till I took spectacles with the largest circles. Close to the upper. semicircle on both sides, I cut the bone, and taking out the glasses, put black Spanish leather, taper-wise, into the emptied circles. These took in my whole eye at the wider end, and through the nai’rower end I can read the smallest print. Into this end I can only put my little finger, not quite to the first joint. But they may be made wider or narrower, and longer or shorter, as best fits every eye. “At first I could not bear them above two hours at a time: now I can use them above twelve hours in twenty-four. And they prove a great help to those who are purblind, who have weak eyes, or decayed with age. But for’ the purblind they must be made shorter: longer for eyes. decayed with age. “Instead of leather, they may be made of paper, coloured black and pasted on; and with inner folds to be drawn out, from one inch to three.” In some men the iris has a faculty of darting out light. Dr. Willis mentions one, who, after drinking wine plentifully, could see to read in the darkest night. And Pliny records of Tiberias Cesar, that if he waked in the night, he could see every thing for awhile, as in the broad day-light. Dr. Briggs gives a parallel instance of a gentleman in Bedfordshire. We find various substitutes for the use of the eyes, in many blind persons. In. some the defect has been supplied, by an excellent gift of remembering what they had seen; in some by ft delicate sense of smelling; in others, by a fine sense of hearing. So Richard Clutterbuck, of Redborough, in Gloucestershire, who was stone-blind, had so curious an ear, that he could hear the fine sand of an hour-glass fall. In some it has been supplied by an exquisite sense of feeling: so that the same Richard Clutter-buck was able to perform all sorts of curious works. lie could not only take a watch in pieces, and set it together again, but could also make all sorts of stringed instruments ol music. He likewise played on them by notes cut in their usual form, and set upon protuberant lines on the wood. Yet even this hardly came up to the skill of Van Eyck, the organist of Utrecht, who, though he had been blind from two years old, played on all sorts of instruments, Others have been able to take a face by the touch, and mould it in wax with the utmost exactness: as was the blind sculptor, who thus took the likeness of the duke de Bracciano, and made a marble statue of king Charles the first, extremely well. 26. But more than all this, some persons have been able ‘even to distinguish colours by the touch. Peter of Maestricht, though perfectly blind, distinguished by his touch the different colours of cloth. John Vermaasen, of Utrecht, did the same; judging by the different degrees of roughness which he felt. Yet blind persons, even though they distinguish them by the touch, have no idea of visible objects. Thus the gentleman couched by Dr. Chesselden; he had no idea of distance, but imagined all the objects he saw, touched his eyes, in the same manner as those he felt did his skin. An extract from Dr. Chesselden’s account of this person, will not be unacceptable to the curious. “ This young gentleman could, in a strong light, distinguish black, white, and scarlet. Yet tire faint ideas he had of them before he was couched, did not suffice to make him know them after. He now thought scarlet the most beautiful of all colours. Of others, the most gay, were the most pleasing. But the first time he saw black, he was very uneasy; yet after awhile he was reconciled to it. When he first saw, no objects were so agreeable to him as those that were smooth and regular: although he knew not the shape of any thing, nor could distinguish one from another, either by its shape or size. Being told what those things were, whose forms he knew by feeling, he would carefully observe, that he might know them again. Thus having often forgot which was the cat and which the dog, he was ashamed to ask; but catching the cat, which he knew by feeling, he looked at her stedfastly, and said, “ So, puss, I shall know you another time.” He was surprised that the things or persons he liked best, did not appear most agreeable to his sight, expecting that what was most pleasing to his other senses, would be so to his sight also. We thought he soon knew the nature of pictures; but found afterward we were mistaken: for’ it was two months after the operation, before he discovered that they represented solid bodies. Even then he was no less surprised, expecting they would feel like the things they represented. He was amazed, that those parts, which by their light and shade appeared round and uneven, should feel like the rest, and asked, which was the lying sense, feeling or seeing Being shewn his father’s picture, drawn in miniature, and told what it was, he acknowledged the. likeness; but asked, how it could be, that so large a face should be contained in so little room Saying, it would have seemed as impossible to him, as to put a bushel of any thing into a pint. But even blindness, he observed, had this advantage, that lie could go any where hi the dark, better than those that could see. And after’ he was couched he did not lose it, but could go all about the house without a light. Every new object gave him new delight, such as he wanted words to express. He was particularly delighted when he first saw a large prospect, and called it a new kind of seeing. Being afterwards couched in his other eye, he said that objects appeared larger to this eye; though not so large as they did to the other, when it was newly couched. But looking on them with both eyes, they seemed twice as large as if he looked with that only." 27. I would beg leave to propose a few queries here, to which I have not found a satisfactory answer. 1. Why do we see things false with one eye Particularly with regard to their situation. 2. How do the two eyes compound the rays of light, so as to see right 3. Why do we not see all things double 4. Since all things are painted upside down on the bottom of the eye, why do we not see them so 28. We now proceed to the EAR, formed with exquisite wisdom, for the reception of sounds. The OUTWARD EAR consisting of an oval cartilage, externally convex, concave within, leads by various windings to tire meatus auditorius, which is first catilaginous, and then bony. It is filled with a viscid matter, called the EAR-WAX, which is supplied from the vessels placed in the skin, surrounding the meatus, to hinder any hurtful animal from creeping into tire car. The meatus is closed within by a thin, dry, transparent membrane, affixt to a bony circle, which is called the membrana tympani. Behind it is that cavity of the os petrosum, which is termed the DRUM. The outward ear has two parts, that which stands out from the head, called the AURICLE, and the narrow passage which enters the skull, called meatus auditorius. The auricle is furrowed with divers winding canals, which receive and collect the various undulations of the air. They who have lost this, hear very confusedly, unless they use a trumpet, or form a cavity round the ear with their hands. It is a wise provision, that tire substance of the auricle is cartilaginous. Had it been bone, it would have been troublesome, and might by many accidents have been broken off. If flesh, it would neither have remained expanded, nor so well have received or conveyed the sounds. Rather it would have blunted them, and retarded their progress into tire organ. But being hard, and curiously smooth and winding, sounds find an easy passage, with a regular refraction, as in a well-built arch. It is observable, that in infants in the womb, and newly-born, the meatus auditorius is close shut up, Partly by the construction of the passage, and partly by a glutinous substance, whereby the drum is guarded against the water in the secundine, and against tire injuries of the air, as soon as the infant is born. It is remarkable, that in the ear of most, if not all animals, where the meatus auditorius is long enough to afford harbour to EAR-WIGS, or other insects, ear-wax is constantly to be found. But in birds, whose cars are covered with feathers, and where the drum lies but a little within the skull, no car-wax is found, because none is necessary to the ears so well guarded, and so little tunnelled. 29. In this, besides a little branch of nerves, there are four little bones, two passages, and two windows. Three of those bones, from some imagined resemblance, are stiled the hammer, the anvil, and the staple: the fourth is termed, the orbicular bone. These are fastened by strong ligaments to each other, and to the neighbouring parts. The passages go from the side of the drum: one of which, termed the labyrinth, by a very winding way, carries a part of the auditory nerve to the external muscles of the head. The other passes from the bottom of the drum to the palate; whereby not only air, if needful, may be received, but the defect of hearing, in some measure supplied by speaking to the mouth, The LABYRINTH contains, besides the entrance, three bony, semicircular cavities, and a bony canal, in the form of a screw, divided into two parts, from the top to the bottom. The labyrinth is lined throughout with a thin membrane, furnished with veins, arteries and nerves. And this membrane may not improbably be the organ of hearing. The curious structure of the labyrinth and screw, tend to make the weakest sounds audible. Those canals, by their winding, contain large portions of the auditory nerve, upon every point of which, at once the sound being imprest, becomes audible; and by their narrowness the sounds are hindered from dilating, which. must have weakened them proportionably. The strength of the impression is likewise increased, by the elasticity of the sides of the bony canal; which receiving the first impulses of the air, reverberate them on the auditory nerve. The AUDITORY NERVES are distributed, one to the ear, the other to the eye, tongue, and parts adjoining. By the distribution thereof to different parts, an admirable consent is established between them. Hence it is, that most animals hearing a strange sound, erect their ears to catch it, open their eyes, and are ready with their mouth, to shriek or call for help. A farther use of this nervous communication between the ear and the mouth, is, that the voice may correspond with the hearing, and be a kind of echo thereof: and that what is heard with one of these nerves, may readily be expressed by the help of the other. And now, what less than an infinitely wise God, could contrive so fine an organ, and such a medium, so susceptible of every impression, that the sense of hearing hath occasion for, to empower all animals to express their meaning to each other, with endless variety Yea, what less could form such an economy as that of music is So that the medium conveys the melodious vibration of every animal voice or well-tuned instrument, and the ear receives them, to allay the perturbations, and calm and cheer the heart of man! Though the ear be the ordinary organ of hearing, yet it is not the only one. We may hear by the teeth: for if one end of a knife be applied to a spinnet, and the other held between the teeth, the music will be distinctly heard, though the ears he ever so closely stopped. Yet this is not properly by the teeth, but by the auditory nerve which passes from the drum to the palate. In those who are born deaf, the eyes may in some measure serve in the place of ears. Some can understand what is said, by nicely observing the lips and tongue of the speaker: and may even accustom themselves to use their own, till they learn a kind of speech. Thus a physician at Amsterdam taught several children, born deal;, to understand what was said, and to give pertinent answers. Mr. Goddy’s daughter, of Geneva, lost her hearing at two years old. Yet by observing the lips of others, she had acquired many words, whereby she would talk whole clays with those that could understand her. But she knew nothing of what was said, unless she saw the mouth of the speaker: so that if they wanted to speak to her in the night, they were obliged to light a candle. Only she knew what her sister said even in the dark, by laying her hand on her mouth. But.’ many deaf persons can hear, if a loud noise be made while you speak. Dr. Willis mentions one, who, if a drum was heat in the room, could hear very clearly. So that her husband hired a drummer for his servant, and by that means conversed with her daily. 30. The NOSTRILS are made not of flesh or bone, but of cartilage, the better to be kept open, and as occasion requires, to’ be dilated or contracted: for which purpose they are furnished with proper and curious muscles. The tubes therein growing narrower and narrower, lead into several little cells and winding cavities, covered with a soft coat, and provided with arteries, veins, glands, and filaments of the olfactory nerves. This therefore is without all doubt the proper organ of smelling. And forasmuch as it is by breathing, that the odorant particles are drawn in, the laming with which the upper part of the nose is barricaded, serve two excellent purposes; partly to prevent any thing hurtful from entering the breathing passages in our sleep, for which end likewise the hairs placed at the entrance of the nostrils serve, and partly to receive the divarications of the olfactory nerves, which are here thick spread, and by this means meet the smells entering with the breath. Each of the CARTILAGINOUS LAMIN is divided into many others, folded into a spiral line. The os cribro8um is made up of the extremities of these; the holes therein being the intervals between them. They are designed to uphold the inner tunic of the nose, which is folded round about together with these lamina that by its great expansion it may receive a greater number of the odorant particles. For the same reason, it is furnished with many small glands, which open into it, and moisten it with a slimy exsudation, fitted to entangle and detain the subtile effluvia that touch it. And not only the number, but also the length of these lamin, is of great use for the strength of smelling. Fr this purpose most beasts, which either hunt, or distinguish their food by smell, have not their nose in the middle of their face, like a man, but prolonged to the very end. 31. The TONGUE has for its basis that forked bone, called the os gutturis. It consists of various muscles interwoven together, that it may be fit for various kinds of motion. To these are added very many small branches of nerves, which pass through time middle of it to the outside, and being gathered into little bundles constitute those papilla, which makes its surface rough and uneven. Besides these, there appear also on the surface of the tongue, certain pointed fibres, not unlike the ends of birds’ claws, inclining toward the basis of it, with which are interspersed innumerable salival glands. And all these are in their several ways subservient to the sense of tasting. It has been generally supposed, that the tongue is essentially necessary to the formation of speech. But as sure as we have been of this, it is an entire mistake. A child in Essex, sonic years ago, had her tongue entirely cut out, by reason of an incurable canker. She was then three years old. Twenty years after, it was reported, that she was able to speak. To be satisfied hereof, Mr. Benjamin Boddington, Turkey-merchant, of Ipswich, with two other gentlemen, went to. Wickham Market, where the young woman then lived, whose case they thus describe. “ We have this day been at Wickham Market, to satisfy ourselves concerning Margaret Cutting. We examined her mouth with the greatest exactness, but found no part of the tongue remaining; nor was there any uvula. The passage down the throat is a circular open hole, large enough to admit a small nutmeg. “Notwithstanding this, she swallowed both solids and fluids, as well as we could do. and in the Same manner. Yea, and she talked as fluently as other persons do. She pronounced letters and syllables very articulately, even those which seem necesšarily to require the help of the tongue, as d, 1, t, w. She read to us in a book distinctly; she sings very prettily; nay, and she distinguishes tastes, and can tell the least difference either in taste or smell.” But is it possible to teach any one to speak, who has been deaf and dumb from his birth It is. Dr. Wallis taught such an one to speak: Mr. Daniel Whaley, of Northampton. He was present before the royal society, May 21, 1662, and did there pronounce, distinctly enough, such words as the company proposed to him: indeed not altogether with the usual tone, yet s as easily to be understood. In a year, which was the time he stayed with Dr. Wallis, he read over great part of the English bible, and learned to express himself intelligibly in common affairs, to understand letters written to him, and to answer them. And in the presence of many foreigners, he has not only read English and Latin to them, but has pronounced the most -difficult words in their languages, which they could propose to him. The doctor has since done’ the same for Mr. Alexander Popham, a gentleman of a fair estate. But we have an instance of dumbness cured in a .shorter time. Henry Axford, son of Henry Axford, in the Devizes, at twenty-eight years of age, perceived a hoarseness, and in about six days became quite speechles; not only unable to speak articulately, but to utter the least sound with his tongue. His cold went off, but he remained absolutely speechless; and the advice of all the neighbouring physicians did not help him. He continued totally dumb for four years, till in July, 1 741, being at Stoke, in returning homeward at night, he fell from his horse, and was taken up and put to bed in a house on the road. He soon fell asleep, and dreamed he was fallen into a vessel of boiling wort. Struggling with all his might to call for help, he actually did call aloud, and recovered the use of his tongue from that moment, as perfectly as ever he had it in his life. Perhaps, therefore, there is truth in that ancient story, concerning the son of king Croesus: namely, having been dumb from his birth, he never had spoke at all, till in the battle, seeing a man ready to kill his father, his tongue was loosed, and he cried out aloud “soldier, spare the king !“ The time of cutting the teeth is usually from the seventh to the seventeenth month. It is commonly preceded by an itching of the gums, and by convulsions, fevers, and looseness: most of which symptoms happen to birds also, upon moulting or casting their feathers. The seed of the teeth is a mucous matter, like the white of an egg, contained in the cells of the jaw-bone, which grows harder and bigger till it breaks through the gum. The part of the tooth which stands out of the gum, is covered with a peculiar substance called ENAMEL. It is composed of an infinity of little tubes, which grow on the bone by their root. If any part of this be broken off, so that the bone be left bare, it grows carious; there being no bone which will bear the air. We may farther observe, 1. That the teeth only, of all the bones, grow in length during a man’s whole life: which is providentially designed, to repair the waste that is continually made by attrition; 2. That the teeth are the only bones which are not covered with that exquisitely sensible membrane, the perios teum; 3. That they are harder and firmer than any other bone, that they may be more durable and fit to chew the most solid aliments; 4. That for their nourishment, there is a cavity contrived in each side of the jaw-bone, in which are lodged an artery, a vein, and a nerve, which through smaller cavities send their twigs to every tooth; 5. That as infants are designed to live on milk for some months, they are so long without any teeth: whereas animals that need them, have them sooner, and some are even born with them. 6. The different shape of the teeth is remarkable: the fore-teeth are formed broad, and with a thin and sharp edge, like chissels, to cut off a morsel from any solid food. The next, one on each side, are stronger, deeper-rooted, and more pointed, to tear tougher aliments; the rest are made fiat and broad at top, and withal somewhat uneven, that thereby they may retain, grind and mix the aliment. 7. Because biting and chewing require much strength, partly in the teeth themselves, partly in the instruments that move the lower jaw, which alone is moveable; nature has given it strong muscles, which make it bear forcibly against the upper jaw: and has not only fixt each tooth in a distinct cavity, as in a close, strong and deep socket; but has given holdfasts to the several sorts of teeth, suitable to the stress that is to be laid upon them. So whereas the cutters and eye-teeth have only one root, the grinders, designed for harder work, have three: in the upper jaw often four, because they are pendulous, and the substance of the jaw somewhat softer. 8. The situation of the teeth is most convenient. The grinders are behind, near the centre of motion, because chewing requires a considerable force: the cutters before, ready for their easier work. 32. The PALATE is of a bony substance, .a little concave, anti clothed with a thick membrane, which has the same kind of nervous papilla and small glands, that are seen in the surface of the tongue; and hence it is qualified to assist the taste as well as the speech. It would be endless to specify the curious mechanism of all the parts that concur to form the voice; however let us note two things: 1. There are thirteen muscles provided for moving the live cartilages of the wind-pipe. 2. It is amazing that the glottis (the upper part of the wind.pipe), can so exquisitely contract or dilate itself, to form all notes. “ Suppose,” says Dr. Keil, “the greatest distance of the two sides of the glottis to be one-tenth of an inch, in sounding twelve notes, to which the voice easily reaches, this line must be divided into twelve parts, each of which gives the aperture requisite for such a note. But if we consider the subdivision of notes into which the voice can run, the motion of the sides of the glottis is still vastly nicer: for if of two chords, sounding exactly unisons, one be shortened but the two-thousandth part of its length, a just ear will perceive the disagreement, and a good voice will sound the difference; and yet this is only the one-hundredth and ninety-sixth part of a note. But suppose the voice can divide only into a hundred parts, it follows, that the different apertures of the glottis, actually divide the tenth part of an inch, into twelve hundred parts, the effect of each of which produces a sensible alteration upon a good ear.” 33. The UVULA is a round, oblong, fleshy substance, suspended near the passage from the mouth into the nostrils, and probably designed to hinder the cold air from rushing too fast into the lungs, as well as to prevent the food we swallow from regurgitating into the nostrils. The TONSILS, or almonds of the ear, are two small glands, placed at the root of the tongue, which supply an humour, to keep the mouth and the tongue continually moist. The WIND-PIPE is wonderful in its conformation, because con tinual respiration is necessary; it is made with annular cartilages, to keep it constantly open, that its sides may not fall together; and lest, when we swallow, any particle of food should fall in, which might cause convulsions, or even death, it has a strong shutter, or lid, called the epiglottis, which, whenever we eat or drink, falls down of itself, and covers it close, so that no crum or drop can enter. It is for the more convenient bending of our necks, that the wind-pipe is not made of one entire continued cartilage, but of many circular ones. What is farther remarkable in these cartilages is, that all the way where they are contiguous to the gullet, they are membranous, to give an easy passage to the food; but after that, they are, some completely round, some triangular. Another thing observable is, in the wind-pipe, the cartilages run parallel to each other; but, in the lungs, the lower-parts of the superior cartilages, receive the upper parts of the inferior: hereby enabling them to contract themselves in expiration, and to dilate in inspiration. 34. The HAIRS all hollow. The root of each hair is fixt in a mucous globule, of an oval figure, which often adheres to it, when it is pulled up by the root. They are jointed like a reed or cane, and shoot out into small branches. They serve not only for a covering, but also for the excretion and expiration of an oily matter. Every hair does properly live, and receive nourishment like the other parts. The roots do not turn white or grey in age, any sooner than the extremes; but the whole of each hair changes colour at once. Or, to speak more properly, the hairs of another colour fall off, and white ones grow in their place. But extreme fear may turn the hair grey, or even white in a short space. So it was in that famous instance some years ago. A nobleman, in Germany, was condemned to die, and ordered for execution in the morning. During the night, in ten or twelve hours time, all his hair turned white as flax. The emperor being informed of this, said, “he has suffered enough ;“ and pardoned him. Since that time, there has been an instance of one of our own countrymen, who being ship-wrecked, saved himself on a small rock, surrounded by the sea. A boat took him off after he had stayed there four hours. But in that space his hair was turned quite white. Perhaps a still stranger instance of this kind is related in the duke of Sully’s memoirs. “Henry IV. told the marquis De ha Force, that the moment he was informed Henry the III. had published an edict (in July, 1585), ordering all the Hugonots either to go to mass, or to abandon the kingdom in six months, his mustaches tm-ned suddenly white on that side of Ins face which he supported with his hand.” Its life is a peculiar kind, and approaches to the nature of vegetation. Hairs grow much as plants grow out of the earth, or as some plants grow upon others: from wimich they draw their nourishment, and yet each has its life distinct from the other. So hair derives its food from some juices in the body; but not from the nutricious juices. Accordingly the hair may live and grow, while the body is starved to death, That hair may grow, merely as an excressence of the vegetable kind, appears from that memorable case recited by Mr. Hook, of a body which, having been buried forty-three years, was found in a manner wholly converted into hair. The woman was buried in a coffin of wood, and lay the lowest of three in the same grave. Time others being removed, and this coffin appearing, it was observed that much hair came though the clefts of it; on removing the lid, the whole appeared a very surprising sight. There was time whole figure of the corpse, exhibiting time eyes, mouth, ears, and every part. But. from the crown of the head, even to the sole of the foot, it was covered over with a very thick set hair; long, and much curled, The people, amazed at this appearance, went to touch the corpse; but the shape fell away, as it was handled, leaving only a quantity of shapeless hair; but neither flesh nor bones, only a small part of the great toe of the right foot. Each hair consists of several smaller ones, wrapt up in one common covering. They send out branches at the joints. The root lies pretty deep in the skin: and by this they imbibe their proper nourishment, from the adjacent humours. Their extremes also split into two or three branches, especially if they are very dry, or too long. So that what appears a single hair to the naked eye, to the microscope appears a brush. They are grey on the fore part of the head first, particularly about the temples: the back part affords them nourisimment longer. For the same reason they fall from the crown of time head first. Their thickness depends on the size of the pores they issue from: if these are small, the hair is fine, If the pores be straight, the hairs are straight; if oblique or sinuous, the hairs are curled. All hairs appear round. But the microscope discovers some of them to be square, others triangular; which diversity of figures arises merely from the diversity of the pores. Their length depends on the quantity of homours proper to feed them, and their colour on the quality. And hence the colour usually differs in the different stages of life. The hair of a’ mouse is a transparent tube, with a pith of small fibres convolved, running in some hairs spirally, in some transversely, in others from top to bottom. The NAILS are of the nature and fabric of the cuticle, like which, they are also insensible, and renewable, after being cut or fallen off. They are placed upon the backs of the ends of the fingers and toes, which they support to make a due resistance in the apprehension of objects, having the nervous papillary bodies, that serve the organ of touch, placed under their lower surface. They arise with a square root, intermixed with the periosteum, a little before the last joints, from betwixt the outer and inner stratum of the skin, and, passing on soft, go out by a lunar cleft in the external plate of the skin, where the cuticle returns back, and enters into a close adhesion with the root of the nail, together with which it is extended as an outer covering. 35. We proceed to the middle cavity of the body. Herein the principal part is the HEART, consisting of a strong tendon, extended obliquely from the basis or broader part, to the cone, into which ,the fleshy fibres are inserted, in an elegant series, with a spiral bending, one half opposite to, and crossing the other: by which means the grand muscle is admirably fitted both to receive and to propel time blood. It has two great cavities, usually termed the vENTRICLES of the heart. They are divided from each other by an intermediate part called the septurn, constituted by the same fibres, which is convex on the side next the right ventricle, and concave on time other. The vena cava is inserted in time .right ventricle, and two inches from its insertion, divides into time upper and lower. The former brings the blood into it from tile upper; the latter, from the lower parts of the body. The PULMONARY ARTERY carries the blood from that ventricle into the lungs, which the PULMONARY VEIN brings from thence into the left ventricle. At the upper side of these veins, ,there is added to each ventricle, a kind of purse called the AURICLE, which is a hollow muscle of the same structure as the heart, in order to stay the blood, that it pour not too violently into the ventricle. Before the orifices of the veins of the heart, there are triangular valves’, and semilunar in the orifices of the arteries, to hinder the reflux of time blood, from the ventricles into the veins, and from the arteries into the ventricles In a healthy person, the heart contracts little less than five thousand times in an hour. 36. The heart is covered with a fine membrane; and near the base of it, on the outside, there is a little fat, probably designed to facilitate its motion. It is placed near the middle of the breast; only its cone inclines a little to the left: It hangs by its base on veins and arteries, communicating with all parts of the body. The other part of it is loose in the PERICARDIUM, that it may be the more commodiously’ constringed arid dilated. The pericardium is a kind of membrane, that like a kind of purse, loosely encloses the heart. The shape of it is suited to that of the heart, and it contains a thin, saltish, reddish humour, exuding from the arteries. The brain has an alternate contraction and dilation, answering those of the heart- It is highly probable, the weight of time atmosphere is the counterpoise to the contractile force of the heart. That of the brain being not near so strong, does not need so strong a counterpoise. In the basis of the heart, in some animals, there is a bone frequently found. Such an one was found in the heart of pope Urban. Probably it was only the tendons of the heart ossified. Wounds of the heart are not always so immediately mortal as is generally supposed. A soldier was brought into one of the hospitals in Paris, with a wound in the upper part of the left breast. lie seemed very well for three days: but on the fourth was taken with a fever and difficulty of breathing, and died on the tenth. On ‘opening the body, it was found the sword had pierced the pericardium, traversed the right ventricle of the heart in its lower part, pierced the pericardium on the opposite side, and gone through the diaphragm, and an inch deep into, the liver. 37. The heart is placed in the middle of the LUNGS, which consist of two parts, the right and left lobe. Each of these is divided into two other lobes; one of these frequently into three, sometimes into four, by fisures, sometimes deeper, sometimes shallower, running from the interior margin towards the back part. The lungs are divided into cells, which are no other than expansions of the small branches of the trachea or wind-pipe. And there is an easy passage from one branch into many cells, and again into it from them all. Time upper part of the trachea opens into the mouth; the lower, divided into two branches, shoots out into various ramifications, which are termed bronchia. And these little canals running on, constitute the lungs, whose cells are wonderfully connected together, and intermixed with numberless branches of veins and arteries. The upper end of the trachea is called the LARYNX. At the fourth vertebre of the back, it divides and enters the lungs. Its cartilages, ranged at small and equal distances, are smaller and smaller as they approach the lungs. These cartilages have two membranes. The external, composed of circular fibres, covers the whole trachea. That which lines it within, consists of three distinct membranes: the first woven of two orders of fibres, part longitudinal, to shorten it by drawing the cartilages together; part circular, to contract them. Both these together, with the external membrane, assist in breathing, coughing, and varying the tone of voice. The second membrane is glandulous; and its glands opening into time cavity of the trachea, separate a liquor which moistens and defends it from the acrimony of time air. The third is a net-work of nerves, veins, and arteries. The organs which form the voice of man, have not been accurately observed by the ancients. As the trachea bears some resemblance to a flute, they considered the voice according to the sounds of that instrument. Mr. Dodart was the first who she wed the glottis to be the chief organ in producing it, and considered it both as a string and wind instrument, far more perfect than any which art can produce. The organs which form the various voices of other animals, are likewise worthy of our attention. Those of each species have peculiar sounds, whereby they understand each other. Wherein do these organs resemble ours and wherein do they differ The human voice is almost wholly formed by the glottis, and various tones are produced by time various modifications of it. But all these. depend on one only: the separation and junction of its lips. This comprehends two circumstances, time one capital and primitive; time other, a consequence of it. The first is, that the lips are more and more bent, from the lowest to the highest note. The second, that the more they bend, the nearer they draw to each other. It follows from the first, that their vibrations will be more frequent, as they come nearer the highest tone, and that time voice will be exact when they are equally bent, and the reverse when unequally: which corresponds perfectly well with the nature of stringed-instruments. It follows from the second, that the higher the tone, the nearer they draw to each other. And this agrees perfectly with those wind-instruments which are governed by reeds. From these simple, and almost imperceptible variations, proceed the infinite variety of sounds. In most quadrupeds too the glottis is the principal organ of the voice. So it is in cats, sheep, and several others. But many have something more than a glottis; as horses, asses, mules, and Swine. Some of these have also a tendinous membrane, which concurs in forming the voice. 0thers have several membranes; others a kind of bags, which in some are membranous, and in others bony. Others have both membranes .and bags. Others, lastly, have in their larynx a kind of cavity or drum, which assists them in uttering very strong and long continued notes. All sounds are produced by a swift succession of vibrations, from the particles of sonorous bodies, which agitate the air. But the vibrations of the lips of the glottis would not suffice to produce the neighing of a horse. This begins by more or less acute interrupted tones, accompanied by quaverings, and ends by tones more or less grave, which is performed by jirks. This second part is. done by the lips of the glottis; the other chiefly by a small, elastic membrane. This is tendinous, very thin, of a triangular figure, and lies fiat on each extremity of the lips of time glottis. As it adheres but loosely to these, it can easily flutter up and down; and it is the play of the membrane up’ and down which produces the acute sounds of neighing. These are more or less acute, as the membrane is more or less thin, and its adhesion more or less slack. The grave sounds that conclude the neighing, are excited by the fluttering of the thick strings which form the lips of the glottis. The hoarse sound of the ass’s voice, is not so much produced by the lips of the glottis, as by a tendinous part which adheres loosely on the aperture of a kind of drum, situate under the extremity of time lips of the glottis: above which are also found two large and thick bags, one on the right, the other on the left. Each of these has a roundish aperture, cut much like the stopple of an organ. Such are the organs which form this amazing sound. A kind of drum is the principal; and the two bags above the lips of the glottis arc the main auxiliaries; while those lips, as plain experiments shew, contribute very little thereto. The mule’s voice much resembles that of his sire, and is formed by much the same organs: the drum, of so singular a composition, being found in mules also. There is another animal which affords us a particular disposition of the vocal organs. T his is the hog; whose shrill cries are more insupportable than his usual grunting. Yet neither are these excited by the lips of the glottis, but by the fluttering of two large membranous bags, situated on each side, above the lips of the glottis. What is most remarkable is, that each lid is cloven, almost its whole length. By this cleft each lip has a communication with the bag belonging to it; and the motions of these bags produce most of the sounds peculiar to this animal. Though the voice of birds bears a nearer resemblance to ours, than that of quadrupeds, yet their organs have far less resemblance to ours, and contain a greater number of singularities. They, like us, have a glottis at the top of the trachea; but they have another at the bottom of it, which much contributes both to the strengthening and modifying of their voice. These have different membranes more or less fine, more or less bent, and in a variety of positions. In some birds, as in geese, there are four of these, figured and disposed like the reeds in hautboys. With regard to the human voice, an ingenious man observes: “ Sitting in company, I chanced to take notice, that in ordinary discourse, all that is spoke, is spoken in perfect notes; and that some of the company used eighths, some fifths, and others thirds. I observed likewise of him whose speech was the most pleasing, that all the tones he used, consisted either of concords, or of such discords as made up harmony." ‘Cutting the trachea was long reputed mortal: but it is now usual to open it in dangerous quinsies. This, physicians were at first encouraged to do, from the case of a Cornish gentleman, who had his wind-pipe quite cut through, and yet was cured and lived several years after. 38. In order to the admission and expulsion of the air by the lungs, it is necessary the breast should be contracted and dilated. This end is served by the bony part of the THORAX, the INTERCOSTAL muscles, and the DIAPHRAGM a broad, muscular part, reaching across the breast, and dividing the middle from the lower cavity. It runs obliquely from the aternon and ribs before, to the vertebra of the loins behind. 39. The whole thorax is covered on the inside with a firm, white membrane, called the PLEURA. It is double throughout, consisting of two folds: the innermost whereof has a smooth surface, that it may not hurt the tender substance of the lungs; the surface of the outer is rough and uneven. From the pleura rises the MEDIASTINUM, which is a double membrane, that divides the lungs and the cavity of the thorax lengthways into two parts. 40. On the slightest observation we cannot but acknowledge, the consummate wisdom wherewith the external parts of time middle cavity are formed, for beauty, as well as for the defence of the internal. This is commodiously connected with the head, by the neck. The BREAST, or fore part of the thorax, which begins at the throat, and ends at the STERNON, or breast-bone, is an admirable guard to the noblest parts. To the same end serve the SHOULDER-BLADES and the BACK-BONE, as well as to support the whole fabric. The BREASTS consist of numberless oval glands, intermixed with globular vessels of fat. Their ducts, as they approach the nipple, unite together, till they form eight or more small pipes, communicating with each other by cross canals, which are of great use, when some of them happen to be obstructed. These tubes are in some parts narrower, in some wider, so as to form cells, which hinder the efflux of the milk. The PAPS consist chiefly of the concurrence of these tubes, but with a glandulous substance intermixt. There are likewise joined herewith abundance of fibres, from the external teguments of the breasts, by means of which the tubes are constringed, and the motion of the milk is modified. In virgins, the glands of the breasts are so contracted, that no blood can enter them. But when the womb swells with the foetus, and compresses the descending trunk of the great artery, the blood forces its way into them. They admit thicker and thicker serum, till after the birth, they run with a thick milk, It is more difficult to account for the milk which some men have in considerable plenty. Thus in the year 1684, a countryman, called Billardino di Billo, living in a village near Nocoera, in Umbria, when. his wife was dead, ‘took the child, and put the pies of his breasts into its mouth, invited it to suck; which the infant did, and after several times drawing, fetched some milk. After a while it brought down the milk so plentifully, as to nourish it for many months till it was weaned. Almost as strange is the following account: “ One informing me of an old woman that gave suck, I went to the house in Tottenham-court-road. Her name is Elizabeth Bryan. She is in the 68th year of her age, and has not borne a child for many years: her face is withered, her cheeks and mouth sunk in: but her breasts are full, fair, and void of wrinkles. About four years ago, her daughter was obliged to leave an infant she gave suck to, in the care of her mother. The old woman finding the child forward for want of the breast, applied it to her own. Having done this. several times, her son thought the child seemed to swallow, and begged his mother, he might try, if she had not milk; it soon appeared she had; and she then continued to suckle the child in earnest. Two year’s after, her daughter had another child; on which the grandmother weaned the first, and suckled the second. Both the children are healthy, plump, and firm in flesh, and as brisk and lively as can be desired.” 41. In the lower cavity first occurs the STOMACH, with the OESOPHAGUS or GULLET, which reaches to it from the mouth. The right orifice, called the zylorus, transmits the digested food to the intestines. It is narrower than the other, as being designed to transmit nothing, till it is reduced to a kind of liquid. And it goes by a long and oblique descent into the duodenum, that the chyle may not pass out, either too swiftly or too slowly. The upper opening of the stomach, is compressed in such a manner, by the lower muscle of the diaphragm, in every inspiration, as to confine the food within the stomach, and direct it in every respiration, towards the pylorus. By this means this office of the stomach, is so closely shut, as to confine even wind or vapours within the cavity of a healthy stomach, from whence they never escape but by’ a morbid affection. 53 The fabric of the stomach answers to that of the oesophagus, of which it is an expansion. 1. The outmost coat is from the peritoneum, of considerable strength, so as to limit the extension of the rest, and afford a support to the subjacent muscular fibres. 2. The cellular coat lies immediately under the former, whence the outer and muscular tunic closely cohere together; in this substance the larger branches of the vessels are distributed. Next in order appears, 3. the muscular coat, Here, the longitudinal fibres of the oesophagus, coming to the stomach are detached one from another in all directions. Immediately under the muscular fibres, follows, 4. another cellular stratum, larger than the outermost, softer, more easily in’flatible, and consisting of larger vessicles than what we usually observe, even in the intestines. Within this cellular substance are spread the small vessels, which, coming from the larger branches of the stomach, enter through its muscular coat, and spread internally after the manner of a plexus. Under this lies, 5. the nervous coat, which is thick, white, and firm, and makes up the true substance of the stomach itself; and this is again lined internally with a third cellular stratum, whose vascular net-work is much more minute than that of the former, from whence it is derived. Immediately within this lies, 6. the villous or velvet-like coat, that lines the cavity of the stomach itself, contiguous with the external cuticle, like which it is renewable, but of a soft, mucous texture, and extended into a very short pile, like that of the tongue, only less conspicuous, and folded into large plates. 42. The INTESTINES are a Continuation of the alimentary tube from the pylorus, wound together in various wreaths, yet without confusion, and to keep them in their situation, fastened together by the MESENTERY, a strong membrane, which fastens them also to the back. The intestinal duct is really but one; but because the parts of it differ in figure and use, the upper part of it, divided into the duodenum, jejunum and ileum, is termed the SMALL GUTS; the lower part, divided into the coecuin, colon and rectum, is called the GREAT GUTS. All these are full of turnings and windings, especially the small, that the more subtle part of the chyle, both through the length and narrowness of the passage, and the agitation of the intestines, may enter the lacteal veins, and pass from thence into the receptacle of the chyle. When the intestines are separated from the mesentery, they are usually six times as long as the man. They have all a kind of vermicular motion, called the PERISTALTIC MOTION, from the stomach downwards; and are lubricated with much fat, especially the great ones, whose surface being more uneven, and their contents less fluid, they need somewhat more to make them slide easily. Likewise from the exhaling arteries distils a thin, watery liquor, into the cavity of the intestines, not at all acid, but like’ the juice of the stomach; the quantity of which liquor may be computed from the large extent of all the excretory orifices, arid from the section of the secretory artery, a larger than which, we see no where in the body. The duodenum, so called because it is usually ten or twelve inches long, receives the gall and pancreatic juice, which are here mixt with the chyle. The jejunum is so termed, because it is generally more empty than the rest. This may be occasioned partly by its capacity, which gives a free ‘passage to its contents; partly to its irritation through the bile, which falls in a little above it. It takes up almost the whole umbilical region, and is usually twelve or thirteen hands long. The ileum, situate below the navel, fills the ilia with its numerous convolutions. It, is much the longest of all the intestines, generally one and twenty. hands long. In both this and the jejunum the inner coat is much wrinkled, and lies in loose folds. They are formed, as the folds in the stomach, only by the inner coat being larger than the outer, The first of the great guts, called the coecum, is literally inserted at the upper end of the colon. It is not perforated at the other end, but hangs to it, like the finger of a glove, and is three or four inches long. In new-born children, and in beasts it is found full of excrements; but in adults it frequently hangs like a worm. In a foetus it is doubtless a receptacle of the fces, during the time it does not discharge by stool. And may it not occasionally serve the same end in adults Perhaps in those animals wherein it is very large, it may likewise serve as a kind of second stomach. But it is not absolutely necessary. The coecum of a dog has been cut out, without any perceivable prejudice. The colon is the largest of the great guts. It runs into various circumvolutions from the coecum to the rectum. It has many cavities, formed by two ligaments, running on each side of it, opposite to each other the whole length, and as it were guiding it at certain distances. The rectum, which reaches from the as sacrum to the anus, is usually about a hand and a halflong. 43. The LACTEAL VEINS, which are of a whitish colour, are in all the intestines, small and great, and receive the chylc by imperceptible passages, throughout the whole canal. And for this end the food remains so long in the intestines, and is carried through various windings, that whatsoever of nourishment it contains, may be expressed before it leaves the body. 44. The intestines are covered with the OMENTUM or CAWL, which is contained within the PERITONEUM, a very thin, soft, doubje membrane, and wholly consists of little bags of fat. Its use is to keep the intestines warm; to, promote their peristaltic motion by lubricating them with its oily substance: by following them in their doublings and windings, to serve them as a bolster to slide upon, and by filling up their hollows, to prevent their being too much distended by flatulencies; yet giving way to them when filled with aliments. Under the stomach behind lies the PANCREAS, extended towards the spleen, which transmits to the intestines a liquor of the nature of spittle, helping to dissolve time food. 45. Under the diaphragm, on the right side, lies the LIVER, whence it extends over the right part of time stomach, below the sternum, toward the left, growing gradually smaller, that it may not hinder the distention of the stomach. It consists partly of gall-ducts, partly of fine ramifications of the vena porta. Tile blood contained in these, deposits oily particles in the ducts, and then returns, chiefly through the vena cava, to the heart. It is thus the BILE is secreted, for which purpose the GALL-BLADDER also is designed. This both receives and retains the bile, by which delay the power of it is greatly heightened. Part of the bile is conveyed to the intestines by the HEPATIC DUCT, which pours it into the ductus choledochus. Part goes first into the gail-bladder, thence into the ductus choledochus, and then into the duodenum. The principal use of the bile is, to absterge and stimulate the. intestines, to assimilate crude things to things concocted, to bruise and blunt sharp and saline particles, to divide those that are coagulated: to excite appetite, to open the passages for the chyle, and where need is, act the part of a ferment. 46. The SPLEEN is an elegant net-work of numberless vessels, enclosed in a double membrane: it is placed on the left side, between the short ribs and the stomach. Some suppose it to secrete a peculiar juice, which passes with the blood through the vena porta. Others imagine it to be a kind of reservoir, wherein on extraordinary occasions, that blood may be received, which would otherwise oppress the viscera and disturb the animal functions. 47. On the muscles of the loins on each side lie the KIDNEYS, to separate from the blood that part of the serum which is superfluous, and would be hurtful were it retained in the habit. This is carried by the URETERS into the bladder, which is placed in the lowest part of the belly. What remains of tile blood is conveyed to time heart by the veins and lymphatic vessels. The BLADDER is composed of three coats: time first is an extension of the peritoneum; time second consists of muscular fibres; the third is both glandulous and nervous, and full of wrinkles, that it may be capable of contraction and dilatation. Its glands separate a slimy matter, which defends the bladder from the acrimony of the urine. The involuntary emission of this is prevented by a small muscle which goes round time neck of the bladder. 48.We proceed to the LIMBS. The HAND, physically speaking, is divided into the ARM, the CUBIT, and the HAND, properly so called. In. this there are twelve bones, beside fifteen in the fingers, all oblong, slender, hollow, arid so fitly joined together by ligaments, so wonderfully provided with various muscles, adapted to so many different motions, that the hand alone gives us an abundant argument of the admirable wisdom of God. Is there any possibility, that the want of so necessary an instrument as the arm should be supplied One, would think it impossible. But it is not: such is the amazing power of God! James Walker was born in 1718, in Ireland, in the parish of Hillsborough. His mother could not be delivered, till the surgeon totally separated the arms of the child from the body. Nevertheless he lived, and in the room of his arms, had little protuberances that appeared as stumps. He grew to be six feet high, slender, and active. “ He sits a saddle,” says an eye-witness, “ upright and firm, will ride forty miles a day to a fair, and deals in buying and selling horses, which lie dresses and curries without much apparent difficulty, holding the curry-comb between his chin and shoulders. The same way he holds the goad in driving the plough, and the spade when he’ digs. lie throws a stone from the top of his foot with greater force than most men can with their hand, and seldom fails to hit his mark. He mounts a horse without any assistance, and shuffling the bridle over his head, till he gets it on his shoulders, guiding his horse with as little fear, and as much skill as most men.” 49.The THIGH consists of one bone, the largest and longest in the’ whole body. It is a little crooked, bending forward before, that there may be more room for the muscles. The bones of the LEG are two, distant from each other in time middle, but joined together at each end. They are nearly of the same length, but the inner is much thicker than the outer. The bones of the Foot are twelve, besides fourteen in the toes; which like those in the hands, are most aptly connected by ligaments, and fitted with muscles of various kinds, serving for equally various motions. 50.Thus far we have spoken concerning the SOLID PARTS of the body. Among the fluid are usually reckoned the ANIMAL SPIRITS, supposed to be secreted in the brain, to flow through the nerves, and to be the instruments of sense and motion. “But are the nerves in general hollow canals, which contain a circulating fluid Or are they solid threads, which being highly elastic, vibrate variously to occasion various sensations “ The latter supposition is wholly overthrown by the phenomena of wounded nerves. A nerve cut asunder does not retract its divided extremities, but becomes rather longer, extruding its medulla into a round tubercle. Again, ‘were it elastic, it should be composed of hard fibres, having their extremities fixed to some firm bodies: since strings, otherwise constituted and disposed, have no elasticity. But it is evident, all nerves are soft at their origin, as well as void of tension: and some soft in every part, as the olfactory nerve, and the soft portion of the auditory nerve. Yea, they all grow soft in the viscera, the-muscles, and the sensories, before they exert their functions. Besides, some nerves are so situate, that they cannot vibrate, as those of the heart, which are fastened to the great vessels and the pericardium. Further, the influence of an irritated nerve is never propagated upwards; whereas an elastic chord communicates tremors to both ends from the point of percussion. Hence it is plain, the nerves do not act by their spring, but by the motion of their proper fluid. The extreme smallness of these canals, which no microscope can reach, is no valid objection to this: neither our inability to discern that fluid. This only proves the imperfection of our senses. “ But what is this fluid Who can tell “ We may very probably conjecture, it consists of some subtle fire or ether, diffused through the whole system of nature, and acting by laws unknown to us. 51.Of the other fluids, some serve to prepare the chyle; some to thin the blood and preserve it from putrefaction. Others only remain till they can be thrown out of the body, as being useless and superfluous. All of these, but the chyle, arise from the ‘blood, being secreted from it by proper glands. But as to the manner of secretion, after all the most accurate and laborious enquiries, it still remains absolutely uncertain; and every one abounds in his own sense. Some believe it depends on the suitableness of the fluid secerned, to the shape of the secerning pores. Some lay the stress rather on the various size and diameters of those pores: others on this, that the constituent particles, suppose of the bile, from their peculiar proportion, texture and.flgure, may be more easily united to each other, than to the particles of lymph, or any other fluid. 52.The chief of all the fluids in our body, and the fountain of life, is the BLOOD. It consists of a watery serum, fibrous particles, and red globules, which last are scarce a twelfth part of it. It is generated thus. The meat and drink being digested into chyle, pass from the intestines, through the lacteal veins and the thoracic duct, into the left subclavian vein, and thence into the vena cava, where it mixes with the blood, and then circulates with it, till it is wholly assimulated. Blood, fresh drawn, appears to the naked eye, uniform and homogenous. But when cold, it separates into two parts; the one red and fibrous, which clots together; the other thin and transparent, called SERUM, in which the former swims. The serum is in bulk three-fourths of the blood; in weight fifteen-seventeenths. A red globule is computed to be 25000 times smaller than the smallest grain of sand. But whence arises the heat of the blood This deserves a particular enquiry. FERMENTATION is that spontaneous, intestine motion, which by the heat of subterraneous caverns, will in a few hours so change vegetable juices (for fermentation is confined to the vegetable kingdom) as from a vapid wort quenching fire, to nourish fire, and to afford that inflammable liquor commonly called spirits. EFFERVESCENCE arises from an intestine motion excited in Various fluids, by the mixture of other fluids, or of salts or powders of a different nature. Acids and alcalis, when mixed, cause a great ebullition, but no great heat: whereas the solution of some metals in aqua-fortis, causes intense heat, and emits flame. Aromatic oils, mixt with acid mineral spirits, kindle and burn with violent explosions. In these cases, as there is no adventitious fire, there must be fire lying hid in one or other of the bodies.. And it is known, much air lies dormant in all bodies. It is known likewise, that fire cannot exert itself, without the help of air. It being granted then, that fire and air lie dormant in all bodies, there is only required such an action as may set at liberty the particles of air and of fire. By this action, the particles of air recover their elasticity, and putting those of fire in motion, cause heat, but not incension, unless this fire meet a proper pabulum, which pabulum is sulphur only, though differently modified, whether in the appearance of brimstone, oil, spirits, metalline sulphur, or the most inflammable of all, animal sulphur, commonly called PHOSP H 0 R US. In fermentation, the fire and air being let loose, produce warmth, but seldom kindle, because of the water predominating. But in the effervescence, produced by the solution of metalline sulphur, they kindle and sometimes cause explosions. Aromatic oils, containing little but the sulphureous parts of the vegetables, immediately kindle and break out into flame. And phosphorus is so highly inflammable, that if it be only exposed to the air a few minutes, it kindles and flames. Now all animals contain more or less phosphorus. Some insects constantly shine in the open air. Many sorts of fish are luminous: some quadrupeds emit light, on a very slight friction. These are proofs of phosphorous lying dormant in animal fluids: and as they all contain air likewise, let only the phosphoreal and aereal particles be brought into contact, and heat necessarily ensues- This clearly explains the cause of animal heat: of which the heart and arteries are the occasion; not by friction, but by the intestine motion which the circulation gives to the several particles that constitute the mass of animal fluids. As the velocity of these fluids is increased, the particles of which they consist, come oftner into contact, and the oftner the Phosphoreal and aereal meet, the more heat they produce. But to what cause is the colour of the blood owing Borelli took some of the red part, and washing it frequently in water, found it separable into a viscous slippery substance, consisting of colourless fibres, which rose and gathered into a scum on the top of the water, and a deep red powder, which precipitated plentifully to the bottom. Hence it appears that the redness of the blood springs from red tinging particles, as in the case of dying. However this red colour, though generally found in the blood of land animals, is not absolutely necessary, there being some species, whose blood is white or limpid. Nay Dr. Drake let out of the median vein of a man, a pure, white blood, like milk, which, when cold, did not separate into two parts, as the red usually- does. Nor yet did it yield any skim or cream, neither turn sour as milk uses to do. Dr. Beal gives an instance of the same kind; and Dr. Lower relates one as strange. A person bled at the nose, till at length the broth he drank flowed out very little altered. It is amazing to see, how careful Providence has been, to prevent the blood’s running into concretions, which might destroy life, by the very dispositions of the vessels it is to run through. These are so contrived, as to cause the globules to come together with a brisk collision. The arteries which convey the blood from the heart to the extremities, continually lessen, as they recede from their source in consequence of which, the globuics of blood must rush with force against one another, as they are driven on impetuously. And the veins which bring it back from the extremities to the heart, enlarging all the way as they go on, while the streams of several continually run into one, each of these ingresses causes new commotions, capable, though not of dissolving that natural connexion of the red and serous particles, yet of preventing any preternatural concretions or coagulations. 53. These are the parts of which this wonderful machine is composed, which, the chemists say, consists of four sorts of matter, earth, water, salt, and sulphur, the particles of which being variously mixt together, constitute larger particles of different kinds; out of which, more loosely or closely connected, all the parts of the body, solid or fluid, are composed. But this is far from being an accurate account. For what arc salt and sulphur but species of earth May not we then much more properly say, with the ancients, that the body is chiefly composed of earth and water, yet cannot enjoy even animal life, unless air and fire also be wrought into its frame So that at what soever time, it is deprived either of air or fire, it is an useless, lifeless clod. And yet the manner how these arc so intimately mixt, both with our fluid and solid parts, as much exceeds Our comprehension, as the manner how the soul is united to its house of clay. That much air is wrought into the whole animal frame, appears by the following experiments. The blood of a sheep, fresh drawn, was in a wide-mouthed glass put into a receiver, and the air drawn out. After awhile, the subtle parts of the blood forced their way through the clammy ones, and seemed to boil in large clusters, some as big as nutmegs. And sometimes the expansion was so vehement, that it boiled over the glass. Some milk being put into a vessel four or five inches high, when the air was drawn out, it boiled so impetuously, as to throw up several parts out of the glass that contained it. And to shew, that not only the blood, but the other parts of animals include air, the liver of an eel was put into a receiver, and even this apparently swelled every way, as soon as the air was withdrawn. The air, as a fixed element in the composition of solid and fluid bodies, has been generally overlooked by philosophers, and even by the chemists, who have above all sects, gloried in their knowledge of principles or elements ; until Mr. Boyle, Sir Isaac Newton, and more especially Dr. Hales, by many experiments demonstrated, that a great part of the substance of most bodies, in several to half their weight, is a permanent or unelastic air, which being freed (either slowly, by the air-pump, putrefaction, fermentation, distillation, &c. or suddenly by explosions, fulminations, ebullitions, mixtures, &c.) from the other solid particles, assumes its elasticity, and fills an immense space, in comparison of the body from whence it came. Dr. Hales found a cubic inch of blood in distillation, afforded above 30 times its bulk of elastic air; whose particles are in effect the wedges of nature which pin and cement together the other elements, and particles of bodies, for their growth of accretion; and under other circumstances, regaining their elasticity, serve to break again those parts for the dissolution of the compound, whose matter may be, by the same instrument, again differently assembled and combined for the firming of other bodies. 54. It remains to add some reflections on the wisdom of God, displayed in the structure of the human body. And how eminently is this displayed, first, in the situation of its several parts and members They are situated most conveniently for use, for ornament, and for mutual assistance. 1. For use. The principal senses are placed in the head, as sentinels in a watch-tower. How could the eyes have been more commodiously fixt, for the guidance of the whole body The ears likewise, made for the reception of sounds, which naturally move upward, are rightly placed in time uppermost parts of the body: and so are the nostrils, as all odours ascend. Again: how could time hands have been more conveniently placed, for all sorts of exercises Or the heart, to dispense life and heat to the whole body Or tile sinks of time body, than in time most remote parts of it 2. For ornament. Not to descend to particulars, what could be better contrived than that those members which are pairs should be of equal length, and just answer one another on each side 3. For mutual assistance. So the eye stands most conveniently to guide the hand, and the hand to defend the eye. Time same may i)e said of the other parts they are all so placed, as to direct or help each other. This will clearly appear, if you suppose the position of any of them to be changed. had our arms been bent backward, what direction could our eyes have afforded us in working Or how cold we even have fed ourselves Nay, had one arm bent backward, and time other forward, half the use of them had been lost; for one could not have assisted the other in any action., How is His wisdom displayed, secondly, in the ample provision made for the security of the principal parts! These are, 1. The heart, the fountain of life. This lies in the centre of the trunk of the body, covered with its own membrane; the pericardium, lodged within the soft bed of the lungs, encompassed round with a double fence, both of thick muscles and skins, and of firm ribs and bones; besides time arms, conveniently placed to ward oft any violence. 2. The brain, the principle of all sense and motion, is surrounded with so strong a de fence, that it must be a mighty force indeed, which is able to injure it. The skull is so hard, thick and tough, that it is almost as firm as a helmet of iron. This is covered with skin and hair, which both keep it warm, and soften the violence of a stroke. Yet more, a thick and tough membrane hangs, loose about it, which often saves it, even when the skull is broke. And lastly, a tine membrane closely adheres, to keep it from quashing and ‘shaking. How is it displayed, thirdly, in the abundant provision that is made against evil accidents and inconveniencies! To this end, 1. The members which are of eminent use arc in pairs. We have two eyes, ears, nostrils, hands; two feet, two breasts, two kidneys; that if one should be rendered useless, the other might serve us tolerably well: whereas had a man but one hand or eye, if that were gone, all were gone. 2. All the vessels have many ramifications, which send forth twigs to the neighbouring vessels: so that if one branch be cut or obstructed, its want may be supplied by the twigs from the neighbouring vessels. 3. Many ways are provided to evacuate, whatever might be hurtful to us. If any thing oppress the head, it can free itself by sneezing; if the lungs, they can cast it off by coughing; if any thing burden the stomach, it can contract itself, and throw it up by vomit. Beside these evacuations, there are siege, urine, sweat, and hmorhages of various kinds. 4. Whereas sleep is necessary for us in many respects, nature has provided, that though we lie long on one side, we should feel no uneasiness while we sleep; no, nor when we awake. One would think, the whole weight of the body pressing the muscles on which we lie, would be very burdensome. And we find by experience, so it is, when we lie long awake in the night. Probably this provision is made, by an inflation of the muscles, making them soft, and yet renitent, like pillows. That they are inflated during sleep, appears to the very eye, in the faces of children ; and from the common experiment, that if we sleep in our clothes, we must loosen our garters and other ligatures, otherwise we find uneasiness in those parts. 5. Because sleep is inconsistent with the sense of pain, therefore during rest, those nerves that convey the motions to the brain, which excite the sense of pain, are obstructed. “ This I myself,” says Mr. Ray, “have often experienced, since I have had sores on my legs. Waking suddenly, I find myself at perfect ease for awhile. Then the pain by degrees returns.” It is displayed, fourthly, in the multitude of intentions God hath in the formation of the several parts, and the multitude of qualifications they require to fit them for their several uses. Galen observes, “that there are in a human body-, above six hundred muscles. And there are at least ten several intentions in each, and as many qualifications needful: so that about the muscles alone, no less then 6000 ends are to be attended to. The bones are reckoned to be 284. The distinct intentions in teach of these are above forty: in all about a hundred thousand. And thus it is, in proportion, with all the other parts: the skin, ligaments, veins, arteries, nerves, glands, humours; but more especially with the members of the body, which as to the multitude of intentions and qualifications, far exceed the similar parts. And should one of these qualifications fail, great inconvenience would ensue.” It is displayed, fifthly, in the stature of man, so admirably well adapted to the circumstances of his existence. Had man been only a foot or two high, he had been quite disproportioned to every thing round about him. Had he been much larger, he could not well have been supplied with food: all the edible animals would not have sufficed. And had they too been proportioned larger, time surface of the earth would not have sufficed to feed them. It is however a common opinion, and has been so ever since old Homer’s time, that the people in the early ages of the world, were much larger than us. And it is true we read of some men of a surprising stature, But they were even then esteemed giants. The ordinary stature of men, is probably just the same now, as it was at the beginning. This may be gathered from the monuments still remaining, particularly the pyramids of Egypt. The cavities for bodies now visible herein, are little larger than our ordinary coffins: likewise from several embalmed bodies taken out of them, it appears, that men are of the same stature now, that they were when those pyramids were built, which is at least three thousand years ago. Eighteen hundred years ago, the emperor Augustus was five feet seven inches high: queen Elizabeth was taller by two inches, being five feet nine. But what a paradox is it, that all men arc taller in the morning than in the evening In a young man, the difference is near an inch; try the experiment as often as you please. Does not the difference proceed from hence, that as long as the trunk of the body is in an erect posture, there is a constant pressure on the large cartilages connecting the vertebr of the spine So long they gradually contract, and consequently a man grows shorter. But they again gradually expand themselves, while we arc in a reclining posture. As to the art of embalming, it appears from a mummy, not long since dug up in France, that this was more completely understood in the western world some ages since, than ever it was in Egypt. This mummy which was dug up at Auvergne, was an amazing instance of their skill. As some peasants were digging in a field near Rion, within about twenty-six paces of the highway, between that and the river Artier, they discovered a tomb, that was about a foot and a half beneath the surface. It was composed only of two stones; one of which formed the body of a sepulchre, and the other the cover. This tomb was of freestone; seven feet and a half long, three feet and a half broad, and about three feet high. It was of rude workmanship; the cover had been polished, but was without figure or inscription: within this tomb was placed a leaden-coffin, four feet seven inches long, fourteen inches broad, and fifteen high. It was oblong, like a box, equally broad at both ends, and covered with a lid that fitted on like a snuff-box, without a hinge. Within this coffin was a mummy, in the most perfect preservation. The internal sides of the coffin were filled with an aromatic substance, mingled with clay. Round the mummy was wrapped a coarse cloth ; under this were two shirts, or shrouds, of the most exquisite texture; beneath these a bandage, which covered all parts of the body, like an infant in swaddling clothes ; under this general bandage there was another, which went particularly round the extremities, the hands and legs; the head was covered with two caps; the feet and hands were without any particular bandages; and the whole body was covered with an aromatic substance, an inch thick. When these were removed, and the body exposed naked to view, nothing could be more astonishing than the exact resemblance it bore to a body that had been dead a day or two before. It appeared well proportioned, except the head was rather large, and the feet small. The skin had all the pliancy, and colour of a body lately dead; the visage, however was of a brownish hue. The belly yielded to the touch; all the joints were flexible, except those of the legs and feet; the fingers stretched forth of themselves when bent inwards. The nails still continued perfect; and all the marks of the joints, both in the fingers, the palms of the hands, and the soles of the feet, remained perfectly visible. The bones of the arms and legs were soft and pliant; those of the scull preserved their rigidity; the hair which only covered the back of the head, was of a chesnut colour, and about two inches long. The pericranium at top was separated from the skull, by an incision, in order to the introducing aromatics in the place of the brain, where they were found mixed with clay. The teeth, the tongue, and the ears, were all preserved in perfect form. The intestines were not taken out of the body, but remained pliant and entire, as in a fresh subject; and the breast was made to rise and fall like a pair of bellows. The embalming preparation had a very strong and pungent smell, which the body preserved for more than a month after it was exposed to the air. If one touched either the mummy, or any part of the preparation, the hand smelt of it for several hours after. This mummy, having been exposed for some months, began to suffer some mutilations. A part of the skin of the forehead was cut off; all its teeth were drawn out, and some attempts were made to pull away the tongue. It was therefore put into a glass case, and transmitted to the king’s cabinet, at Paris. There are many reasons to believe this to be the body of a person of the highest distinction: however no marks remain to assure us either of the quality of the person, or the time of his decease. There are only to be seen some irregular figures on the coffin: one of which represents a kind of star. There were also some singular characters upon the bandages, which were totally defaced by those who had tore them. It should seem that it had remained for several ages in this state, since the first years immediately succeeding the interment, are usually those in which the body is most liable to decay. On this remarkable subject, I beg leave to add an extract from a late author. “I always apprehended that human bodies after death, if interred, or exposed to the air, without any preparation to defend them from the attacks of it, would of necessity corrupt, become offensive, and putrify. The art of embalming is very ancient, and was invented to preserve them from this inevitable consequence of death; but that they may remain unputrified for centuries without any sort of artificial aid, I have seen so incontestibly proved since my arrival at Bremen, that I imagine not the shadow of doubt can remain about it. Under the cathedral church is a vaulted apartment, supported on pillars; it is near sixty paces long, and half as many broad. The light and air arc constantly admitted into it by three windows, though it is several feet beneath the level of the ground. Here are five large oak coffers, rather than coffins, each containing a corpse. The most curious and perfect, is that of a woman. Tradition says, she was an English countess, who dying here at Bremen, ordered her body to be placed in this vault uninterred, in the apprehension that her relations would cause it to be brought over to her native country. They say it has lain here two hundred and fifty years. Though the muscular skin is totally dried in every part, yet so little are the features of the face sunk or changed, that nothing is more certain than that she was young, and even beautiful. It is a small countenance, round in its contour: the cartilage of the nose and the nostrils have undergone no alteration: her teeth are all firm in the sockets, but the lips arc drawn away from over them. The cheeks are shrunk in, but yet less than I ever remember to have seen in embalmed bodies. The hair of her head is at this time more than eighteen inches long, very thick, and so fast, that I heaved the corpse out of the coffer by it: the colour is a light brown, and I cut off a small lock, which is as fresh and glossy as that of a living person. That this lady was of high rank seems evident from the extreme fineness of the linen which covers her body. The landlord of the inn, who was with me, said, he remembered it for forty years past; during which time there is not the least perceptible alteration in it.—In another coffer is the body of a workman, who is said to have, tumbled off the church, and was killed by the fall. His features evince this most forcibly. Extreme agony is marked in them: his mouth is wide open, and his eyelids the same; the eyes are dried up. His breast is unnaturally distended, and his whole frame betrays a violent death.—A little child who died in the small-pox is still more remarkable. The marks of the pustules, which have broken the skin on his hands and head, are very discernable; though one should suppose that a body which died of such a distemper, must contain in a high degree the seeds of putrefaction.—The two other corpses arc not less extraordinary. There are in this vault likewise turkeys, hawks, weasels, and other animals, which have been hung up here, some, time immemorial, sonic very lately, and are in the most complete preservation: the skin, bills, and feathers, arc all unaltered. The magistrates do not permit that any fresh bodies be brought here. The cause of these phenome nons are doubtless the dryness of the place where they are laid. It is in vain to seek for any other.” A repository of nearly the same kind, a late writer informs us is at a monastery, near Palermo, in Sicily. It is a long, subterranean gallery, having niches on every side, between six and seven feet high. In each of these is a human body standing erect, in its usual apparel. The face and hands are uncovered, and preserve their shape, and natural colour, only a little browner. They are fastened to the wall by the back. Some of them are believed to have been there two or three hundred years. Suppose they could remain there forever, what would it profit their former inhabitants Another traveller gives a fuller account of them. “This morning we went to see a celebrated convent of capu chins, about a mile without the city of Palermo; it contains nothing very remarkable, but time burial-place, which indeed is a great curiosity. This is a vast subterraneous apartment, divided into large commodious galleries, the walls on each side of which are hollowed into a variety of niches, as if intended for a great collection of statues: these niches, instead of statues, are all halled with dead bodies, set upright upon their legs, and fixed by the back to the inside of a niche. Their number is about three hundred: they are all dressed in the clothes they usually wore, and form a most respectable and venerable assembly. The skin and muscles, by a certain preparation, become as dry and hard as a piece of stock-fish; and although many of them have been here upwards of two hundred and fifty years, yet none are reduced to skeletons; though the muscles in some are more shrunk than in others; probably because these persons had been more extenuated at the time of their death. "Here the people of Palermo pay daily visits to their deceased friends, and recal with pleasure and regret the scenes of their past life; here they familiarize themselves with their future state, and choose the company they would wish to keep in the other world. It is a common thing to make choice of their niche, and to try if their body fits it, that no alterations may be necessary after they are dead; and sometimes by way of voluntary penance, they stand for hours in these niches. “The bodies of the princes and first nobility are lodged in handsome chests or trunks, some of them richly adorned these are not in the shape of coffins, but all of one width, and about a foot and a half or two feet deep. The keys are kept by the nearest relations of the family, who sometimes come and drop a team’ over their departed friends. “These visits must prove admirable lessons of humility; and they are not such objects of horror as one would imagine; they arc said, even for ages after death, to retain a strong likeness of what they were when alive: so that, as soon as you have conquered the first feelings excited by these venerable figures, you only consider this as a vast gallery of original portraits, drawn after the life, by the justest and most unprejudiced hand. It must he owned, that the colours are rather faded; and the pencil does not appear to have been the most flattering in the world; but no matter; it is the pencil of truth, and not of a mercenary, who only wants to please. “ It might also be made of very considerable use to society: these dumb orators could give the most pathetic lectures upon pride and vanity. Whenever a fellow began to strut, or to affect the haughty, supercilious air, he should be sent to converse with his friends in the gallery ; and if their arguments did not bring him to a proper way of thinking, I would give him up as incorrigible.” I cannot better conclude this chapter than by an extract from the late pious and ingenious Mr. Hervey, which may serve for a recapitulation of what has been said, as well as an improvement of it. “Let us begin with the less adorned, but more solid parts, those which support, and which contain the rest. First, you have a system of bones, cast in a variety of moulds, in a variety of sizes: all strong, that they may bear up the machine, yet light, that they may not weigh us down: bored with an inward cavity to contain the moistening marrow, and perforated with fine ducts, to admit the nourishing vessels. Insensible themselves, they ate covered with a membrane, exquisitely sensible, which warns them of, and secures them from the annoyance of any hurtful friction ; and also preserves the muscles from being fretted in their action, by the hard and rough substance of the bone. They are larger at the extremities, that they may be joined more firmly, and not so easily dislocated. The manner of their articulation is truely admirable, and remarkably various: yet never varied without demonstrating some wise design, and answering sonic valuable end. Frequently when two are united, the one is nicely rounded and capped with a smooth substance; the other is scooped into a hollow of the same dimensions to receive it. And both are lubricated with an unctuous fluid, to facilitate the rotation. The FEET compose the firmest pedestal, infinitely beyond all that statuary can accomplish, capable of altering its form, and extending its size, as different circumstances require. They likewise contain a set of the nicest springs, which help to place the body in a variety of attitudes, and qualify it for the multiplicity of motions. The undermost part of the heel, and the extremity of the sole, are shod with a tough insensible substance; a kind of natural sandal, which never wears out, never wants repair: and which prevents an undue compression of the vessels by the weight of the body. The legs and thighs are like stately columns, so articulated that they arc commodious for walking, and yet do not obstruct the easy posture of sitting. The legs swell out towards the top with a genteel projection, and are neatly wrought off toward the bottom: a variation which lessens their bulk, while it increases their beauty. The RIBS, turned into a regular arch, are gently moveable, for the act of respiration. They form a safe lodgement for the lungs and heart, some of the most important organs of life. The backbone is designed, not only to strengthen the body, and sustain its most capacious store-rooms, but also to bring down the continuation of the brain, usually termed the spinal marrow. It both conveys and guards this silver cord, as Solomon terms it, and by commodious outlets transmits it to all parts. Had it been only strait and hollow, it might have served these purposes. But then the loins must have been inflexible: to avoid which, it consists of very short bones, knit together by cartilages. This peculiarity of structure gives it the pliancy of an osier, with the firmness of an oak. By this means it is capable of various inflections, without bruising the soft marrow, or diminishing that strength which is necessary to support all the upper stories. Such a formation in any other of the solids, must have occasioned great inconvenience. Here it is unspeakably useful, a master-piece of creating skill. The ARMS are exactly proportioned to each other, to preserve the equilibrium of the structure. These being the guards that defend, and the ministers that serve the whole body, are fitted for the most diversified and extensive operations: firm with bone, yet not weighty with flesh, and capable of performing all useful motions. They bend inwards and turn outwards; they move upward or downward; they wheel about in whatever direction we please. To these are added the HANDS, terminated by the fingers, not of the same length, nor of equal bigness, but in both respects different, which gives the more beauty, and far greater usefulness. Were they all flesh, they would be weak: were they one entire bone, they would be utterly inflexible; but consisting of various little bones and muscles, what shape can they not assume Being placed at the end of the arm the sphere of their action is exceedingly enlarged. Their extremities are an assemblage of fine tendinous fibres, acutely sensible: which notwithstanding are destined to almost incessant employ, and frequently among rugged objects. For this reason they are overlaid with nails, which preserve them from any painful impression. In the hands we have a case of the finest instruments. To these we owe those beautiful statues, this melodious trumpet. By the strength of the hand the tallest firs fall, and the largest oaks descend from the mountains. Fashioned by the hand they are a floating warehouse, and carry the productions of art and nature from Britain to Japan. The hand is the original and universal sceptre, which not only represents, but ascertains our dominion over all the elements, and over every creature. Though we have not the strength of the horse, the swiftness of the greyhound, or the quick scent of the spaniel, yet directed by the understanding, and enabled by the hand, we can as it were make them all our own. These short hands have found a way to penetrate the bowels of the earth, to touch the bottom of the sea. These feeble hands can manage the wings of the wind, arm themselves with the violence, of fire, and press into their service the forcible impetuosity of water. How greatly then are we indebted to our wise Creator, for this distinguishing, this invaluable member! Above all is the HEAD, for the residence of the brain: ample to receive, and firm to defend it. It has a communication with all, even the remotest parts: has outlets, for dispatching couriers to all quarters, and avenues for receiving speedy intelligence, on all needful occasions. It has lodgements wherein to post centinels, for various offices: to expedite whose operations the whole turns on a curious pivot, nicely contrived to afford the largest and freest circumvolutions. This is screened from heat, defended from cold, and at the same time beautified by the hair: a decoration so delicate, as no art can supply; so perfectly light, as no way to incumber the wearer. While other animals are prone in their aspect,, the attitude of man is erect, which is by far the most graceful, and bespeaks superiority. It is by far the most commodious, for prosecution of all our extensive designs. It is likewise safest, less exposed to dangers, and better contrived to repel or avoid them. Does it not also remind us of our noble original, and our sublime end Our original, which was the breath of the Almighty: our end, which was the enjoyment of him in glory Thus much for the rafters and beams of the house. Let us now survey the lodgings within. Here are LIGAMENTS, a tough and strong arrangement of fibres, to unite the several parts, and render what would be otherwise an unwieldly jumble, a well compaCte(l and self-manageable system: MEMBRANES, thin and flexible, tunicles to enwrap the fleshy parts, to connect some, and form a separation between others: ARTERIES, the rivers of our little world, that striking out as they go, into numberless small canals, visit every street, yea, every apartment in the vital city. These being wide at first, and growing narrower and narrower, check the rapidity of the blood. This thrown from the heart, dilates the arteries, and their own elastic force contracts them by which means they vibrate against the finger, and much assist both in the discovery and cure of diseases. The larger arteries, wherever the blood is forced to bend, are situate on the bending side: lest being stretched to an improper length, the circulation should be retarded. They are not, like several of the veins, near the surface, but placed at a proper depth. And hereby they arc more secure from external injuries. In those parts which are most liable to pressure, an admirable expedient takes place. The arteries inosculate with each other: breaking into a new track, they fetch a little circuit, and afterwards return into the main road. So that if any thing block up or straiten the direct passage, the current, by diverting into this new channel, eludes the impediment, flows on, and soon regains its wonted course. The VEINS receive the blood from the arteries, and reconvey it to the heart. The pressure of the blood is not near so forcible in these as in the arteries. Therefore their texture is considerably slighter. Such an exact economist is nature, amidst all her liberality In many of these canals, the current, though widen-‘rig Continually, is obliged to push its way against the perpendicular: hereby it is exposed to the danger of falling back and overloading the vessels. To prevent this, VALVES are interposed at proper distances, which are no hindrance to the regular passage, but prevent the reflux, and facilitate the passage of the blood to the grand receptacle. But these valves are only where the blood is constrained to climb: where the ascent ceases, they cease also. Here are GLANDS to filtrate the passing fluids: each of which is an assemblage of vessels, complicated with seeming confusion, but with perfect regularity. Each forms a secretion’ far more curious than the most admired operations of chemistry: MUSCLES, composed of the finest fibres, yet endued with incredible strength, fashioned after a variety of patterns, but all in the highest taste for elegance and conveniency. These are the instruments of motion, and at the command of the will, execute their functions quick as lightning: NERVES, surprisingly minute, which set the muscles at work, diffuse the power of sensation through the body, and upon any impression from without, give all needful intelligence to the soul: VESICLES, destined with an unctuous matter, in some places compose a soft cushion; as in the calf of the leg, whose large muscles, mixt with fat, are of singular service to those important bones. This flanks and fortifies them, like a strong bastion ; supports and cherishes them, like a soft pillow. In other places they fill up the vacuities, and smooth the inequalities of the flesh. Inwardly, they supply the machine for motion; outwardly, they render it smooth and graceful. The SKIN, like a curious surtout, covers the whole, formed of the most delicate net-work, whose meshes are minute, and whose threads are multiplied, even to a prodigy: the meshes are so minute, that nothing passes them, which is discernible by the eye; though they discharge, every moment, myriads and myriads of superfluous encumbrances. The threads are so multiplied, that neither the point of the smallest needle, nor the infinitely finer lance of a gnat, can pierce any part, without drawing biQod, and causing an uneasy sensation. Consequently, without wounding, by so small a puncture, both a nerve and a vein! But a course of incessant action must exhaust the solids and waste the fluids, and unless both are properly recruited, in a short time destroy the machine. For this reason it is furnished with the organs, and endued with the powers of nutrition: TEETH the foremost, thin and sharp, to bite asunder the food; the hindermost, broad and strong, indented with small cavities, the better to grind in pieces what is transmitted to them. But in children, the formation of teeth is postponed till they have occasion for them. - Were the teeth, like other bones, covered with the periosteum, chewing would give much pain. Were they quite naked, they would soon decay and perish. To guard against ‘both, they are overlaid with a neat ENAMEL, harder than the bone itself, which gives no pain in chewing, and yet secures them from various injuries. The LIPS prevent the food from slipping out of the mouth, and assisted by the tongue, return it to the grinders. While they do this in conceit with the cheeks, they squeeze a thin liquor from the adjacent glands. This moistens the food sand prepares it for digestion. When the mouth is inactive, these are nearly closed: but when we speak or eat, their moisture being then necessary, is expressed as needs require. But the food could not descend merely by its own weight, through a narrow and clammy passage into the stomach. Therefore to effect this, muscles both straight and circular are provided. The former enlarge the cavity, and give an easy admittance. The latter, closing behind the descending aliment, press it downward. But before the food enters the gullet, it must of necessity pass over the orifice of the wind-pipe: whence it is in danger of falling upon the lungs, which might occasion instant death. To obviate this, a moveable lid is placed, which when the smallest particle advances, is pulled down and shut close, but as soon as it is swallowed, is let loose and stands open. Thus the important pass is always made sure against any noxious approaches; yet always left free for the air, and open for respiration. The food descending into the stomach, is not yet ready for the bowels. Therefore that great receiver is strong to bear, and proper to detain it, till it is wrought into the smoothest pulp imaginable. From hence it is discharged by a gentle force, and passes gradually into the intestines. Near the entrance waits the GALL-BLADDER, ready to pour its salutary juice upon the aliment, which dissolves any thing viscid, scours the intestines, and keeps all the fine apertures clear. This bag, as the stomach fills, is pressed thereby, and then only discharges its contents. It is also furnished with a valve of a very peculiar nature, namely, of a spiral form; through which the detersive liquid cannot hastily pour, but must gently ooze. Admirable construction! which without any care of ours, gives the needful supply, and no more. The nutriment then pursues its way through the mazes of the intestines: which by a worm-like motion protrude it and force its small particles into the lacteal vessels. These are a series of the finest strainers, ranged into countless multitudes all along time sides of the winding passage. Had this been strait or short, the food could not have resigned a sufficient quantity of its nourishing particles. Therefore it is artfully convolved, and greatly extended, that whatever passes may be sifted thoroughly. As the aliment proceeds, it is more and more drained of its flutricious juices in consequence of this, it would become hard, and pain the tender parts, but that glands are posted in proper places, to -discharge a lubricated fluid. These. are smaller or fewer, near the stomach, because there the aliment is moist enough: whereas in the bowels, remote from the stomach, they are either multiplied or enlarged. The C KYLE drawn off by the lacteals is carried through millions of ducts, too fine even for the microscope to discover. To this it is owing, that nothing enters the blood, but what is capable of passing through the finest vessels. It is then lodged in several commodious cells (the glands of the mesentery) and there mixt with a thin diluting lymph, which makes it more apt to flow. Hence it is conveyed to the common receptacle, and mounts through a perpendicular tube into the left subclavian vein. This tube lies contiguous to the great artery, whose strong pulsation (hives on the fluid, and enables it to ascend and unload its treasure, at the very door of the heart. But the chyle is as yet in too crude a state, to be fit for the animal functions. Therefore It is thrown into the lungs. In the spongy cells of this amazing laboratory, it mixes with the external air, and its whole substance is made more smooth and uniform. Thus improved it enters the left ventricle of the heart, a strong, active, indefatigable muscle. The large muscles of the arm or of the thigh are soon wearied: a day’s labour, or a day’s journey exhausts their strength. But time heart toils whole weeks, whole months, nay years, unwearied: is equally a stranger to intermission and fatigue. Impelled by this, part of the blood shoots upward to time head; part rolls through the whole body. But how shall a stream, divided into myriads of channels, be brought back to its source Should any portion of it be unable to return, putrefaction, if not death, must ensue. Therefore the allwise Creator has connected the extremities of the arteries, with the beginning of the veins: so that the same force which darts the blood through the former, helps to drive it through the Latter. Thus it is reconducted to the great cistern, and there played off afresh. Where two opposite currents would be in danger of clashing, where the streams from the vena cava and vena aacendens coincide, a fibrous excrescence interposes, which like a projecting pier, breaks the stroke of each, and throws both into their proper receptacle. Where the motion is to be speedy, the channels either forbear to wind (as in the great artery, which descends to time feet) or to lessen in their dimensions, as in every interval between all the ramifications. When the progress is to be retarded, the tubes are variously convolved, or their diameter contracted. Thus guarded, the living flood never discontinues its course, but night and day, whether we sleep or wake, still perseveres to run briskly through the arteries and return softly through the veins. But farther: the great Creator has made us an invaluable present of the senses, to be the inlets of innumerable pleasures, and the means of the most valuable advantages. The EYE, in its elevated station, commands the most enlarged prospects. Consisting only of fluids, enclosed within coats, it shews us all the graces and glories of nature. 1-low wonderful, that an image of the hugest mountains, and the widest landscapes should enter the small pupil! that the rays of light should paint on the optic nerve, paint in an instant of time, paint in the truest colours and exact lineaments, every species of external objects! The eye is so tender, that the slightest touch might injure its delicate frame. It is guarded therefore with peculiar care, intrenched deep, and barricaded round with bones. As the smallest fly might incommode its polished surface, it is farther protected by two substantial curtains. In sleep, when there is no occasion for the sense, but a necessity- to guard the organ, these curtains close of their own accord. At any time they fly together as quick as thought. They are lined with an extremely fine sponge, moist with its own clew. Its brisly palisades keep out the least mote, and moderate the too strong impressions of the light. As in our waking hours we have almost incessant need for these little orbs, they run upon the finest castors, rolling every way with the utmost ease; which circumstance, added to the flexibility of the neck, renders our two eyes as useful as a thousand. The EAR consists of an outward porch and inner rooms. Time porch somewhat prominent from the head, is of a cartilaginoussubstance, covered with tight membranes and wrought into sinuous cavities. Thcsc, like circling hills, collect the wandering undulations of time air, and transmit them with a vigorous impulse, to the finely stretched membrane of the drum. This is expanded upon a circle of bones, over a polished, reverberating cavity. It is furnished with braces that strain or relax, as the sound is faint or strong. The hammer and the anvil, the winding labyrinth, and the sounding galleries, these and other pieces of mechanism, all instrumental to healing, are inexpressibly curious. Amazingly exact must be time tension of the auditory nerves, since they answer the smallest tremors of the atmosphere, and distinguish their most subtle variations. These living’ chords, turned by an .Almighty hand, and spread through the echoing isles, receive all the impressions of sound, and propagate them to the brain. These give existence to the charms of music, and the still nobler charms of discourse. The eye is useless amidst the gloom of night: but the ear hears through the darkest medium. The eye is on duty only in our waking hours: but the ear is always accessible. As there are concussions of the air, which are discernable only by the instruments of hearing, so there are odoriferous particles wafted in the air, which are perceivable only by the smell. The nostrils are wide at the bottom, that more effluvia may enter, narrow at the top, that when entered, they may act more strongly. The steams that exhale from fragrant bodies, are fine beyond imagination. Microscopes that shew thousands of animals in a drop of water, cannot bring one of these to our sight. Yet so judiciously are the olfactory nets set, that they catch the vanishing fugitives. They imbibe all the roaming perfumes of spring, and make us banquet even on the invisible dainties of nature. Another capacity for pleasure our bountiful Creator has bestowed, by granting us the powers of TASTE. This is circumstanced in a manner so benign and wise, as to be a standing plea for temperance, which sets the finest edge on the taste, and adds the most poignant relish to its enjoyments. And these senses are not only so many sources of delight, but a joint security to our health. They are the inspectors that examine our food, and enquire into the properties of it. For the discharge of this office they are excellently qualified, and most commodiously situate. So that nothing can gain admission, till it has past their scrutiny. To all these, as a most necessary supplement, is added the sense of FEELING. And how happily is it tempered between the two extremes; neither too acute, nor too obtuse! Indeed all the senses are exactly adapted to the exigencies of our present state. Were they strained much higher, they would be avenues of anguish; were they much relaxt, they would be well nigh useless. The crowning gift, which augments the benefits accruing from all the senses, is SPEECH. Speech makes me a gainer by the eyes and ears of others; by their ideas and observations. And what an admirable instrument for articulating the voice, and modifying it into speech, is the tongue This little collection of muscular fibres under the direction of the Creator, is the artificer of our words. By this we communicate the secrets of our breasts, and make our very thoughts audible. This likewise is the efficient cause of music; it is soft as the lute, or shrill as the trumpet. As the tongue requires an easy play, it is lodged in an ample cavity. It moves under a concave roof, which gives additional vigour to the voice, as the shell of a violin to the sound of the strings. Wonderfully wise is the regulation of voluntary and involuntary motions. The will in some cases has no power: in others she is an absolute sovereign. If she commands, the arm is stretched, the arm is closed. How easily, how Punctually are her orders obeyed! To turn the screw, or work the lever, is laborious and wearisome. But we work the vertebr of the neck, with all their appendant chambers; we advance the leg, with the whole incumbent body; we rise, we spring from the grouni, and though so great a weight is raised, we meet with no difficulty or fatigue. That all this should be effected without any toil, by a bare act of the will, is very surprising. But that it should be done, even while we are entirely ignorant of the manner in which it is performed, is most astonishing! Who can play a single tune upon the spinnet, without learning the difference of the keys Yet the mind touches every spring of the human machine, with the most masterly skill, though she knows nothing at all of the nature of her instrument, or the process of her operations. The eye of a rustic, who has no notion of optics, or any of its laws, shall lengthen and shorten its axis, dilate and contract its pupil, without the least hesitation, and with the utmost propriety: exactly adapting itself to the particular distance of objects, and the different degrees of light. By this means it performs some of the most curious experiments in the Newtonian philosophy, without the least knowledge of the science, or consciousness of its own dexterity! Which shall we admire most, the multitude of organs; their finished form and faultless order; or the power which the soul exercises over them Ten thousand reins are put into her hands: and she manages all, conducts all, without the least perplexity or irregularity. Rather with a promptitude, a consistency and speed, that nothing else can equal! So fearfully and wonderfully are we made! Made of such complicated parts, each so nicely fashioned, and all so exactly arranged; every one executing such curious functions, and many of them operating in so mysterious a manner! And since health depends on such a numerous assemblage of moving organs;. since a single secretion stopped may spoil the temperature of the fluid, a single wheel clogged may put an end to the solids; with what holy fear, should we pass the time of our sojourning here below! Trusting for continual preservation, not merely to our own care, but to the Almighty Hand, which formed the admirable machine, directs its agency, and supports its being. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 12: PART 01 - CHAPTER 2 - OF THE NATURAL STATE OF THE HUMAN BODY ======================================================================== Chapter 2 - Of the Natural State of the Human Body 1. What the natural state of the body means 10. Of tasting 2. Of the circulation of the blood 11. Of feeling 3. Of respiration 12. Of hunger and thirst 4. Of chylification 13. Of sleep 5. Of nutrition 14. Of local motion 6. Of the senses 15. Of voluntary and involuntary motions 7. Of sight 16. Of the stature of man 8. Of hearing 17. Of the age of man 9. Of smelling 1. That is the NATURAL STATE of the human body, wherein all parts of it duly perform their natural operations. The chief of these are, the circulation of the blood, respiration, chylification, nutrition, and motion. 2. That the blood circulates through the whole body appears hence. Any of the arteries being tied with a thread, will swell and beat between the bandage and the heart, but grow flaccid between the bandage and the extremities of the body. And if the artery be cut between the bandage and the heart, blood Streams out, even to death: but if it be cut between the bandage and extremities, very little blood comes out. The vital blood therefore flows from the heart, through the arteries, toward the extremes of the body, and still out of a wider part into a nar rower; out of the trunk into the branches. Any of the larger veins being tied with a thread, swells between the extremes and the bandage, but grows flaccid between the bandage and the heart. If opened in the former part, it bleeds largely; if in the latter, scarce at all. The blood therefore flows from all the extremes, through the veins into the heart, and still from the narrower parts of the vein to the larger; front the branches to the trunk. Upon the whole it is evident, that all the arteries are continually bringing the blood from the lea ventricle of the heart, through the trunks of the arteries into their branches, and from thence to all parts of the body: and on the contrary, that all the veins, except the vena port, are continually bringing it back from all parts of the body, through the small branches into the larger; and thence through ‘the trunks and vena cava into the right ventricle of the heart. So that the whole blood passes through the heart once in five or six minutes. It is certain, that all the arteries and veins communicate or open one into the other; because, often from one, and that a small artery, all the blood shall run even unto death, not only out of the wounded limb, but from the whole body. Of such fatal examples we have a number; from an inward artery of the nose, from the gums, a finger, a tooth, a cutaneous pore enlarged, from the lachrymal point, from the wound of cupping on the skin, and even the bite of a leech. There arc, therefore, of course, op€n ways by which the blood speedily flows from the venal, into the arterial system, and the reverse. Late writers have pursued the globules of blood to a great length, awl found several orders of them. The large ones visible to the naked eye, are globules of the first order. Each of these is composed. of six smaller, joined together in a very regular way. But sometimes a red globule is seen loosening, and breaking into these compounding spherules. And sometimes one may perceive these running together, and beginning the composition of a new, red globule. These smaller spherules they call globules of the &econd order. But we arc not to stop here. There are in the blood a great many particles six times less than these. Globules of the second order are compounded of these smaller ones, which therefore are globules of the third order. Farther. There are innumerable blood vessels of such smallness, that none of the above mentioned globules can pass them: so that we cannot but suppose still smaller globules. The diameter of some vessels is less than the eighth part of the diameter of a red globule: so that the particles passing through them, must be above five hundred times less than those globules. Nay, on a careful examination, we perceive vessels narrower than the tenth part of the diameter of a red globule; which consequently can transmit spherules no greater than the thousandth part of a red globule. On the whole then, each globule of the first order is made up of six of the second: these of six of the third, those of six of the fourth : these of six of the fifth, and so on. And accordingly we find, the globules of the highest orders may be broken down into their compounding particles. The diameter of a common red globule is about the 1938th part of an inch. The diameter of a globule of the tenth order is less than the 400,000th part of an inch. Anatomists and physicians have generally determined the quantity of blood in the human body, to be between fifteen and twenty-five pounds. But Dr. Keil shews from many instances of profuse hmorrhages, that a far greater quantity must’ be allowed. Otherwise the patient could never have furnished, of at least survived, such evacuations; the least of which exceeded the whole quantity of blood supposed to be in the body. In reality, the quantity of blood in a human body is difficult to be determined. Bleeding to death, the usual method, can never shew what is its true quantity: because no animal can bleed longer than while the great artery is full; which will require a longer or a shorter time, as the wounded artery is smaller or greater. And the great artery must always be the first vessel that empties. The only certain way of calculating is, to find what proportion the cavities of the vessels, of which the whole body is composed, bear to the thickness of the coats. This in the veins and arteries may be exactly found. But in the other vessels we only know the quantity of fluid they contain, by carefully evaporating as much as possible. Thus the doctor found the fluids to be in the arteries ‘as 17 to 1; in the veins as 15,6 to 1: in the bones as 1 to 1. The least of these proportions shews the liquors to be one half of the weight of the body. And if a calculation be made, on the proportion of the blood in the arteries, also to their coats in a body weighing 160 pounds, there will be found 100 pounds of blood or circulating fluid. In a foetus the circulation is performed in a peculiar manner. The septum, which separates the two ventricles of the heart, is pierced through with an aperture, called the foramen ovale, and the pulmonary artery, a little after it has left the heart, sends out a tube into the descending aorta, called the COMMUNICATING CANAL. When the foetus is born, the foramen ovale closes, and that canal dries up into a simple ligament. The foetus while in the womb receives little air. Its lungs therefore cannot swell and subside. They continue almost at rest: nor can they allow the blood to circulate, either in abundance, or with ease, Nature therefore has excused them from the passage of the greatest part of the blood,, and has contrived the forarnen ovale, by which, part of the blood of the vena cava passes through the right ventricle into tile left. And by this means it is found as far on its journey, as if it had passed the lungs, But this is not all. For that blood of the cava, which missing the foramen ovale, passes from the’ right auricle into the right ventricle, being still too much to pass by the lungs, the communicant canal intercepts part of it, and pours it immediately into the descending aorta. 3. Respiration is performed by receiving the air into the lungs, and breathing it out alternately. In the former, the cavity of the breast is enlarged, by the sinking of the diaphragm, and the erection of the ribs, through the force of the muscles placed between them. In the latter, it is contracted; the diaphragm rising and the ribs falling again. ‘Whenever the cavity of the breast is enlarged, the air by its weight naturally presses into it, and mixing with the blood in the veslicles of the lungs, makes it more fluid, globular and fit for motion. Air is likewise absolutely necessary in the body, to counteract the pressure of the outward air. But if the blood in the lungs of a foetus has not the advantage of respiration, it receives a portion of air, transmitted with its mother’s blood by the umbilical vessels, to be diffused through the body. This is quite necessary, as appears hence: tie the naval string very tight, and the child dies, like a man strangled. One use of respiration is, to push the blood from the right to the left ventricle of the heart: hence it is, that persons strangled so suddenly die, because, with respiration, the circulation of the blood ceases. And this is the true cause of the diastole of the heart: the weight of the incumbent atmosphere, being the true antagonist to all the muscles that serve both for inspiration and the contraction of the heart. As in the elevation of the ribs, a passage is opened for the blood into the lungs, so in the depression thereof, by the subsiding of the lungs and compression of the blood-vessels thereby, the blood is driven through the pulmonary vein, into the left ventricle of the heart. And this, together with the general compression of the body, by the weight of the atmosphere, is that power which causes the blood to mount in the veins, when the force, imprest on it by the heart, is nearly spent, and which forces the heart itself from its natural state of contraction, to that of dilatation. When in an ordinary expiration, the pressure on the larynx is two ounces, the pressure on the whole internal substance of the lungs, is 14412 pounds. So vast is the extent of the surface of the vesicles, on which it was necessary the blood should be spread in the finest capillary vessels, that each globule of blood might, as it were, immediately receive tile whole force of the air, and thereby be broken into smaller parts, fit for secretion and circulation. And hence we see the reason for the structure of the lungs. For since all the blood is to pass through them, in order to receive the effect of the air, and that this could not be done, unless it were diffused in very small vessels: it was necessary the surface on which they were to be spread, should be proportioned to their number. And this is admirably well provided for, by the fabric of the lungs. If the diameter of the trachea at the time of every expiration were the same in all, and the weight of the air always equal, the pressure on the lungs would be always the’ same. But as the difference between its least and greatest gravity, is no less than a tenth part of the whole, that pressure is likewise greater by tenth part at some times than it is at others. This is a difference which the asthmatic must., sensibly feel ; especially as they breathe thicker, that is, every expiration is performed in less time. In truth, these feel a difference in the air, upon the ..greatest rise and fall of the barometer, equal to above one third of its pressure in ordinary breathing. The alternate dilatation and contraction of the thorax are so necessary to animal life, that there is no animal without this, or something analogous to it. Fishes and insects have no dilatable thorax. But fishes have gills, which receive and expel the water alternately, whereby the blood-vessels suffer the same alterations of dimension as those in our lungs do. And insects have air-vessels distributed through the whole trunk of their bodies. By these they communicate with the external air through several vent-holes, to which are fastened so many wind-pipes, which send branches to all parts, and seem to accompany the blood-vessels all over the body, as they do in our lungs Only. And hereby in every inspiration the whole body is dilated, and in every expiration compressed. But may it not be doubted, whether the primary end of respiration be not to supply the whole animal machine with the ethereal fire, a particle of which is connected with every particle of air Is not this detached from it by the action of the lungs, and thence communicated to every part of the body And is not this the true vital flame, the original source of life and motion 4. CHYLIFICATION is preceded by digestion, which is much illustrated by Mr. Papin’s digester. This is a vessel wherein meat is put, with just as much water as will fill it. Then the lid is screwed on so close, as to admit of no external air. The meat herein is by the flame of a small lamp, in six or eight minutes brought to a perfect pulp. In a few minutes more the hardest bones are reduced to a jelly. No air entering, the succussions caused by the air, enclosed in the flesh, resolve the whole into one homogeneous body. It is just so in digestion. In proportion to its heat, the stomach does the very same thing as the digester. Add to this, that the muscular coat of the stomach continually contracting, and pressing its Contents by its peristaltic motion, occasions a more intimate mixture, and works the more fluid parts, through the pylorus into the duodenum. Along the sides of this and the other small intestines the lacteals are planted: into the minute orifices whereof, the chyle or finer part of the mass is received. The lacteal veins of the first kind discharge themselves into the glands of the basis of the mesentery. The chyle is afterward received by the lacteals of the second kind, and conveyed into glands between the two tendons of the diaphragm. And hence it is carried to the heart, where it mixes with the blood. 5. By the perpetual motion of the fluids, especially in the minute vessels, as well as the constant action of the muscles, small particles are continually worn off, from the solids of the body. The fluids likewise are continually diminishing. And hence every animal body, by the very condition of its frame, is liable to destruction. To prevent this, a restitution must be made to the juices and solids of the body, equal and similar to what is lost. And this we call nutrition. It seems to be performed thus. The blood forcibly thrown by the heart into the arteries, endeavours to go out every way through the pores. But these are usually too small to give its particles a free passage. They can only pass where any of the pores are open. Here one will naturally follow another in a line, and constitute a fibre or part of a fibre. When as much is thus added to one end of the fibre, as is wasted at the other, the body is nourished; when more is added than is wasted, we arc said to grow. We see then how absolutely necessary food is, to repair the constant decay of the body: so that few men or women can live without it, above five or six days. And yet the abstaining from it, for a season, has its use. Indeed great is the efficacy of abstinence, both in prolonging life beyond its usual period, and in the cure of many stubborn disorders. Lewis Cornaro, a nobleman of Venice, after all other means had failed, so that his life was despaired of at forty, recovered and lived to near a hundred, by mere dint of abstinence. It is surprising to observe, to what an age those ancient christians lived, who retired from the fury of persecution into the deserts of Arabia and Egypt. They drank only water, and took no other food than 12 ounces of bread in 24 hours. On this, St. Anthony lived 105 years, Epiphanius 115, Simon Stylites 1 12, and Romuald 120. Among animals we see surprising instances of long abstinence. Several species pass four, five, or six months every year without eating or drinking. So tortoises and dormice regularly retire at the season to their respective cells. Some kinds got into ruins, or the hollows of rocks; others, into clefts of trees. Some sleep in holes under the earth ; others bury themselves under water. The serpent kind bear abstinence to a miracle. Rattle snakes will subsist many months without food. Dr. Shaw saw two Egyptian serpents, which had been kept in a bottle five years (on a small quantity of sand wherein they coiled themselves up), without any sort of food. Yet when he saw them they had just cast their skins, and were as lively as if just taken. There have been instances even of men passing several months, with scarce any sustenance. So Samuel Chilton, of Tinbury, near Bath, in the year 1693, 1694, and 1695, slept sometimes four months, and sometimes above six together, with very little food : and six weeks without ans-, but a little teflt conveyed with a quill through his teeth. And since this, John Ferguson, of Kilimelford, in Argyleshire, about eighteen years ago, overheated himself, drank largely of cold water, and fell asleep. He slept for four and twenty hours, and waked in a high fever; ever since his stomach loathes, and can retain no kind of aliment but water. A neighbouring gentleman to whom his father is tenant, locked him up for twenty days, Supplying him daily with water, and taking care that he should have no other food. But it made no difference, either in his look Or strength. He is now six and thirty years of age, of a fresh complexion, and as strong as any common man. Still more strange is the case of Gilbert Jackson. About fifteen years of age, in February 1716, he was seized with a violent fever: it returned in April, for three weeks, and again on the 10th of June: he then lost his speech, his stomach, and the use of his limbs, and could not be persuaded either to eat or drink any thing. May the 17th, 1717, his fever left him, but still he was deprived of speech and the use of his limbs, and took no food whatever. June 30th, he was seized with a fever again, and the next day recovered his speech, but without eating or drinking, or the use of his limbs. On the 11th of October he recovered his health, with the use of one of his legs, but neither ate nor drank; only sometimes washed his mouth with water. On the lath of June, 1718, the fever returned and lasted till September. He then recovered, and continued in pretty good health, and was fresh coloured, but took no kind of meat or drink. On the 9th of June, 1719, he was again seized with a severe fever. On the tenth, at night, his father prevailed on him to take a spoonful of milk, boiled with oatmeal. It stuck so long in his throat, that his parents feared he had been choaked; but ever since that time he has taken food, though so little, that a halfpenny loaf serves him for eight days. All the time he fasted, he had no evacuation, either by stool, or urine: and it was fourteen days after he began to eat, before he had any. lIe is now in pretty good health. I suppose such another instance as this, has scarce been known in the memory of man. It is not improbable, that the air itself furnishes some nutritive particles. It is certain, there are substances of all kinds, floating in the atmosphere. And that an animal body may be nourished hereby, is evident in the case of Vipers. These, if taken when first brought forth, and kept from every thing but air, will yet grow considerably in a few days. 6. As without respiration and nutrition we cannot live at all, so without SENSE, life would be like death. In every sensation there is, 1. An outward object. 2. Its action in the organ of sense. 3. A perception of it in the mind. The action of the object on the organ, is by means of the nerves communicated to the brain. And then, not otherwise, the perception follows. But how, none but He that made man can explain. 7. In SIGHT, the action on the organ is performed just in the manner of that in a camera obscura. The rays of light reaching from the surface of bodies to the eye, variously penetrate the coats and humours of it, and paint on the bottom of the eye the images of the things which we see. This is communicated by the optic nerve to the brain, and then the perception, which is properly sight, follows. But the eye has many advantages above a camera obscura: not only as it can be moved various ways, by the help of its muscles; but also as the pupil, by the help of the iris, is instantly either dilated or constringed, according to the degree of light. The eye likewise accommodates itself to the various distances of the objects, the bottom of the eye approaching to or receding from the crystalline humour, as the object is nearer or farther off. 8. SOUND is a tremulous motion of the air, produced by the stroke or collision of bodies. HEARING is performed in the following manner. The undulating air enters the outward cavity of the ear, and then strikes upon the drum: from which the motion is communicated to the little bones within arid the air contained in the inner cavity. This, by means of the nerve, conveys it to the brain, and then follows the perception which we term HEARING. 9. The fine effiuvia which spread every way from odorous bodies, ascending with the air into the nostrils, variously twitch the filaments of the olfactory nerves, according to the variety of their natures. When this motion is by those nerves communicated to the brain, tire perception follows which is called SM E LL IN G. 10. It was observed before, that the surface of the tongue is filled with small papillae, which are no other than fine ramifications of the gustatory nerve. These are variously moved, by the particles of meat and drink. And this motion being by that nerve transmitted to the brain, that perception arises which we stile TASTING. 11. The organ of FEELING is the skin in general, with which innumerable nervous papilla are interwoven, which being moved by the slightest touch of other bodies, convey that motion to tire brain. But these papill abound in all the extremities, particularly the palms of the hand, and the tips of the fingers. And hence it is, that the sense of feeling is far more exquisite in those, than in other parts. 12. Nearly allied to the senses arc the natural appetites, particularly HUNGER and THIRST. The usual way of accounting for them is this. When the food, now reduced to a pulp, is expressed out of the stomach, it is of course contracted by its muscular coat. This causes the inner coat to lie in folds; which by means of the peristaltic motion, rubbing lightly OH each other, occasion the uneasy sensation which we term HUNGER. This is felt first in the upper orifice which is first evacuated. But as by degrees the rest of the contents are expelled, this ‘rubbing of the membranes on each other spreads over the whole stomach, and renders our hunger more urgent. This uneasy sensation is increased by the acidity, which the blood in the arteries of the stomach contracts through long abstinence, its soft, balsamic parts having been all drawn off. Likewise its velocity is considerably augmented, when we have not eaten for some time. Hence it is, that hunger, if it continues long, will occasion a violent fever: that young persons, and those who labour hard, or are of a bilious constitution, are soonest hungry: whereas those whose humours are thick and viscid, are not so soon incommoded therewith. 13. Hot vapours ascending from the stomach, and drying the throat and mouth, are supposed to be the occasion of that uneasy sensation, which we term THIRST. I say, are supposed. For I apprehend nothing can be known with any certainty upon the head. In like manner it is sup.. posed, that we are then awake, when the nerves are braced, and filled with animal spirits; and that when they are unbraced and empty, we sleep. But who can give any satisfactory account of sleep Some ascribe it to the stoppage of the nerves: some to the quiescency, and others to a deficiency, of the animal spirits. The truth is, we are ignorant of the whole affair; and no more understand sleep than we do death. But this we know, that during sleep several functions are suspended, the organs of sense are at rest, the muscles are quiescent, so that hardly any spirits flow through them. The fibres of the nerves are little changed, and an equilibrium obtains throughout. There is no difference of pressure on the vessels, nor of velocity in the humours, which circulate equally through all the canals. . Mean time, all disturbing causes being at rest, the wasted humours are restored, and the particles supplied, which were worn off the solids. We may observe farther, that when the head is hot, and the feet cold, we cannot sleep; that perspiration is twice as great while we sleep as while we are awake; that too much . sleep makes the senses dull, the memory weak, and the whole body listless; that sleep will for a considerable time supply the place of meat and drink; that a fœtus sleeps always; children much; youths more than adults, and they than old men. To speak a little more particularly. While we are awake there is a continual motion of the voluntary muscles, of ‘the parts subservient to sense, and to the affections, all which stimulate the nerves, blood-vessels and heart. Thus the finer parts of the blood are continually wasted, whence weariness ensues: and if the vigilance be continued, a feverish heat and sensible loss of strength. As the night advances, a weight falls on the large muscles and their tendons; and the mind becomes heavy. The Powers that hold the body erect, begin to shrink from their office; the eyelids close; the head nods, and we take less notice of outward objects, till at length all the thoughts are in confusion, and a sort of delirium ensues, from whence there is a transition to sleep, not known to us. This is hastened by darkness, composure of mind, and absence of irritation from all parts of the body. Again: whatever weakens the natural powers, inclines to and increases sleep: such as loss of blood, cooling medicines, yea the cold of the external air. Add to these, whatever calls off the quantity of blood flowing to the heart, as warm bathing of the feet, a plentiful ingestion of food into the stomach: likewise whatever lessens the motions of the spirits, whether in the brain, or stomach, heart, or arteries. On the contrary, some hot medicines induce sleep, by causing a greater afflux of blood to the brain. The same effect bays some fevers; as also fatness, and whatever else retards the venal blood. In all these cases, the blood collected in the head compresses the brain, so as to lessen the course of the spirits into the nerves. Sleepiness is likewise produced by any compression of the brain, whether from extravasatecl blood, a depressed part of some bones, or a collection of serous water within the ventricles, Sleep therefore sometimes rises from a defect of time spirits always from a collapsing of the nervous fibres, through which the spirits pass from their fountain to all parts of the body. It is hindered by intense thought, Pain of body, and strong emotions of mind: all which urge the spirits on, and prevent the nervous fibres from collapsing. In sleep, the heart is gradually restored from its quick and almost feverish pulsation, to its slow and calm motion: the breathing is slower and smaller, the motion of the stomach and intestines, time digestion of the aliments and the progression of the faces are diminished. At the same time the thinner juices move more slowly, while the more gross are called together, the fat is accumulated in its cells, and the nutritive particles adhere more plentifully to the inner surfaces of the small vessels and the sides of the fibres. Thus while the spirits are secreted with a less consumption, they are by degrees accumulated in the brain, so as to distend and fill the collapsed nerves. And then we awake out of sleep. Let us consider in another view these remarkable incidents of our frame, SLEEP and DREAMS: SO remarkable, that they are a kind of experimental mystery, a standing miracle. Behold the most vigorous constitution, when resigned to the slumbers of the night. Its activity is oppressed with indolence; its strength suffers a temporary annihilation. The nerves are like a bow unstrung, the whole animal like a motionless log. Behold a person of the most delicate sensations and amiable dispositions. His eyes, if wide open, discern no light, distinguish no objects. His ears, with the organs unimpaired, perceive not the sounds that are round about them. Time exquisitely fine sense of feeling is overwhelmed with an utter stupefaction. Where are his social affections He knows not the father that begat him, the friend that is as his own soul. Behold the most ingenious scholar, whose judgment traces the most intricate sciences, whose taste relishes all the beauties of composition. The thinking faculties are unhinged, and instead of close-connected reasonings, there is nothing but a disjointed huddle of absurd ideas. Instead of well-digested principles, nothing but a disorderly jumble of ‘crude conceptions. Yet no sooner does he awake, than he is possest of all his former endowments. His sinews are braced and fit for action, his senses alert and keen. Time frozen affections melt with tenderness: the romantic visionary is again the master of reason. And, what is beyond ‘measure surprising, the intoxicated, mind. does not work itself sober by slow degrees; but, in the twinkling of an eye, is possessed, of all its faculties! Why does not ‘the numbness, which seized the animal powers, chain the limbs perpetually Why does not the stupor, that deadens all the senses, hold fast its possession When time thoughts are once disadjusted, why are they not always in confusion How is it, that they arc rallied in a moment, and reduced from the wildest irregularity to the most orderly array From an inactivity resembling death, and from extravagancies little differing from madness, how suddenly is the body restored to vigour and agility How instantaneously is the mind re-established in sedateness and harmony ! Surely “this is the Lord’s doing: and it is marvellous in our eyes !" 14. That all MOTION isperformed by means of the muscles, all men are now agreed. And it is supposed that the motions of the muscles proceed from the influx of the animal spirits; which entering them by means of time nerves, swell and shorten the belly of the muscle, and thereby draw the extremities together, and move the parts connected therewith. But all this likewise is mere conjecture. God only knows his own work. 15. That some motions are voluntarzj, and some are not, is another amazing proof of the Creator’s wisdom. Those which arc absolutely necessary ,for the conservation of the machine, as the heating of the pulse, and the circulation of the blood, go on by a kind of mechanic law, which no way depends upon our will: while a thousand other motions begin and end, by a single act of our will, when we please. But how this bodily motion is connected with that act of our mind, who is able to explain 16. There is a manifest congruity between the Stature of man, and his age, during the time of his growth. And as five feet and a half may l)e thought the ordinary height of man, so may seventy years the ordinary period of his life. Yet some vastly exceed in both respects. And as we know Thomas Parre and Henry Jenkins completed double that usual term of life, so we have no reason to question, that some have doubled the common stature of man. Walter Parsons, king James the first’s porter, was full seven feet, seven inches high. Mr. Ray saw a man at Bruges, who was eight feet and a half; all his limbs well shaped, and his strength proportionable. Becanus says, he saw a youth almost nine feet high; a man near ten, and a woman quite ten feet. Pliny mentions several men of the same height in his age. Yea, Thevenot tells us, that he met a Spanish merchant on the coast of Africa, who had in a coffer the skull and bones of an American giant, which he brought with him from that country, who was eleven feet, five inches in height, and died in the .year 1559. From these warrantable accounts we learn, that there have been men eleven or twelve feet high, which equals, if not exceeds, the stature of the tallest giant mentioned in scripture. The height of Goliah was but six cubits and a span, which, is only nine feet, nine inches. Indeed the bedstead of Og, the king of Bashan, is said to have been nine cubits in length. But his bed must have been longer than his body: we may fairly allow nine inches above his head, and as much below his feet. And making this deduction, he was not above twelve feet high: much of the same stature with the giant, whose forehead bone is still kept in the medicine school at Leyden. Is this deviation from the common stature of man by largeness, more remarkable than its opposite The deviation from it by littleness, which has been observed in some instances Such wan the dwarf, who lived for several years in the palace of the king of Poland. His parents were healthy, strong peasants, who affirmed, that at his birth he weighed scarce a pound and a quarter; that he was presented on a plate to be baptized, and for a long time had a wooden shoe for his bed. When 18 months old, he could speak some words’; when two years old, he could walk almost without help. His shoes were then just an inch and a half long. When he was six years of age, the king of Poland gave him the name of Bebe, and kept him in his palace. His height was then fifteen inches, and he weighed thirteen pounds. He was in perfect health, his person was agreeable and well proportioned; but there was little appearance of understanding. He had no sense of religion, was incapable of reasoning, and could learn neither music nor’ dancing. Yet lie was susceptible of passions in a high degree, anger and jealousy in particular. When sixteen years old, lie was ‘29 inches high, being still healthy and well proportioned: but from that time his health declined; yet he grew four inches in the four succeeding years. At 21 he was shrunk and decrepit; and at 22 it was with difficulty he could walk a hundred steps. In the 23d year he fell into a kind of lethargy, and in a few days died, as it were of old age. 17. The two most eminent instances of longevity in England were Thomas Parre and Henry Jenkins. Thomas Parre was a poor countryman of Shropshire, whence he was brought up to London, by Thomas, earl of Arundel. At the age of 120 he married a widow: at 130 he could do any husbandry work, even threshing of corn, although, soon after, his sight began to fail; nor had he the use of his memory, or but in a small degree for several years before he died: but he retained his hearing and apprehension to the last. He used to eat often, by day and by night, of milk, old cheese with coarse bread, whey and small beer. He died at the age of 152 years and 9 months. He might have lived much longer, but coming out of a clear, thin and free air to London, and from a plain country diet, to that of a splendid family, where he fed high, and drank the best wines, the natural functions were overcharged, and death could not but soon ensue. Henry Jenkins called at my. house, I asked how old he was he paused and said, “about 162, or 163.” I asked what was the first public transaction he remembered he said,” the battle of Flowdenfield, being then 11 or 12 years old.” For many years he was a fisherman, and used to wade in the streams. After he ‘was a hundred years old, he frequently swam in the rivers. The latter part of his life he was obliged to beg. He died at Ellerton upon Swale, in Yorkshire, December 8, 1670: having lived, supposing him to have been 12 years old, at the battle of Flowdenfield, which was fought September the 9th, 1513, a hundred and sixty-nine years, that is, sixteen longer than Thomas Parre. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 13: PART 01 - CHAPTER 3 - OF THE PRETERNATURAL STATE OF THE HUMAN BODY ======================================================================== Chapter 3 - Of the Preternatural State of the Human Body 1. What preternatural state of the body means 6. The remote causes of diseases 2. The variety of diseases 7. Of fevers 3. Reduced to three classes: those of the solids 8. The way to preserve health 4. Those of the fluids, particularly, the blood 9. Of life and death 5. Those of the animal spirits 1. When the structure or disposition of the parts of the body is so disturbed and disordered, that the natural operations are no longer performed, or not in the manner they ought: this is a preternatural ,state of the body, otherwise termed a disease. 2. There cannot but be a great variety of diseases, whether we consider the manner, wherein that structure or disposition is disturbed, the part wherein each disease has its seat, or the various effects and circumstances of them. Some diseases only. hurt the. use of the parts; some wholly destroy it. Some affect this’ or that part; others the whole body. Some disorder the body, some the mind; and others both mind and body. 3. But they are all reducible to three classes, those of the SOLIDS, of the FLUIDS, and of both. The solid parts may be bruised, wounded, swelled, or removed out of their natural place. It is a wonderful provision which nature makes in one of the most dreadful calamities incident to the solids. When a bone is broken, let it only be replaced and preserved in that situation, and nature does the rest, by supplying the divided parts with a callus. This oozes out from the small arteries and bony fibres of the divided parts, in form of a jelly, and soon fills up the cavities between them. It soon grows cartilaginous, afterwards bony, and joins the fractured parts so firmly, that the bone will be more easily broken in any other part than in that. A callus of a different kind is formed on our hands and feet. This is composed of several layers of particles loosely connected. These, if steeped in fair water easily separate; and then are found, if viewed through a microscope, to be all of one shape, resembling that of a weaver’s shuttle, broad in the middle and pointed at each end. Being steeped again, they divide into a great number of smaller particles, all of the same figure with the first. The thickness of the skin in the hands of those who labour hard, is wholly owing to vast numbers of these particles which combine together, but so loosely that they are easily separated on moistening. That thick skin is composed of several layers of different thickness, which have been added from time to time: each of which layers is only a congeries of almost an infinity of these particles. But people who labour ever so hard, will have little callus on their hands if they wash them often. The washing the hands daily rubs off a great quantity o these scales. Indeed it is sur­prising to see, how large a quantity of them is daily thrown off from our hands and feet, though from no other part of the body. We may learn from this the great bounty of nature, in so care­fully supplying the parts designed for walking or labour, with an additional matter for their defence, which is not in any other part of the body. 4. The diseases of the FLUIDS lie chiefly in the blood, when it is either too thick and sizy, whereby its motion becomes too languid and slow, whence spring the diseases owing to obstruc­tion: or too thin. From the former cause arise leprosies, scir­rhus’s, lethargies, melancholy, hysteric affections; and if at the same time it abounds in acid salts, the sharp points of these tear the tender fibres, and occasion the scurvy, king’s-evil, consump­tion, with a whole train of painful distempers.—Fevers frequently arise from the too great thinness in the blood. The plague is not an European disease. It is properly a disease of Asia, where it is epidemical, and is never known elsewere, but by importation from thence. The small-pox also is an exotic disease, and was not known in Europe, or even Asia Minor, till a spice trade was opened by the later princes of Egypt, to the remotest part of the East-Indies. Thence it originally came, and thert it rages at this day. 5. As to the diseases ascribed to the ANIMAL SPIRITS, some are thought to proceed from the suppression or diminution of their motion, as apoplexies and palsies; some from their exces­sive or irregular motion, as madness, convulsions, epilepsies. I know not whether the gentlemen of the faculty would not term the following, “a disease of the animal spirits.” Donald Monro, at Strathbogie, in Scotland, imitates unawares all the motions of those he is with. He is a little, slender, old man, and was subject to this infirmity from his infancy. He is loath to have it observed, and therefore casts down his eyes in the streets, and turns them aside when in company. We had made several trials before be perceived it, and afterwards had much ado to make him stay. He imitated not only our scratching our heads, but the wringing our hands, and every other motion. We needed not to persuade him to be covered; for he still covered or uncovered aš we did: and all so exactly, and yet with such a natural and unaf­fected air, that none could suspect he did it designedly. When we held both his hands, and caused another to make such motions, he struggled to get free. But when we would have known more particularly, how he found himself affected, he would only give us this simple answer, that “it vexed his heart and his brain.” But to what class shall we refer the disease of Ann Jackson She was born at Waterford, of English parents, both said to be sound and healthy, and from three years old, had horns growing on various parts of her body. She is now thirteen or fourteen: the horns grow chiefly about the joints; they are fastened to the skin like warts, and about the roots resemble them much in substance, but toward the end are much harder. At the end of each finger and toe is one, as long as the finger or toe itself, rising a little between the nail and flesh, and bending again like a turkey’s claw. On the joints of each finger, and toe are smaller ones, which sometimes fall off, but others come in their place. Round her knees and elbows are many; two in particular at each elbow, which twist like ram’s horns. At each ear grows one: yet she eats and drinks heartily, sleeps soundly, and performs all the offices of nature, like other healthy persons. 6. Such are the proximate causes of diseases. As to the remote, the chief are these, 1. Intemperance in meat or drink, either with regard to the quantity or quality. 2. Want of exercise, or excess therein. 3. immoderate sleep or watching. 4. Unwholesome air. 5. The diminution of some natural evacuation. 6. Irregular passions. All or any of these affect the temperature and motion of the blood and spirits. 7. But it can scarcely be conceived, after all that has been said and wrote, on almost every subject, how very little is known to this day, concerning the causes of diseases. In most cases the skilful physicians acknowledge they have nothing but conjectures to offer. We may give a specimen with regard to fevers, the most common of all distempers. These are of various kinds: at present we will speak of intermitting fevers only. Most of these agree in the following symptoms. During the approach of the fit, cold and shivering seize the body, with a small and slow pulse. Heat succeeds, with a quick, strong, hard pulse, followed by sweat and a softer pulse. These fits return at stated times. It is supposed, -that these changes in the blood arise from some foreign matter mixt with it, which it cannot readily assimilate, and which therefore must in some measure hinder its motion: perhaps because the particles of it are too large, too long, or branching out. When the circulation is hindered or retarded, chilness naturally follows. And if these particles, sticking in the finer passages, are prest on by the affluent blood, this will occa­sion both a shock and tremor of the muscles, and make the pulse more weak and slow. But when they are at length broken and commmuted, by the continued afflux of the blood, it will flow more violently, and of course occasion heat, which driving tile blood to tile surface of the body, many of its thinner particles will burst through the pores, in the form of sweat. As to the fevers returning at stated times, it is supposed, the peccant matter is generated from time to time, and mingled with the blood afresh; whence the same symptoms of course return, and that with more or less violence, as more or less of that matter is generated. And as this is done more swiftly or slowly, the fever returns in one, two, or three days. But all this is mere conjec­ture. It may be so; and it may not. So that though we may guess much, we know nothing about it. 8. It is sufficient for us to know how we may avoid diseases, whether we can account for them or not. To this end, we should avoid whatever, in meat, drink, motion or rest, is likely to pro­duce any considerable change in the blood. The body likewise should be as far as possible accustomed to bear some change of food, air, and other externals, that if we should at any time be constrained to make such a change, no ill consequence may ensue. But no precise rule can be laid down which will suit all consti­tutions. Every man must consult his own reason and experience, and carefully follow them. A most unaccountable method of removing many diseases, was that of the famous Mr. Greatrix. “I give you nothing concern­ing him,” says Mr. Boyle, “but from eye-witnesses. My own brother, some time since, was seized with a violent pain in his head and back. Mr. Greatrix, coming by accident to our house, gave present ease to his head by stroking it. He then stroked his back: the pain immediately fled to his right thigh. He pur­sued it with his hand to tile knee, ankle, foot, toe, then he stroked this, and it was gone. “ My uncle’s daughter was seized with a pain in her knees, which occasioned a white swelling. She tried many remedies without effect, for six or seven years. Mr. Greatrix then coming to Dublin, my aunt brought her to him. He stroked her knees, and the pain fled downward from his hands, till he drove it out of her toes. And in a little time the white swelling went away. “I had an acquaintance, who, after a fever, was very deaf, and had a violent pain in her ears. Mr. Greatrix put sonic spittle in her ears and rubbed them, which cured both the pain anti deafness. “Another told me, that when a child, she was extremely troubled with the king’s-evil. She tried many remedies in vain; but Mr. Greatrix stroked and perfectly cured him. A smith near us had two daughters troubled with the same distemper. One of these had a running sore in the thigh, the other in the arm : he cured them both. He cured all kinds of hysteric fits. He likewise cured the falling sickness, and without any relapse, provided he could see the patient in three or four fits.” 9. As long as the soul and body are united, a man is said to be ALIVE. But it is extremely difficult to determine the precise time at which life ceases, or what that is which is absolutely necessary to the continuance of it. Is respiration But when this is entirely ceased, as- is the case in a person strangled, blow strongly into the lungs, and they play again; which shews he was not dead before. Is the beating of the heart But when this also is ceased, in the forementioned case, take the same method, and when the lungs begin to play, the heart begins to beat anew. Is the circulation of the blood But persons drowned, who have been so long under water, as to have no pulse remaining in any artery, and consequently no circulation, have recovered by the use of proper means, and lived many years after. Is the fluidity of the blood Nay, but it is a common thing in Sweden, to recover to life one who has been twenty-four hours under water; and who not only has no pulse, but is as stiff all over, as any dead corpse can be. What then is death Undoubtedly it is the sepa­ration of the soul and body. But there are many cases wherein none but God can tell the moment wherein they separate. Many who seem to be dead, may be recovered. A person suffocated by the steam of coals, set on fire in the pit, fell down as dead. He lay between half an hour and three quarters, and was then drawn up, his eyes staring, his mouth gaping, his skin cold: not the least breathing being perceivable, nor the least pulse either in his heart or arteries. A surgeon applied his mouth to that of the patient, and by blowing strongly, holding the nostrils at the same time, raised the chest by his breath. Immediately he felt six or seven quick beats of the heart; the lungs began to play, and soon after the pulse was felt in the arteries, lie then opened a vein, which at first bled drop by drop, but in awhile bled freely. Mean time he caused him to be pulled and rubbed. In an hour he began to come to himself; in four hours walked home, and in four days returned to his work. Wherever the solids are whole, and their tone unimpaired, where the juices are not corrupted, where there is the least remains of animal heat, it would be wrong not to try this experi­ment. This takes in a few diseases, and many accidents. Among the first are many that cause sudden deaths, as apoplexics and fits of various kinds. In many of these it might be of use to apply this method: arid in various casualties, such as suffocations from the damps of mines and coal-pits, the condensed air of long unopened wells, the noxious vapours of fermenting liquors received from a narrow vent, the steam of burning charcoal, arsenical effluvia, or those of suiphurous mineral acids. And perhaps those who seem to be struck dead by lightning, or any its height in the prime of manhood. But as soon as the body begins to decrease, life decreases also; for, as the human frame diminishes, and its juices circulate in smaller quantity, life diminishes and circulates with less vigour; so that as we begin to live by degrees, we begin to die in the same manner. Why then should we fear death, if our lives have been such as not to make eternity dreadful Why should we fear that moment which is prepared by a thousand other moments of the same kind, the first pangs of sickness being probably greater than the last struggles of departure Death, in most persons, is as calmly endured, as the disorder that brings it on. If we inquire from those, whose business it is to attend the sick, and the dying, we shall find, that, except in a very few acute cases, where the patient dies in agonies, the greatest number die quietly, and seemingly without pain. And even the agonies of the former rather terrify the spectators, than torment the patient; for how many have we seen, who have been accidently relieved from this extremity, and yet had flO memory of what they then endured In fact, they had ceased to live, during that time when they ceased to have sensation; and their pains were only those of ‘which they had an idea. The greatest number of mankind die, therefore, without sen­sation: and- of those few that still preserve their faculties to the last moment, there is scarcely one that does not also preserve the hopes of still out-living his disorder. Nature, for the happiness of man, has rendered this sentiment stronger than his reason. A person dying of an incurable disorder, which he must know to be so, by frequent examples of his case; which lie perceives to be so, by the inquietude of all around him; by the tears of his friends, and the departure, or the face of the physician, is, nevertheless, still in hopes of getting over it. His interest is so great, that lie only attends to his own representations; the judgment of others is considered as a hasty conclusion; and while death every moment makes new inroads upon his constitu­tion, and destroys life in some part, hope still seems to escape the universal ruin, and is the last that submits to the blow. Death, therefore, is not the terrible thing which we suppose it to be. It is a spectre which frights us at a distance, but which disappears when we come to approach it more closely. Our ideas of its terrors are conceived in prejudice, and dressed up in fancy; we regard it not only as the greatest misfortune, but as also an evil accompanied with the most excruciating tortures: we have even increased our apprehensions, by reasoning on the extent of our’ sufferings. It must be dreadful, say some, since it is sufficient to separate the soul from the body; it must be long, since our sufferings are proportioned to the succession of our ideas; and these being painful, must succeed each other with extreme rapidity. In this manner false philosophy labours to augment the violent agitation of the passions, as joy, fear, anger, surprise, might frequently be recovered by this simple process. The animal machine is like a clock the wheels whereof may be in ever so good order, the mechanism complete in every part, and wound up to the full pitch; yet without some impulse communicated to the pendulum, the whole continues motionless. Thus, in these accidents, the solids are whole and elastic, and the juices no otherwise vitiated, than by a short stagnation from the quiescence of that moving something, which enables matter In animated bodies, to overcome the resistance of the medium it acts in. Inflating the lungs, and thus communicating motion to the heart, like giving the first vibration to a pendulum, enables this something to resume the government of the fabric, and actuate its organs afresh. It has been suggested, that a pair of bellows might be applied better than a man’s mouth.” But, I. Bellows may not be at hand: 2. The lungs of one man may safely bear as great a force, as the lungs of another can exert, ‘which by the bellows cannot always be determined.: 3. The warmth and moisture of the breath may likewise be of use. But what is properly a natural death 7 From the very birth, every vessel in the human body grows stiffer and stiffer by the adhesion of more and more earthly particles to its inner surface Not only solid food supplies it with these, but every fluid that circulates through it. Hereby more and more of the small vessels are so filled up, as to be no longer pervious. In propor­tion, the coats of the larger vessels grow harder, and their cavities narrower. Hence the dryness and stiffness of all the parts, which are observable in old age. By this means, more and more of the Vessels are destroyed, the finer fluids secerned in less quantity, the concoctions weakened, and the reparation of the decayed and injured parts prevented. So that only the’ coarser juices continue to run slowly through the larger vessels. Soon these also not only become narrow, but stiff, bony, and unelastic, till even the great artery having lost its spring, can propel the blood no longer. And then follows death by old age, which is a purely natural death. But this is a very rare case: it is seldom life is so long protracted, the lamp of life being easily blown out, when it burns with so feeble a flame. So that the age of man seldom exceeds three score years arid ten before dust returns to dust. The term of life can be prolonged but a very little time, by any art we can use. A few only have lived beyond the ordinary duration of human existence; such as Parre, and Jenkins: yet these men used no particular arts to prolong life; on the contrary, they were peasants, accustomed to the greatest fatigues, and who had no settled rules. Indeed, if we consider that the Euro­pean, the negro, the Chinese, and the American, the civilized man, and the savage, the rich and the poor, the inhabitant of the city, and of the country, though all so different in other respects, are yet entirely similar in the period allotted them for living; if we consider that neither the difference of race, of climate, of nourishment, of convenience, or of soil, makes any difference in the term of life; if we consider that those men, who live upon raw flesh, or dried fishes, upon sage or rice, upon cassava, or upon roots, nevertheless ‘live as long as those who are fed upon bread and meat; we shall readily acknowledge, that the duration of life depends neither upon habit, customs, nor the quantity of food, and that nothing can change the laws of that mechanism, which regulates the number of our years. If there be any difference in the different period of man’s existence, it ought principally to be ascribed to the quality of the air. It has been observed, that in elevated situations there have been found more old people than in those that were low. The mountains of Scotland, Wales, Auvergne and Switzerland, have furnished more instances of extreme old age, than the plains of Holland, Flanders, Germany, or Poland. But, in general, the duration of life is nearly the same in most countries. Man, if not cut off by accidental diseases, is generally found to live ninety or a hundred years. Our ancestors did not live beyond that date; and, since the time of David, this term has had but little alteration. If we be asked how, in the beginning, men lived so much longer, than at present, and by what means their lives were extended to nine hundred and thirty, or even nine hundred and sixty years, it may be answered, that the productions of the earth, upon which they fed, might be of a different nature at that time, from what they are at present. But perhaps it is better to say, that the term was abridged by divine command, in order to keep the earth from being overstocked with human inhabitants; since, if every person were now to live and generate for nine hundred years, mankind would be increased to such a degree, that there would be no room for subsistence: so that the plan of Providence would be altered; which is seen not to produce life, without pro­viding a proper supply! But to whatever extent life may be prolonged, or however some may have delayed the effects of age, death is the certain goal to which all are hastening. All the causes of decay, which have been mentioned, contribute to bring on this dreadful disso­lution. However, nature approaches to this awful period, by slow and imperceptible degrees, life is consuming day after day, and some one of our faculties, or vital principles, is every hour dying before the rest; so that death is only the last shade in the picture: and it is probable, that man suffers a greater change in going from youth to age, than from age into the grave. When we first began to live, our lives may scarcely be said to be our own; as the child grows, life increases in the same proportion, and is at its height in the prime of manhood. But as soon as the body begins to decrease, life decreases also; for, as the human frame diminishes, and its juices circulate in smaller quantity, life diminishes and circulates with less vigour; so that as we begin to live by degrees, we begin to die in the same manner. Why then should we fear death, if our lives have been such as not to make eternity dreadful Why should we fear that moment which is prepared by ‘a thousand other moments of the same kind, the first pangs of sickness being probably greater than the last struggles of departure Death, in most persons, is as calmly endured, as the disorder that brings it on. If we inquire from those, whose business it is to attend the sick, and the dying, we shall find, that, except in a very few acute cases, where the patient dies in agonies, the greatest number die quietly, and seemingly without pain. And even the agonies of the former rather terrify the spectators, than torment the patient; for how many have ‘we seen, who have been accidently relieved from this extremity, and yet had no memory of what they then endured In fact, they had ceased to live, during that time when they ceased to have sensation ; and their pains were only those of which they had an idea. The greatest number of mankind die, therefore, without sen­sation: and of those few that still preserve their faculties to the last moment, there is scarcely one that does not also preserve the hopes of still out-living his disorder. Nature, for the happiness of man, has rendered this sentiment stronger than his reason. A person dying of an incurable disorder, which he must know to be so, by. frequent examples of his case; which he perceives to be so, by the inquietude of all around him; by the tears of his friends, and the departure, or the face of the physician, is, nevertheless, still in hopes of getting over it. His interest is so great, that he only attends to his own representations; the judgment of others is considered as a hasty conclusion; and while death every moment makes new inroads upon his constitu­tion, and destroys life in some part, hope still seems to escape the universal ruin, and is the last that submits to the blow. Death, therefore, is not the terrible thing which we suppose it to be. It is a spectre which frights us at a distance, but which disappears when we come to approach it more closely. Our ideas of its terrors are conceived in prejudice, and dressed up in fancy; we regard it not only as the greatest misfortune, but as also an evil accompanied with the most excruciating tortures: we have even increased our apprehensions, by reasoning on the extent of our sufferings. It must be dreadful, say some, since it is sufficient to separate the soul from the body; it must be long, since our sufferings are proportioned to the succession of our ideas; and these being painful, must succeed each other with extreme rapidity. In this manner false philosophy labours to augment the miseries of our nature, and to aggravate that period, which nature has kindly covered with insensibility. Neither the mind, nor the body, can suffer these calamities; the mind is, at that time, mostly without ideas, and the body too much enfeebled, to be capable of perceiving its pain. A very acute pain produces either death, or fainting, which is a state similar to death: the body can suffer but to a certain degree; if the torture becomes excessive, it destroys itself; and the mind ceases to perceive, when the body can no longer endure. In this manner excessive pain admits of no reflection; and wherever there are any signs of it, we may be sure, that the sufferings of the patient are no greater than what we ourselves may have remembered to endure. But, in the article of death, we have many instances in - which the dying person has shewn, that every reflection that presup­poses an absence of great pain, and, consequently, that pang which ends life, cannot even be so great as those which have preceded. Thus, when Charles XII. was shot at the siege of Frederickshall, he was seen to clap his hand on the hilt of his sword; and although the blow was great enough to terminate one of the boldest and bravest lives in the world, yet it was not painful enough to destroy reflection. He perceived himself attacked, lie reflected that he ought to defend himself, and his body obeyed the impulse of his mind, even in the last extremity. Thus, it is the prejudice of persons in health, and not the body in pain, that makes us suffer from the approach of death: we have, all our lives, contracted a habit of making out excessive pleasures and pains; and nothing but repeated experience shews us, how seldom the one can be suffered, or the other enjoyed to the utmost. If there he any thing necessary to confirm what we have said, concerning the gradual cessation of life, or the insensible ap­proaches of our end, nothing can more effectually prove it, than the uncertainty of the signs of death. If we consult what Winslow or Bruhier have said upon this subject, we shall be convinced, that between life and death, the shade is so very undistinguisha­ble, that even all the powers of art can scarcely determine where the one ends, and the other begins, The colour of the visage, the warmth of the body, the suppleness of the joints, are but uncer­tain signs of life, still subsisting; while, on the- contrary, the paleness of the complexion, the coldness of the body, the stiff­ness of the extremities, the cessation of all motion, and the total insensibility of the parts, are but uncertain marks of death begun. In the same manner, also, with regard to the pulse, and the breathing: these motions are so often kept under, that it is im­possible to perceive them. By approaching a looking-glass to the mouth of the person supposed to be dead, people often expect to find whether-he breathes or not. But this is a -very uncertain experiment. The glass is frequently sullied by the vapour of the dead man’s body; arid often the person is still alive, although the glass is no way tarnished. In the same manner, neither burning, nor scarifying, neither noises in the ears, nor pungent spirits applied to the nostrils, give certain signs of the discontinuance of life; arid there are many instances of persons who have endured them all, and afterwards recovered, without any external assistance, to the astonishment of the spectators. How careful, therefore, should we be, before we commit those who are dearest to us to the grave, to be well assured of their departure. Expe­rience, justice, humanity, all persuade us not to hasten the funerals of our friends, but to keep their bodies unburied until we have certain signs of their real decease. Indeed, soon after the creation, when the earth was to be peopled by one man and one woman, the wise providence of God prolonged the -life of man to above 900 years. After the flood, when there was three men to people the earth, their age was cut shorter. And none of these patriarchs, except Shem, attained to 500 years. In the next century, none reached 240. In the third, none but Terah lived 200: men being then so increased that they built cities and divided into different nations. As their number increased, the length of their lives diminished, till about -the time of Moses it was reduced to 70 or 80 years, where it stands at this day. This is a good medium, so that the earth is neither overstocked, nor kept too thin of inhabitants. If men were now to live to Methuselah’s age, of 969 years, or only to that of Abraham’s, of 175, the earth would be over-peopled. If, on the contrary, the age of man was limited, like that of divers other animals, to 10, 20, or 30 years, it would not be peopled enough.. But, at the present rate, the balance is nearly even, and life and death keep on an equal pace. This is highly remarkable, that wherever any account has been taken, there is a certain rate and proportion in the propagation of mankInd. Such a number marry, and so. many are born, in proportion to the number of persons in every town or nation. And as to births, two things are very observable: one is, the proportion of males and females; fourteen males to thirteen females, which is exactly agreeable to all the bills of mortality. And this surplusage of males allows one man to one woman, -not­withstanding the casualties to which men are exposed above women. T he other is, that a few more are born than appear to die in any place. This is an admirable provision for extraordi­nary emergencies, to supply unhealthy places, to make up the ravages of epidemic distempers, and the depredations of war; and to afford a sufficient number for colonies, in the yet unpeo­pled parts of the earth. On the other hand, those extraordinary expenses are not only a just punishment of sin, but also a wise means to keep the balance of mankind even. So one would be ready to conclude by considering the Asiatic, and other more fertile countries, where prodigious multitudes are swept away by wars and plagues, and still they remain full of people. As to the length of life; it has been an ancient opinion, that men lived longer in cold countries than in hot. But the reverse is true. The inhabitants of the Caribbee islands frequently live a hundred and fifty years. In the Molucca islands, this ordinary life of the natives is a hundred and thirty years. In Sumatra, Java, and the neighbouring islands, the life of the inhabitants commonly extends to a hundred and forty years: in the realm of Cassuby, to 150. The Brasilians frequently live 160 years, and many, in Florida and Jucatan, still longer. Nor is this at all improbable. For there being no such ine­quality of weather in those climates as in ours, the body is not shocked by sudden changes, but kept in a more equal temper. And sickly persons with us, when fixt to their beds, and kept in an equal degree of heat, are often found to hold out many years, who would otherwise scarce have survived one. Before concluding this head, we may observe one more emi­nent instance of the divineWisdom, in the great variety through­out the world of men’s faces, voices, and hand-writing. Had men’s faces been cast in the same mould, their organs 0f speech given the same sound; and had the same structure of muscles and nerves, given the hand the same direction in writing: what confusion, what numberless inconveniencies must we have been exposed to No security could have been to our persons, no tertainty of our possessions. Our courts of justice abundantly testify the effects of mistaking men’s faces or hand-writing. But this, the wise Creator has taken care to prevent from being a general case. A man’s face distinguishes him in the light, as his voice does in the dark: and his hand-writing can speak for him when absent, and secure his contracts to future generations. Lastly, how admirably has God secured the execution of his original sentence, upon every child of man, “ dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return !" From the moment we live, we prepare for death, by the adhesion of dust, mixt with all our aliments, to our native dust; so that whatever we eat or drink, to prolong life, must sap the foundation of it. Thus, in spite of all the wisdom of man, and all the precautions which can be used, every morsel we take, poisons while it feeds, and brings us nearer to the dust from whence we came. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 14: PART 01 - CHAPTER 4 - OF THE SOUL, AND OF THE ORIGIN OF MAN ======================================================================== Chapter 4 - Of the Soul, and of the Origin of Man 1. There is something in man which perceives the various motions of the body 9. The understanding, will, and affections 2. This perception is sometimes continued and recalled 10. This may be so, or may not 3. We know things in a more sublime manner 11. Of the immortality of the soul 4. There is something in us which has an appetite to sensible things 12. Of the union of the soul and body 5. And another appetite, which is often contrary to this 13. Reason cannot discover the origin of man 6. How philosophers account for the direction of our bodily motions 14. The scriptural account of it 7. For the external senses 15. Of the production of the soul 8. The imagination and memory 16. Of the generation of the body 1. Every one finds there is something in himself which perceives the motions raised in his body by outward objects. For when we see, hear, taste, smell or feel, while the objects affect our bodily organs, we find also various perceptions in our mind, according to the variety of those objects. 2. We observe likewise, that after the objects are removed, those perceptions often continue, yea, and are variously mixed and compounded together, which we term IMAGINATION. And. a long time after, when those objects are not only removed, but even cease to exist, those perceptions return into our mind. And this we call MEMORY. 3. And as we perceive these outward objects, so we know that we do perceive them. The mind can look inward upon itself, and reflect upon its own perceptions. Over and above this, we seem to find in ourselves, a knowledge of things abstracted from matter. But the more we labour to penetrate into the nature of this divine principle, the more it seems to retire and withdraw itself from our most studious researches. 4. In like manner we find in ourselves various appetites for good things, and aversions to evil things: yea, ‘the very involuntary motions of the body tend to avoid the evil and attain the good. And the things which are perceived by our senses, or represented by our imagination, so necessarily affect us, that we can by no ‘means . hinder ourselves from having an appetite for some, and an aversion to others. 5. Yet frequently a more hidden and sublime appetite exerts itself in our minds: one that checks, controls, and exercises authority over all the rest. For if we arc convinced, that the things which are pleasant, are nevertheless hurtful, the appetite for them is over-ruled, and we find a desire, not to enjoy, but to avoid them. 6. In order to explain these things, philosophic men suppose, that all the involuntary motions of the body, are performed in a mechanical manner, by matter so and so modified: and that such effects spring of course from such causes, according to the stated laws of motion. 7. As to ‘the SENSES, they suppose, that when the organs of sense are struck by any of the bodies that surround us, and the motion caused thereby continued through the nerves to the brain, the soul, residing there, is suitably affected: God having so closely connected the soul and the body, that on certain motions of the body, if conveyed to the brain by means of the nerves, certain perceptions of the mind always follow: as, on the other hand, on certain perceptions of the mind, certain bodily motions follow. 8. They suppose, if these motions, which are by the nerves communicated to the brain, continue there after the objects are removed, the perception of these is IMAGINATION: which, if it occurs after it has ceased, is then stiled MEMORY. Others suppose, that imagination results from the motion of the animal spirits, through those traces which were made in the brain, while the outward objects were present; and memory, from the spirits moving through them afresh, after some intermission. 9. Once more. They suppose there are two faculties in the soul; one that is passive, the UNDERSTANDING, by which it perceives all the motions of the body, and knows and reflects on its own operations: the other active, the WILL, by which we incline to good, and are averse to evil. The. AFFECTIONS are only, the will exerting itself variously on various objects. 10. To speak freely upon the matter. I know the body of man is contrived with such exquisite wisdom, that he is able, by means of the organs of sense, to perceive outward objects; to continue those perceptions, to recall them after they are gone, and by a reflex act, to know what passes in his mind or body. But I know not how to account for any of these things. 11. That the soul is immaterial, is clear from hence, that it is a thinking substance. If it be said, “ God can endue matter with a faculty of thinking :“ we answer, no otherwise than he can endue a spirit with solidity and extension; that is, he can change spirit into matter; and lie can change matter into spirit. But even the Almighty cannot make it think while it remains matter; because this implies a contradiction. 12. The UNION of the soul and body is another of those things which human understanding cannot comprehend. That body and spirit cannot be implicated or twisted together like two bodily substances, we know. But how two substances of so widely different natures, can be joined at all, we know not. All we can tell is this: God has ordered that certain perceptions in the soul should constantly follow certain motions of the body, and certain motions of the body such perceptions in the soul. 13. How mankind began, is another point, which is too hard for our reason to determine. That men always existed, is no way probable, were it only on this account, the late invention of arts. For since it appears, at what time the most necessary arts were invented, we cannot reasonably suppose, that men began to exist long before that period: seeing, if they had always existed, no reason’ can be given, why these, and many more arts, were not invented long before. Arid yet the accounts given of the origin of mankind, by the wisest of the heathen philosophers, are so above measure ridiculous, that they serve as a melancholy proof of the weakness of barely natural reason. 14. The scriptural account is this: God made the body of man out of the earth, and breathed into him the breath of’ life; not only an animal life, but a spiritual principle, created to live for ever. Even his body was then perfect in its kind; neither liable to death nor pain. But what the difference was, between the original and the present body, we cannot determine. But, to form it even as it is now, no less. than a Divine power was requisite. No less could mix earth, water, air, and fire, in So exact a proportion, and then frame so many different parts, of so various figure texture and magnitude. God alone was able to form the original fibres; to .weave those fibres into hollow tubes; to dispose these tubes, filled with their several humours and variously interwoven with each other, into different organs: and of those organs connected together in a continued series and due situation, to finish so complicated and wonderful a machine as the human body. 15. Nothing was wanting now, but that the immortal spirit should be sent into its habitation, to bear the image of its Creator, and enjoy his glory. But the manner wherein this was done we cannot tell: this knowledge is too wonderful for us. And it is of no use to indulge mere conjecture, where knowledge is unattainable. Even the present production of the body by generation is what no man can fully explain. But this we know: the female OVARIES, which hang on each side of the womb, contain abundance of small vesicles, filled with a transparent liqour. Some suppose, that each of these contains, in miniature, all the parts of a human body: that when one of them is penetrated by the male seed, it is rarified and expanded thereby, till it breaks the membranous shell, and by the fallopian tube, falls down into the womb. Here, being slightly fastened to the sides of the womb, it receives nourishment from the mother, till the heart is formed and begins to propel the blood to the extremities of the still increasing body. When i,t is come to its full size, by rolling to and fro, it tears asunder the enclosing membranes, and having burst as it were the prison-bars, emerges into light. The first thing that appears of a foetus is the PLACENTA, like a little cloud on one side of the outer coat of the egg. About the same time, the spine becomes visible; and a little after, the brain and cerebellum appear like two small bladders. Next the eyes stand prominent in the head: then the punctium saliens, the heart-beating is plainly to be seen; and last of all, the extremities. When formed, the foetus lying in the womb, is almost of an oval figure. For the head hangs down with the chin upon the breast. Its back is round. With its arms it embraces the knees, which are drawn up to the belly, and its heels arc close to the buttocks. Its head is upward, and its face to the mother’s belly. About the ninth month, the head, which till then was lighter, becomes heavier than any other part. In consequence of this, the head falls down in the liquor that contains it; the feet get loose, and the face turns toward the mother’s back. But being now in an uneasy posture, it struggles and brings on the mother’s throes. Mr. Dodart, nicely observing an embryo, one and twenty days old, found the placenta more than half of the whole; and thence concludes the younger the embryo is, the larger is the placenta in proportion to it: a plain reason, why miscarriages, though the foetus is less, are more dangerous than regular deliveries. For though the embryo in a miscarriage makes a way sufficient for itself, it does not make a way for so large a placenta as is to follow it. The embryo itself was only seven lines long, from the top of the head to the bottom of the spine, where it terminated. The thighs were not unfolded; they only appeared like two little warts at the bottom of the trunk. The arms made the same appearance on the shoulders. The head was one third of the whole length. On this were two small black points, which would have been eyes. The mouth was very big; a plain indication that it fed thereby. There was no eminence for time nose; but two little, almost imperceptible pits for the nostrils,. Always the younger the embryo, the bigger tire head is, in proportion to the body. The parts nearer the head are likewise bigger, in proportion to the rest. It weighed less than seven grains, which is an extraordinary lightness, for a body seven lines long. It was so soft, that no part of it could be touched, without making a change in its figure Upon opening it, Mr. Dodart discovered the heart and the right auricle. All the other parts in the thorax and the lower belly, were simple outlines, all vesicular, except a part on the left side, probably the spleen. Some suppose, that millions of animalcula swim in the seed of male animals, which are so many embryos, .for which a receptacle only is provided in the eggs of the female. But all agree, that either the male seed, or the female egg, contains all the parts of the body; so that generation is no more than the growth or unfolding of the parts there delineated. But how these seeds, whether male or female, are elaborated and prepared, abundantly transcends the highest reach of human understanding. If time animalcula, of which all animals arc formed, are originally in the male, yet they never can be formed into animals, without the egg of the female. That all animals spring from animalcula, seems probable from the following considerations: 1. That something may be observed in the tread of an egg, even before incubation, like the rudiments of an animal, in form of a tadpole. 2. That after incubation, all the parts of the animal suddenly appear, the stamina, which existed before, being then expanded. After three days incubation, the punctum saliens of a chick is discovered by the naked eye. On the fifth day, the rudiments of the head and body appear, which were before discernable by glasses. After thirty hours, we see the head, the eyes, the heart, and the carina, with the vertebr distinct. And by glasses we see all those parts, after forty hours, which the naked eye cannot discern till the fifth day. Whence it is probable, that even the first discovery of them by the microscope, is not the discovery of the parts newly formed, but of those that existed before incubation. Though not then dilated enough to be visible. 3. That there is a near analogy between animals and plants. Now we know, the seeds of these are only little plants, folded up in membranes. Hence we may easily infer, that animals proceed from animalcula folded up, till they are gradually enlarged and unfolded. And that these animalcula are originally in the seed of the male, is probable. For, 1. Numberless animalcula are observed in the seed of animals. 2. ‘We observe the rudiments of a foetus in eggs fecundated by the male, but not in others. 3. The rudiments in the egg, both before and after incubation, exactly resemble the animalcuta in the seed. 4. This gives a rational account of many foetuses at one birth, especially that of the countess of Holland. It accounts also for a whole cluster of eggs in a hen, being fecundated at once. 5. This best suits the analogy between animals and plants. Every herb and tree bears its own seed, and a little plant of the same kind, which being thrown into the womb of the earth, spreads forth its root and receives its nourishment from the earth, but has its form within itself. Yet, that no animal can be formed without the egg of the female, is evinced by time following considerations: 1. No animaicula can come forward, if it do not fall into a proper nidus. So though a thousand should fall into one egg, none of them would come forward, but that which was in the very centre of the cicatricula, or thread. And perhaps the nidus necessary for their formation is so proportioned to their’ bulk, that it can hardly contain more than one animalcula. This is certainly the case in oviparous kinds. And all the difference between the viviparous and the oviparous is, that in the former, the egg is nothing but the cicatricula with its yolk: so that the fetus must draw its nourishment from the womb. Whereas, in the oviparous, the egg itself is a kind ‘of womb, containing all that is needful for the animal, till it is hatched. 2. It is acknowledged, that the foetus in the womb, is not connected with It, for a considerable time after conception: that it is wholly loose from it, and is only a little round egg, with the embryo in the midst, which sends forth its umbilical vessels by degrees, and at last lays hold on the womb. Hence it is plain, that the cicatricula, which nourishes the animalcula, does riot spring from the womb, but only falls into it, as a fit soil, whence it may draw nourishment for the fetus. Yet there is a difficulty which presses equally on those, who suppose the animal to spring either from the male or female parent. It is the case of monsters. In a mule, for instance: the body is of the form of a mare: whereas the feet, the tail, and the ears, resemble those of its sire. If the male supplied the animalcula, one would imagine the foetus should always be of time same species with the male. If the female, it should be of her kind: whereas monsters are of both: as if the main part of the animal lay in the egg, and the impregnation only conveyed or changed the extremities. Yet, that some animals first exist, not in the seed of the male, but wholly in the egg of the female, undeniably appears from the case of frogs and toads. And why may it not be the same thing with other animals The eggs of these are not impregnated by the male, till they issue from the womb. It is while they are ejected, ‘that lie fecundates them. with his seminal liquor. And there is no circumstance, by which the fecundated egg can be known from the unfecundated. It appears therefore, that tadpoles exist before fecundation. For the unfecundated eggs do not differ in the least from those that are fecundated. But these are only tadpoles coiled up. Such, therefore, are the unfecundated tadpoles; they exist before fecundation; only they cannot unfold themselves without time liquid of time male. Frogs then should not be placed among oviparous animals, but among viviparous: if they do not rather constitute a class between both. Thus nature seems to delight in diversifying the modes of animal generation. This may be the case with regard to one, or perhaps a few species of animals. But, in general, where to place the preexistent animal or embryo, in the animalcula or time egg, is still the question. A division of vital, essential, and original stamina, is impossible. Yet innumerable instances in monsters, mules, and many natural subjects, concur to prove, that the young partakes of the nature and qualities of both the parents, even to their defects and diseases, which are often hereditary. How then can we suppose unalterable stamina Can the visible species of’ any production be determined by them, if every sensible quality may be influenced indiscriminately by either parent. If they are placed in the animalcula or the egg, how are they transmitted If in the animalcula, why is the process attended with so vast an expense, so great a waste of millions of entities, each containing a series of the most perfect, and most wonderful productions, when one only of those millions is to take place And how are these animals generated If in the common way, not only the process will be boundless, these in their seed will have others, and so on in an endless series; but they cannot then be unalterable, because they are capable of being generated. Further, if they float in the air, or lie hid in food, how is it that the stamina of one species does not sometimes insinuate themselves into a parent of another species Or if they are excluded, by proper strainers, in distant species, they cannot be so in those that are near akin. For if the spermatic animal, which in the matrix of a mare, produces a horse, is yet so fitted to that of an ass, that it can possess a cellude there, exclusive of every other, which shews an exact co-aptitude; certainly time same animal, if contained in food or air, common to both horse and ass, might pass indiscriminately the strainers of either: and so we might have mules without the promiscuous congress of the two species. In another view, if we consider the extreme tenuity of one of these stamina, in its first origin at the distance of many ages, compared to time smallest fibre of the animal it is said to constitute: can so minute a filament serve as a substratum for a cylinder, comparatively immense Can the terraqueous globe derive its present dimensions, from time dilatation of an atom Such is a muscular fibre in its present state, compared to what it was in its origin. Consequently, what must have been the increase of extraneous matter, either by apposition or incorporation, which is now as much a part of the fibre, as the original stamen And if thus much can be mechanically assimilated, why not the whole formed by mechanical causes or. why must so insignificant a part of it, be supposed to be concreted with the universe The difficulty still increases immensely, if we look int the vegetation of plants and the wonderful reproduction of the parts of the polypus, lobsters, and many other animals. ,The original stamina, how minute soever, questionless, are diffused through the whole production: since in this system all animal and vegetable growth is made by developement only. But if diffused, then some or all may be lost by successive bisection. And if lost, how can they be reproduced if reproduced, how were they concreted with the universe These and a thousand other difficulties can in no, wise be evaded, but by multiplying supposition on supposition, which renders the hypothesis so complex, as utterly contradicts the ordinary process of nature. It is more reasonable to say, that so many secretory ducts, so many strainers, so many preparatory vessels in animals, and such a curious disposition in plants, for the continuation of every species, impl.y a digestion, secretion, and preparation of principles, invariably productive of every individual, when they fall into their respective matrixes, and find aliment proper to assimilate. Are not these principles contained in nourishment taken by the parent plant or animal, the same that continually vegetate in it, and increase it till it is adult, then exuberate, while it is by new preparations fitted, invariably to propagate its kind else why this digestion why this secretion why so many strainers, receivers, ducts and valves and why is some food more productive of these principles than others And if every mixt body is made up by the combination of certain principles, we cannot doubt but God may have established forces in nature, by which such principles may, in certain circumstances, be invariably united, without any danger of deviating so as to render generation equivocal. And if every production in question is a mixt body, we know that how various soever they are, a small number of principles differently combined, will yield. variety enough to produce them all. Thus we reduce nature to what it is ever found to be, simple in the beginning of its course, but afterwards, when it is distributed, magnificent beyond expression. Modern naturalists all agree, that every plant proceeds from its specific seed; every animal from an egg, or something analogous, pre-existing in its parent. But what do we mean by seeds and eggs these in the common sense of the words, are certain mixt bodies, that immediately furnish those productions. They are said to contain not only the pre-existent germ, but the fit nidus also, and aliment to be assimulated in proper circumstances. They are therefore heterogeneous bodies, that coalesce in a known time. And their principles are so far from being united at the creation, that they sensibly come together from distant places, in all hermaphrodite plants, and from different individuals in all those species, where the male and female are distinct. But it is vain for us to lay down any certain rule, and to say to nature, “this is thy scheme; from this thou shalt not deviate." If she makes it a law in many species, that every individual requires the co-operation of a male and female parent; she has, at the same time, her hermaphrodites, both in plants and animals. And if in some hermaphrodies, the sexes are so distinct, that she seems not to deviate far from her primitive law; she will, in another instance, that of the pucerons, act either with or without the co-operation of a male. Again: in some species, the female may be so impregnated, that the impregnation shall diffuse itself to five or six generations. Yet again: in many kinds of polypus, generation proceeds without male or female, egg, or seed. And farther still; there are some species of polypus, where a whole family, after branching out by real vegetation, as far as nature designs, jointly concur to furnish one egg, as the source of a future progeny. If at last you resolve to stand by this, that at least every individual proceeds from a parent like itself; even this is overthrown by late experiments. For we have now a cloud of instances, of a class of beings hitherto unknown, wherein animals grow upon, are produced by, and in the strictest sense of the word, brought forth from plants. Then, by a strange vicissitude, they become plants of another kind. These again become animals of another, and thus on, for a series farther than the utmost power of glasses can carry the most inquisitive observer. And as to the animalcula supposed to be discovered in the male seed, the microscope discovers the same in the seminal liquor of females. Probably neither the one, nor the other are real animals, but only inanimate particles in strong fermentation. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 15: PART 02 - CHAPTER 1 - OF BEASTS ======================================================================== Chapter 1 - Of Beasts 1. The general difference of men and beasts, as to the structure and posture of the body 7. The windpipe 2. Their agreement 8. The vegetative and sensative, motions in brutes 3. Their agreement and disagreement, as to the head and brain 9. Of the soul of brutes 4. The heart and lungs 10. Of some particular sorts of beasts 5. The eyes 11. Some general reflections 6. The ears, nose, teeth 1.Next to man in the visible creation are BEASTS. And certainly, with regard to the structure of the body, the difference is not extremely great, between man and other animals. Only in this, that the structure of man is erect, and his form more elegant; that no beast has the feet of a man, much less the hand so admirably fitted for every purpose; and lastly, that no other animal has a brain, so large in proportion to its bulk as man. Concerning the prone posture of their body we may observe two things; the parts ministring thereto, and the use thereof. I.As to the parts, it is observable, that in all these creatures, the legs are made exactly conformable to their posture, as those of man are to his posture: and farther, that the legs and feet are always admirably suited to the motion and exercise of each ani­mal. In some they are made for strength, to support a vast unwieldly body: as in the elephant, which being a creature of such prodigious weight, has its legs accordingly made like pillars. In others, they are made for agility and swiftness. So deers, hares, and several other creatures, have their legs very slender, but strong withal, and every way adapted for quick motion. In some, they arc formed only for walking and running; in others, for swimming too. Thus in the feet of the otter, the toes are all conjoined with membranes, as they arc in geese and (lucks. And in swimming it is observable, that when the foot goes forward in the water, the toes are close; but when backward they are spread out: whereby they more forcibly strike the water, and drive themselves forward, In others, as moles, they are made for walking and digging: and in others, for walking and flying*. In some they are made more weak, for the plainer lands; in others, stiff and less fiexiblet, for traversing ice and dangerous preci­pices. In some they are shod with rough and hard hoofs, in others with only a callous skin. In the latter, the feet are com­posed of toes: some short, barely for going; some long, to supply the place of a hand: some armed with long and strong talons, to catch, hold and tear the prey; and some fenced only ‘with short nails, to confirm the steps in running and walking. II.1. As the posture of man’s body is the fittest for a rational animal, so is the prone posture of beasts, the most useful to themselves, and the most fit for the service they perform to man. 2.But this is a wonderful agreement between the bodies of men and beasts, not only with regard to the structure, but also the use of the several parts. How they differ, will be mentioned hereafter. 3.The BRAIN in them is of nearly the same structure and consistence as in man, and undoubtedly perfotms the same office, secreting the animal spirits (if such there be) in order to sensa­tion and muscular motion in every part of the body. The cerebel­lurn is nearly of the same shape in all. But the shape of the brain necessarily varies according to that of the head. It is remarkable, that in man the head is of one single form: whereas in the four-footed race it is as various as their species. It is, in some, square and large, suitable to their food, abode, and slow motion: in others, it is small, slender and sharp, agreeable in their swifter motion, or to make way to their food, or habitation under ground. And as to the brain contained therein, how small is it in beasts, in proportion to what it is in man ! Another thing The membranous wings of a bat are a prodigious deviation from nature’s ordinary way. And so is the Virginia flying squirrel; whose skin is extended, in the nature of wings, between its fore.legs and body. The elk has Legs so stiff and inflexible, that they run on ice without slip. ping. And this is the way they take, in winter, to save themselves from the wolves. The goat, which generally dwells on mountains and rocks, and delights to walk on narrow ridges, and to take great and seemingly dangerous leaps, has the joints of the legs remarkably stiff and strong. Likewise the hoof is hollow underneath, and its edges sharp. No less remarkable is, the situation of the brain and the cerebel­lum. As God has given to man a lofty countenance, and has lodged in his brain an immortal soul, to behold and contemplate heavenly things, so, as his face is erect, his brain is set in a higher place, above the cerebellum and all the sensories. But in brutes whose face is prone to the earth, and who are not capable of speculation, the cerebellum, which ministers merely to animal life, is placed above the brain. Also some of the organs of sense, are placed, if not above the brain, at lest on a level therewith. Another very great convenience in this position of the brain and cerebellum is, in the head of man, the base of the brain and cerebellum, yea of the whole skull, is set parallel to the horizon: by which means there is the less danger of the two brains jog­gling or slipping out of the place. But in the beasts, whose heads hang down, the base of the skull makes a right angle with the horizon. By which means the brain is beneath, and the cerebellum above. And lest the cerebellum should hereby be liable to frequent concussions, an admirable provision is made, by that strong membrane, the dura mater, closely encompassing it-Beside this, it is guarded in some species with a strong bony fence. In the hare, the coney, and several others, a part of the cerebellum is on each side within the 0s fletrosum. So that its whole mass is, by this double stay, firmly contained within the skull. 4. The heart and lungs in beasts are of the same structure, with the same apparatus of veins and arteries, as in men. We cannot therefore doubt but the blood circulates in them, and nutrition is performed as in us. Their food also being dissolved in the stomach, is conveyed by the lacteals to the receptacle of the chyle. To the fore-part of this, (in men the upper part) joins the thoracic duct, which extending through the length of the thorax, ends in the vein, called, in beasts, cruralis anterior. The remaining part of the circulation is performed in them, as in men. But some beasts have more stomachs than one. And some have the peculiar property of chewing the cud. The food, after it has been swallowed, is returned to the mouth, where it is chewed over again at leisure. Not that this is altogether peculiar to beasts. There have been instances of men who had this property. Dr. Slare gives us a particular account of one whom he knew at Bristol. “ He begins,” says he, “ to chew his meat over again, within a quarter of an hour after meals. This chewing, after a full meal, lasts an hour and an half. If he goes to bed soon after a meal, he cannot sleep, till the usual time of chewing be over. The victuals returned, taste more pleasantly than they did at first. Bread, flesh, cheese and drink, are of much such a colour, as they would be, if mixt together in a mortar. His victuals lie heavy on his stomach, till they have passed this second chewing. He was thus ‘ever ‘since he can remember. His father does the. same, hut in small quantities.” What a mercy is it, that we have not more such instances! For how much of our precious time would it consume! 5. The situation, number, and conformation of the EYES in various animals, is wonderfully adapted to their various circum­stances. In several, the eye looks chiefly forward, but so as to take in nearly the hemisphere before it. In others, the eyes are so placed, as to take in nearly a whole sphere. In some, they are so fixt as to look chiefly behind, so that they see their enemy following them. So in rabbits and hares: whereas in dogs they are more forward, to look after their prey. Generally the head is moveable for the sake of the eyes, and the eyes themselves moveable every way. Where it is not so, other expedients are found, to answer the same end. Thus in some creatures, the eyes are set at a distance from the head, to be moved this way or that: as in snails, whose eyes are fixed to the end of their horns, or rather of the optic nerves which are sheathed therein. In other creatures, whose heads and eyes are immoveable, this ‘is made up by the number of eyes. So spiders, which cannot move their head, have four, six, or eight eyes, all placed in the front of the head, which is round, like a locket of diamonds. Many animals have muscles to move the eye, and obvert it to the object. Fishes have none; bu’t for amends, they have many little protuberances finely ranged on their large, bulging eyes; by’ which numberless rays of light are deflected from objects above, beneath, and on either side. Yea, some hundreds of these protuberances are curiously ranged on the convex eye of a flesh-fly. Scorpions have above a hundred eyes; an ephemeron-fly full two thousand. In other creatures, which have only two eyes, the want of motion therein is supplied, by their eyes protuberating into hemi­spheres, each being a Vast number of segments of a sphere. The eyes of a cameleon resemble a convex glass set in a round socket, which he turns backward and forward without stir­ring the head, and commonly one a contrary way to the other. Lastly, moles living under ground, have not so much need of eyes as other creatures. Yet they have eyes, but exceeding small, far in the head, and covered with strong hair. When they are above ground, they can put them forth beyond the skin, and draw them back at pleasure. Another circumstance, relative to the eye, is highly remark­able. As we use various apertures to our optic glasses, so nature has made a far more complete provision, to admit enough, and not too much light, into the eyes of animals, by the dilatation and contraction of the pupil. And this, in divers animals of divers forms, is according to their peculiar occasions. In some it is round, particularly in man. That being the most proper figure for the position of our eyes, and the use we make of them, both by day and night. In some animals it is of a longish form, in some transverse, with its aperture large (an admirable provision for their seeing sideways), and thereby avoiding many inconveniences, as well as’ a help for gathering their, food On the ground, whether by day or night. In others, that aperture is erect, and also capable of opening wide and shutting close. The latter serves to exclude the bright light of the day, the former to take in the faint rays of the night: thereby enabling them to see and catch their prey, when there is no light discernible to us. Thus cats can so close their pupil, as to admit but a single ray of light. And again, by throwing all open, they can take in all the faintest rays: which’ is an incomparable provision for creatures that have occasion to watch their prey both by day and night. But beside this, in cats and other nocturnal animals, there is a sort of’ carpet at the bottom of the eye, which gives a kind of radiation on the pupil, thereby enabling them to see in the dark. To preserve this tender organ, many creatures have a mem­brane, which is not commonly perceived, wherewith they can at pleasure cover the eye, without too much hindering the ,sight; being both transparent and strong, so that it is a kind of moveable cornea. Providence is conspicuous in furnishing frogs with this. For as they live in watery places, which generally abound in plants that have sharp edges or points; and as the frog goes on, not by walking but by leaping, if he were not so furnished, he must either shut his eyes, and so leap blindfold, or run many risks by leaving them open. But this membrane guards the eyes, without blinding him. And as soon as the occasion for it is over, he draws it back into a little cell. Many birds also, as they must fly between trees and bushes, are provided with time same membrane. And so is the rain-deer. 6. The comparative anatomy of the EAR, yields abundant instances of the Creator’s wisdom. In birds the outward ear is close and covered, not protuberant; as that would obstruct their flight. In beasts, its form is agreeable to the posture and motion of the body, but admirably varied in the several species, accord­ing to their various occasions. In some, as the hare, it is large, open and erect: by which means that timorous, helpless creature, is warned of the least approach of danger. In others, it is covered to keep out noxious bodies. In those which are forced to mine and dig for their habitation, it is short, and lodged deep and backward in the head. Thus moles have no auricle at all; but only a round hole, between the neck and shoulder. And this is closed with a little skin, which opens and shuts like an eye-lid. The sea-calf also, as well as lizards and serpents, have no outward ear. And the tortoise, with most kinds of fishes, have the passage quite covered over. But among all the varieties in the structure of this organ, none are more remarkable than those of the passage into the os petrosum. In an owl, which perches upon a tree or beam, and hearkens after the prey beneath her, it comes farther out above than below, for the better reception of sounds from beneath. In a fox, which scouts under the prey at roost, it comes farther out below than above. In a pole-cat, which hearkens straight forward, it is produced behind, for the taking a forward sound. Whereas a hare, whose enemy comes behind, is supplied with a bony circle, directed backward: by means of which she receives dis­tinctly the smallest sound which comes that way. The more accurate the sense of smelling is in any creature, the longer are the laminæ in the nostrils, and the more in number, folded up, and crowded together, to contain more nervous filaments, and to detain the odoriferous particles, in their wind­ings and turnings. An admirable provision this, for the good of many creatures, the chief acts of whose lives are performed by the ministry of this sense. In insects and many other creatures it is of great use, in helping them to proper places for hatching their eggs, and breeding up their young. And most irrational animals, beasts, birds and reptiles, do by their smell find out their food. With what sagacity do some of them discover it, in the midst of mud and dirt ! How curiously do others pick and choose such plants as afford them wholesome food, perhaps medicine too, avoiding such as tend to hurt or destroy them t And all this principally by the smell, together, with its near ally, the taste. The various forms of the TEETH in various creatures, is another; instance of the Divine Wisdom. How curiously are they adapted to the peculiar food and occasion of each species 1 Thus in the rapacious, they are fitted to catch and hold their prey; in the herbaceous, to gather and chew vegetables. In those which have no teeth, as birds, the bill supplies that defect; together with their additional stomach. And it is a remark which hardly fails: all such animals as have four stomachs, have no teeth at all. There are great varieties in the teeth of other animals. Trout have teeth upon their tongues; cod-fish at the bottom of their gullet. Crocodiles have three rows of teeth on the same jaw; sharks, four or five; sea-devils, so called, have several rows of moveable teeth. 7. The variation of the WIND-PIPE, in various creatures, is likewise observable, as it is necessary for that of the voice. In a hedge-hog, which has a very small voice, it is hardly more than membranous, In a pigeon, which has a low, soft note, it is partly membranous, partly cartilaginous. In an owl, which has a good audible note, It is more cartilaginous. But that of a jay, as of a linnet, has bones instead of cartilages. The rings of the wind-pipe likewise are fitted for the modulation of the voice. For in dogs and cats, which use a great many notes, they are, as in man, open and flexible: whereby all or any of them is more or less dilated or contracted, in order to a deeper or shriller-note. But they are one entire ring in the Japan peacock, which uses one single note. 8. As to the motions of brutes, it is not easy to conceive, that even those of the vegetative kind, can be the mere mechanical effects of matter, however modified. Much less can we conceive this of their sensitive motion: for we have not the least reason to doubt, but the same impressions of external objects, raise the same perceptions in them as in us. No question, they see, and hear, and smell, and taste, and feel in the same manner as men! 9. We cannot therefore deny that there is something in brutes, which perceives the impressions made by outward objects; and that they perform a thousand actions, which can never be ex­plained by mere mechanism: those in particular which spring from what we call instinct, as the feeding and tending their young, the building their nests and preparing their habitation, upon or in the earth. It is true, some things in brutes, as well as in men, may be mechanically accounted for. But others cannot : so that we are constrained to own, there is in them also some superior princi­ple, of whatever kind it be, which is endued with sense, percep­tion and various appetites. For from their outward actions we may as easily learn, as we could from those of a man born deaf and dumb, that there are in this principle or soul two different-faculties: that of perceiving or knowing, answerable to our un­derstancling; and that of desiring and shunning, answerable to our will. That this principle is immaterial, appears from this single consideration, it has a power of self-motion; which no matter can have, being wholly and essentially passive. 10. It is not my design to enumerate the several species of beasts. But it may illustrate the wisdom of the great Creator, to give some account of a few; several of which are not so com­monly known. The largest land-animal in the world is an ELEPHANT, which seems rather to belong to the hog-kind than any other. They are found only in the south of Africa, and in the East-Indies, and are generally of a dark colour. Their eyes arc like those of a hog. At the corners of their mouth grow two large teeth, six or seven feet long in the male, but not above one in the female. They feed on grass, nuts, and other vegetables. Of all quadrupeds, the elephant is the strongest, as well as the largest and yet in a state of nature, it is neither fierce nor formidable. Mild, peaceful, and brave; it never abuses its strenth, and only uses it for its own protection. In its native desarts, the elephant is a social, friendly creature. The oldest of the company conducts the band; that which is next in seniority brings up the rear. The young, the weak, and the sickly, fall into the centre’; while the females carry their young. They maintain this order only in dangerous marches, or when they desire to feed in culti­vated ground: they move with less precaution in the forests, and solitudes; but without ever moving far asunder. Nothing can be more formidable than a drove of elephants, as they appear at a distance, in an African landscape: wherever they march, the forest seems to fall before them; in their passage they bear down the branches, on which they feed; and if they enter into an enclosure, they destroy all the labours of the husbandman, in a very short time. Their invasions are the more disagreeable, because there is no means of repelling them: since It would require a small army to attack the whole drove when united. It now and then happens, that one or two is found linger­ing behind the rest, and it is against these that the art and force of the hunters are united; but an attempt to molest the —whole body, would certainly prove fatal. They go forward directly against him who offers the insult, strike him with their tusk, seize ‘him with their trunks, fling him into the air, and then trample him to pieces under their feet. But they are thus dread­ful only when they are offended, and do no manner of personal injury when suffered to feed without interruption. The elephant has very small eyes, when compared to the enor­mous bulk of its body. But, though their minuteness may at first sight appear deformed, yet, when we come to examine them, they are seen to exhibit a variety of expression. It turns them with attention and friendship to its master; it seems to reflect and deliberate; and as its passions slowly succeed each other, their various workings are distinctly seen. It is remarkable for the excellence of its hearing. Its cars are extremely large. They are usually dependent; but it can readily raise and move them. They serve also to wipe its eyes, and to protect them against the dust and flies. It appears delighted with music, and readily learns to beat time, to move in measure, and even to join its voice with the drum and trumpet. This animal’s sense of smelling is not only exquisite, but it is pleased with the same odours that delight mankind. The elephant gathers flowers with great pleasure; it picks them up one by one, unites them in a nosegay, and seems charmed with the perfume. The orange-flower is particularly grateful, both to its taste and smell; it strips the tree of all its verdure, and eats every part of it, even to the branches themselves. It seeks in the meadows the most odoriferous plants to feed upon; and in the woods it prefers the cocoa, the banana, the palm, and the sage-tree to all others. But it is in the sense of feeling that this animal excels all others of the brute creation, and perhaps man himself. The organ of this sense is wholly in the trunk, which is an instrument peculiar to this animal; and that serves it for all the purposes of a hand. The trunk ends in two openings, or nostrils, like those of a hog. An elephant of fourteen feet high, has the trunk about three feet long, and five feet and a half in circumference, at the mouth. It is hollow all along, but with a partition run­ning from one end of it to the other. This tube is composed of nerves and muscles covered with a skin like that of the rest of the body. It is capable of being moved in every direction, of being lengthened and shortened, of being bent or straightened; so pliant as to embrace any body it is applied to, and yet so strong that nothing can be torn from its gripe. To aid the force of this grasp,’ there are several very little eminences, like a caterpillar’s feet, on the under side of this instrument, which without doubt contributes to the sensibility of the touch as well as the firmness of the hold. Through this trunk the animal breathes, drinks and smells; and at the very point of it, just above the nostrils, there is an extension of the skin, above five inches long, in the form of a finger, and which, in fact, answers all the purposes of one; for with the rest of the extremity of the trunk, it is capable of assuming different forms at will, and, con­sequently, of being adapted to the minutest objects. By means of this, the elephant can untie the knots of a rope, unlock a door, and even write with a pen. It sometimes happens, that the object is too large for the trunk to grasp; in such a case the elephant makes use of another expedient. It applies the extre­mity of the trunk to the surface of the object, and, sucking up its breath, lifts and sustains such a weight as the air in that case is capable of keeping suspended. In this manner this instru­ment is useful in most of the purposes of life; it is an organ of smelling, of touching, and of suction; it not only provides for the animal’s necessities, but it also serves for ornament and defence. The legs are not so inflexible as the neck, yet they are very stiff, and bend not without difficulty. Those before, seem to be longer than the hinder; but, upon being measured, are found to be something shorter. The joints by which they bend are nearly in the middle, like the knee of a man, and the large bulk which they are to support, makes their flexure ungain. Yet while the elephant is young, it bends the legs to lie down or rise ; but when it grows old, or sickly, this becomes so. inconvenient that the animal chooses to sleep standing. It is one of the striking peculiarities of this animal, that his generative powers totally fail when he comes under the dominion of man; as if he seemed unwilling to propagate a race of slaves to increase the pride of his conqueror. The elephant, when once tamed, becomes the most gentle and obedient of all animals. it soon conceives an attachment for the person that attends it, caresses him, obeys him, and seems to anticipate his desires. In a short time it begins to comprehend the signs made to it, and even the different sounds of the voice; it perfectly distinguishes the tone of command from that of angel’ or approbation, and acts accordingly. It receives its orders with attention; eagerly, yet without precipitation. All its motions are regulated, and its actions seem to partake of its magnitude, being grave and majestic. It is quickly taught to kneel clown to receive its rider ; it caresses those it knows with its trunk ; with this salutes such as it is ordered to distinguish, and with this, as with a hand, helps to take up part of its load. It suffers itself to be arrayed in harnes; and seems to take a pleasure in the finery of its trappings. It draws either chariots, cannons, or shipping, with surprising strength and perseverance; and this with a seeming satisfaction, provided its master appears pleased with its exer­tions. And lie frequently takes such an affection for his keeper that he will obey no other: and it has been known to die for grief, when in some sudden fit of madness, it has killed its con­ductor, In Delhi, an elephant passing the streets, put his trunk into a taylor’s shop, where several people were at work. One of the persons of the shop, desirous of amusement, pricked the animal’s trunk with his needle. The elephant passed on without any signs of resentment, hut coming to a puddle of dirty water, filled his trunk, returned to the shop, and spurted it over all their finery. Some of them are twenty feet in compass, and near fourteen high. They seem to have more sense than any other brute, and are capable of fidelity and strong affection: particularly to their companion: so that neither the male nor female is ever known to make a second choice. The female goes seventeen months with her young: they are fifty or sixty years before they have their full strength, are in full vigour at about a hundred, and live two or three hundred years. A RHINOCEROS, next to the elephant, is the most extraordinary animal in the Indies. It is usually twelve feet long, from the tip of the nose to the insertion of the tail; from six to seven feet high; and the circumference of its body is nearly equal to its length. It is therefore equal to the elephant in bulk, and if it appears much smaller to the eye, the reason is, the legs are much shorter. In other respects it is shaped like a wild boar. It is said to have a very rough tongue, but this is so far from the truth, that no animal of near its size has so soft a one. It is smooth and small like that of a dog; and to the feel, it appears as if one passed the hand over velvet. It has a peculiar cry, a mixture between time grunting of a hog, and the bellowing of the calf. The age of these animals is not well known: it is said by some, that they bring forth at three years old, and if may reason from analogy, it is probable they seldom live above twenty. That which was shewn in London, was said, by its keeper, to be eighteen years old, and even at that age, lie pretended to con­sider it as a young one; however it died shortly after, and that probably in the course of nature. It is a native of Asia and Africa, and is usually found in those extensive forests that are frequent­ed by the elephant and lion. As it subsists entirely upon vege­table food, it is peaceful and harmless among its fellows of the brute creation; but though it never provokes to combat, it equally disdains to fly. It is every way fitted for war, but rests contented in the consciousness of its security. His skin is without hair, and so full of scratches and scabs, that at a distance they may well be taken for scales. On his nose he has a horn of a dark brown color, which bends backward, and is often two feet long. He has often another horn a little above this, which never exceeds six inches. His eyes are exceeding small, and he only sees straight forward: therefore he always runs in a straight line tearing up whatever stands in his way. With his horn he throws stones over his head to a great distance, and even tears up trees by time roots. The outer skin of the rhinoceros, which consists of many folds, is thick and impenetrable. In running one’s fingers under one of the folds, it feels like a board half an inch thick. But between the folds the skin is as smooth and soft as silk, and easily penetrated. See here time wisdom of the gieat Creator ! If the outer skin, which is quite inflexible, was continued all over him without any fold, he could not perform any action whatever. But the supple ness of skin in other beasts, is compensated in this by these folds. It ‘was necessary his skin should be hard for his defence: mean time it was a noble contrivance, that it should be so soft and smooth underneath, that when he bends himself any way, one part of this board-like skin, should slide over the other. And these folds are placed in such parts of his body as to facilitate the performance of every voluntary motion. Another native of time East-Indies is the CAMEL, one of the most serviceable animals in the world. 1-fe kneels down to receive his burden, and rises when he bath his accustomed load. if he feels himself over-burdened he will not rise, but cry till I)art of it is taken off. One of them will carry a thousand or twelve hundred weight, forty miles a day, for thirty or forty days together. They have no teeth in the upper jaw. They will travel forty hours, without either meat or drink : and nine days without drink: they have two stomachs admirably contrived for this purpose. The gentleman who dissected one at Paris, found in his second stomach- several square holes, which were the orifices of about twenty cavities, made like sacks, placed be.tween the two membranes, which compose the substance of the stomach. And in these reservoirs he contains water enough to serve him for so many days. The bunch on his hack is not flesh, much less bone, but mere hair. And when this is prest close down, he is no more hunch-’backed than a swine. They subsist on very little, which enables them to travel through those vast and barren deserts. How wise is He who caused these to be natives of those countries, where such creatures are absolutely necessary! A farther instance of this is, that the African camel, which has still greater and more uncouth journeys to take, is larger and stronger, and capable of carrying heavier burdens than those of Asia. Another wonderful property of camels is, that of foreseeing the poisonous winds, which kill in a moment. A little before these come, they run together and cry, and hide their noses in the earth. And as soon as they are past, they lift up their heads, and continue their’ journey. The DROMEDARY In most respects resembles the’ camel; only it is of a slighter make, and instead of one bunch on its back, has two about six inches in height. It goes frequently forty leagues a day; so that although it cannot carry above six hundred weight, yet its swiftness atones for its weakness. Its feet are soft as a sponge, and are not hurt, either by stones or sand. And, what is an excellent providence, they travel best, and have the greatest spirits in the hottest weather. The LAMAS, in Peru, have small heads, resembling in some measure both a horse and a sheep. The upper lip is cleft, like that of a hare, through which, when they are enraged, they spit, even to ten paces distance, a sort of juice, which when it falls upon the skin, causes a red spot and great itching. The neck is long, like that of a camel, the body like that of a sheep, but with much longer legs. It yields strong and fine wool, and is also a beast of burden, and kept at an easy expense. It carries a burden a vast way, without tiring; eats very little and never drinks. At night he lies down, and no blows can make him rise, or move one foot till morning. A creature no less remarkable, but in a quite different way, is the CASTOR, or BEAVER. This creature is about four feet long, and fifteen inches broad. He is covered with two sorts of hair, one long, the other a soft down. The down, an inch long, is properly his clothing, being extremely fine, and close laid upon the skin. The long hair is spread over all, to preserve it from dirt and wet. Whether male or female, it has two bags under its belly, which contain a liquid substance, that congeals in air, and affords an excellent medicine, which -we call castoreum. He has strong teeth rivetted fast in his jaws, to cut wood, as well as chew his food. His fore feet are like those of an ape or squirrel, to hold what he eats in his paw. And with these he digs, softens and works the clay or loam for his habitation. His feet are remarkably formed, more proper to swim than to walk with, the five toes being joined together by a strong membrane. His tail is long, flattish, covered with scales, and constantly lubricated with oil; because, being an- architect from his birth, he uses his tail as a hod, to carry his clay or mortar, and as a trowel, to spread it into an incrustation. Mean time the scales preserve it from being hurt by the burden; and the oil which he squeezes from his bags, and rubs on with his snout, from the noxious air and water. As they like to live together, they choose a situation near some rivulet. They first build a causeway, in which the water may rise level with the first story of their habitation. This is built of wood and clay, about twelve feet thick at the bottom, descending in a slope on the side next the water. The other side is perpen­dicular: the top of this is about two feet broad. They cut their wood, though as thick as one’s thigh, into pieces, from two’ to six feet long, drive them into the earth with their teeth, and lace them together with boughs, closing all the opening within and without with a strong plaister made of clay. If the water increase upon them, they raise their wall higher. Knowing their materials arc more easily brought by water than by land, they watch its increase, to swim with mortar on their tails, and štakcs between their teeth to the place where they build. When the causeway is finished, they begin their apartments, which are oval, and divided into three partitions, one above another. But the walls of these are perpendicular, and only two feet thick. All the wood that projects, they cut off with their teeth: and rough-cast both the out and inside of their work, with a mixture of clay and dry grass. The first partition being below the level of the dyke, is full of water; for they love to have their hinder part hanging in the water. The other two are above it, so that if the water ascend, they may ascend proportionably. At the bottom of their building, they strike out two openings to the stream ; one leads to the place where they bathe, the other to that where they ease nature. They associate ten or twelve together, and proportion their house to their number. When all is finished below, they vault the top or roof in an oval form. In summer they feed on fruits and plants : in winter, on. willow, ash, or other wood. This they collect and store up in time. They cut boughs from three to six fees long: the large pieces are brought to the magazine by several beavers, the smaller by one alone; but they take different ways, each having his path assigned, to prevent the labour being interrupted. They build up their pile with much art, which is proportioned to their number. A square pile of thirty feet, about ten feet deep, serves for ten beavers, But the wood is not piled up in one continued heap: the pieces. are laid across one another, with cavities between, for the conveniency of drawing out what they want. They always use first the parcel at bottom, which lies in the water. And when it is taken up for use, they cut this wood into small pieces, and convey it to their apartment, where the whole family come and receive their shares. The feet of a female beaver, which a gentleman kept in Eng­land some years since, were webbed, like those of a goose. The tail was scaly, and shaped like the blade of an oar. This she used as a rudder to steer herself, especially when she swam under water, which she would do for two or three minutes, arid then come tip to take breath, sometimes raising only her nostrils above water. She swam swifter than any water fowl; and under water as swift as a carp. The hind legs being longer than the fore, make her walk slow on dry land, or rather waddle like a duck. If drove along fast, she could not run, but went by jumps, flapping her tail against the ground. She never made any noise, except a little sort of a grunting, when angry, or driven fast. As the beaver frequents the water like water fowls, may not the castor’ be provided for him by nature, to anoint his fur with, and prevent the water from soaking to his skin. And as it is impreg­nated with penetrating, pungent particles, it may likewise contri­bute to keep off the chill, which the water might otherwise strike to his body, when he remains long therein. The SHAMMOY, though a wild animal, is easily tamed, and is to he found only in rocky and mountainous places. It is about the size of a domestic goat. It is agreeably lively, and active beyond expression. The shammoy’s hair is short, like that of a doe. In spring it is of an ash colour; in autumn, a dun colour, inclining to black; and in winter, of a blackish brown. This animal is found in great plenty in the mountains of Dauphiny, of Piedmont, Savoy, Switzerland and Germany. They are peaceful, gentle creatures, and live in society with each other. They are found in. flocks of from four to fourscore, dispersed upon the crags of the mountains. The large males are seen feeding detached from the rest, except in rutting time, when they approach the females, and drive away the young. It is to be observed, that this creature is extremely vigilant, and has an eye the most piercing in nature. Its smell also is not less distinguishing. When it sees its enemy distinctly, it stops for a moment; and then if the person be near, in an instant flies off. In the same manner it can, by its smell, discover a man at a great distance, and gives the earliest notice. Upon any alarm, the ‘šhammoy beginš his hissing note with such force, that the rocks and forests re-echo to the sound, The animal having reposed a moment, again looks round, and perceiving the reality of its fears, continues to hiss by intervals. During this time, it seems in the most violent agitation; it strikes the ground ‘with its fore foot, and sometimes with both; it bounds from rock to rock; it turns and looks round; it runs to the edge of the pre­cipice, and still flies with all its speed. Its head is furnished with two small horns, of about half a foot long, of a beautiful black. The ears are placed in a very elegant manner, near the horns; and there are two stripes of black on each side of the face, the rest being of a whitish yellow, which never changes. They run along the rocks with great ease and indifference, and leap from one to another, so that no dogs are able to pursue them. They always mount or descend in an oblique direction; and throw themselves down a rock of thirty feet, and light with great security upon some excrescence or fragment, on the side of the precipice, which is just large enough to place their feet upon. The more craggy and uneven the forest, the more this animal is pleased with the abode, which thus adds to its security. The ROE-BUCK IS the smallest of the deer kind in our climate, and is now almost extinct, except in the Highlands of Scotland. It is generally about three feet long, and about two feet high. The horns are from eight to nine inches long, upright, round, and divided into three branches. The body is covered with very long hair, well adapted to the rigour of its mountainous abode. As the stag frequents the thickest forests, and the sides of the highest mountains, the roe-buck courts the shady thicket, and the rising slope. Although far inferior in strength to the stag, it is more active, and even more courageous. Its hair is always smooth, clean, and glossy; and it frequents only the driest places, and of the purest air. Though but a very little animal, yet, when its young are attacked, it faces the Stag himself, and often comes off victorious. All its motions are elegant and easy; it bounds without effort, and continues the course with little fatigue. It is also possessed of more cunning in avoiding the hunter; and, although its scent is much stronger than that of the stag, it is more frequently found to make good a retreat. The stag never offers to use art until his strength is beginning to decline; this more cunning animal, when it finds that its first efforts to escape are without success, returns upon its former track, again goes forward, and again returns, unUl by its various windings, it has entirely destroyed the scent, and joined the last emanations to those of its former course. It then, by a bound, goes to one side, lies flat upon its belly, and permits the pack to pass by very near, without offering to stir. The roc-buck differs from the stag also, in its natural appetites, its Inclinations, and its whole habit of living. Instead of herding together, these animals live in separate families; the sire, the dam, and the young ones, associate together, and never admit a stranger into their little community. All others of the deer kind are inconstant in their affection; but the roe-buck never leaves its mate; and as they have been generally bred up together, from their first fawning, the male and female never after separate. They drive away their fawns upon these occasions; the buch forcing them to retire in order to make room for a succeeding progeny. However, when the season is over, the fawns return to their does, and remain with them some time longer;, after which, they quit them entirely, in order to begin an independent family of their own. When the female is ready to bring forth, she seeks a retreat in the thickest woods, being not less apprehensive of the buck, from whom she then separates, than of the woff, the wild cat, and almost every ravening animal of the forest. She generally produces two at a time. In about ten or twelve days these are able to follow their dam, except in cases of warm pursuit, when their strength is not equal to the fatigue. Upon such occasions, the tenderness of the dam is very extraordinary; leaving them in the deepest thicket, she offers herself to the danger, flies before the hounds, and does all in her power to lead them from the retreat where she has lodged her little ones. Such animals as are nearly upon her own level she boldly encounters; attacks the stag, the wild cat, and even the wolf; and while she has life, continues her efforts to protect her young. Of all animals of the deer kind, the RAIN-DEER is the most useful. It is a native of the icy regions of the north, and cannot live in a more southern climate. Nature seems to have fitted it entirely for that hardy race of mankind that live near the pole. As these would find it impossible to subsist among their barren, snowy mountains, without its aid, so this animal can live only there. From it alone, the natives of Lapland and Greenland supply most of their wants. It answers the purposes of a horse, to convey them and their scanty furniture, from one mountain to another; it answers the purposes of a cow, in giving milk; and. of the sheep, in furnishing them with a warm, though a homely kind of clothing. From this alone, therefore, they receive as many advantages as we derive from three of our most useful creatures. It is lower and stronger built than the stag; its legs are shorter and thicker, and its hoofs much broader;. its hair is much thicker and warmer; its horns much larger in proportion, and branching forward over its eyes; its ears are much larger; its pace is rather a trot than a bounding, and this it can continue for a whole day; its hoofs are cloven and moveable, so that it spreads them abroad as it goes, to prevent its sinking in the snow. Lapland is divided into two districts; the mountainous, and the woody. The mountainous part is barren and bleak, exces­sively cold, and uninhabitable, during the winter. Still, however, it is the most desirable part of this frightful region, and is most thickly peopled, during the summer. The natives generally reside on the declivity of the mountains, three or four cottages together. Upon the approach of winter, they migrate into the plains below, each bringing down his whole herd, which often amounts to more than a thousand, and leading them where the pasture is in greatest plenty. The woody part of the country is much more hideous: a frightful, scene of trees without fruit, and plains without verdure. As far as the eye can reach, nothing is to be seen, even in the midst of summer, but barren fields, covered only with moss; no grass, no flowery landscapes, only. here and there a pine tree, which may have escaped the frequent conflagrations, by which the natives burn down their forests. This moss, however, which deforms the country, serves for its only support, as upon it alone the rain-deer can subsist. The inhabitants, who, during the summer, lived among the moun­tains, drive down their herds in winter, and people the plains and woods below. There is something worthy our notice even in that despised animal, an ASS. There is a much greater resemblance between .the horse and the ass, than between the sheep and the goat. And yet the latter produce an animal that is not barren; whereas the mule always is. The she ass is not less fond of her young, than the male is of her. She will rush either through fire or water’, to protect or rejoin it. An ass is often no less attached to his owner. lie scents him at a considerable distance; he distinguishes him from others, in a crowd. He knows the way wherein he has passed, and the places where he inhabits. When over-loaded, he shews it by hanging down his head, and lowering his ears. If his eyes are covered, lie will not stir a step; and, if he is laid down in such a manner that one eye is covered with the grass, while the other is hidden with a stone, or what­ever is next at hand, he will continue fixed in the same situation, and will not so much as attempt to rise, to free himself from those slight impediments. He walks, trots, and gallops, like a horse, but is soon tired; and then no beating will mend his pace. It is in vain that his unmerciful rider exerts his whip or his. cudgel: time’ poor little animal bears it all with patience, and does not offer even to move. The Spaniards, of all people in Europe, seem to be acquainted with the value of the ass. They take all precautions to improve the breed, and a jackass in Spain in above fifteen hands high. This animal; however, seems originally a native of Arabia A warm climate is known to produce the largest ‘and the best; their size and spirit decline, in proportion as they advance into colder regions. In Guinea, they are larger and more beautiful, than even the horses of the same country. In Persia, they have two kinds; one of which is used for burdens, being slow and heavy, the. other is kept for the saddle, being smooth, stately, and nimble. An ass will live about sixty years. He sleeps much less than the horse; and never lies down for that purpose, unless very much tired. The she ass goes about eleven months with young, and never brings forth more than one at a time. The mule may be engendered, either between a horse and a she ass, or between a jackass and a mare. The latter ‘breed is every way preferable, being larger, stronger, and better shaped. The common mule is found very serviceable in carrying burdens, particularly in mountainous and stony places. Their manner of going down the precipices of the Alps is very extraordinary. In these passages, on one side, are steep eminences, and, on the other, frightful abysses; and, as they generally follow the direc­tion of the mountain, the road, instead of lying’ in a level, forms at every little distance steep declivities, of several hundred yards downward. These can only be descended by mules: and the animal itself seems sensible of the danger. When they come to the edge of one of these descents, they stop of themselves, without being checked by tire rider; and if he inadvertently attempts to spur them on, they continue immoveable. They seem ruminating and preparing themselves for the encounter. They not only attentively view the road, but tremble and snort. Having prepared for the descent, they place their fore feet in a posture, as if they were stopping themselves; they then put their hinder feet together, but a little forward, as if they were going to lie down- In this attitude, having, taken as it were a survey of tire road, they slide down with the swiftness of a meteor. In the mean time, all the rider has to do is to keep himself fast on the saddle, without checking the rein, for the least motion is sufficient to disorder the mule ; in which case they both unavoida­bly perish. But their address in this rapid descent, is truely wonderful; for in their swiftest motion, when they seem to have lost all government of themselves, they follow exactly the differ­ent windings of the road, as if they had previously settled in their minds the route they were to follow. In this journey, the natives, who are placed along the sides of the mountains, and hold by the roots of the trees, animate the beast with shouts, and encourage him to perseverance. There are but three animals of the horse-kind. The HORSE, which is the most stately and courageous, the Ass, which is the most patient, and the ZEBRA, which is the most beautiful, but at. the some time the wildest animal in nature. Nothing can exceed the delicate regularity of this creature’s colour, or the smoothness of its skin; but on the other hand, nothing can be more timid or more untameable. The zebra, or wild ass, is chiefly a native of the southern parts of Africa, and there are whole herds of them often seen feeding in the extensive plains near the Cape of Good Hope. However, their watchfulness is such, that they suffer nothing to come near them; and their swiftness so great, that they readily leave their pursuers far behind. The zebra, in shape, rather resembles the mule than the ass. Its ears are not as long as those of the ass, ,,and yet not so small as in the horse-kind. Like the ass, its head is large, its back straight, and its tail tufted at the end; like the horse, its skin is smooth and close, and its hind quarters round and fleshy. But its greatest beauty lies in the amazing elegance of its colours. In the male they are white and brown; in the female, white and black. These colours are disposed in alternate stripes over the whole body, and with such exactness and symmetry, that one would think nature had employed the rule and compass to paint them. These stripes, which are like so many ribbons laid all over its body, are narrows parallel, and exactly separated from each other. It is now not known, what were the pains and the dangers which were first undergone to reclaim the breed of horses. from savage ferocity: these, no doubt, made an equal opposition; but by being opposed by an industrious and enterprising race of mankind, their spirit was at last subdued, and their freedom restrained. It is otherwise with regard to the zebra; it is the native of countries where the human inhabitants are but little raised above the quadruped. The natives of Angola or Cafraria, have no other Idea of advantage from horses, but as they are good for food; neither the fine stature of the Arabian courser, nor the delicate colourings of the zebra, have any allurements to a race of people ‘who only consider the quantity of flesh, and not its conformation. The delicacy of the zebra’s shape, or the painted elegance of its form, are no more regarded by such, than by the lion that makes it his prey. Perhaps the zebra may have hitherto continued wild, because it is the native of a country where there have been no efforts made to reclaim it. All pursuits then were rather against its life than its liberty; the animal has thus been long taught to consider man as its mortal enemy; and it is not to be wondered, that it refuses to yield obedience where it has so seldom experi­enced mercy. All animals seem perfectly to know their enemies, and to avoid them at the same time; which we cannot account for. Instinct, indeed, may teach the deer to fly from the lion, or the mouse to avoid the cat: but what is the principle that teaches the dog to attack the dog-butcher wherever he ,sees him In China, where the killing and. dressing dogs is ‘a trade, whenever one of these move out, all the dogs in the village, or the street, are sure to be after him. I have seen, says Dr. G-, more than one instance of the same kind among ourselves. I have seen a poor fellow, who made a, practice of stealing and killing dogs for their skins, pursued hue and cry for three or four streets together, by all the bolder breed of dogs, while the weaker flew from his presence with a fright. How these animals could thus find out their enemy, and pursue him, is unaccountable; but such is the fact; and it not only obtains in dogs, but in several other animals, though perhaps to a less degree. The noise of the zebra is neither like that of the horse. or ass, but more resembling the confused barking of a mastiff dog. In the two which I saw, there was a circumstance that seems to have escaped naturalists; which is, that the skin hangs loose below the jaw, upon the neck, in a kind of dewlap, which takes away much from the general beauty. The SQUIRREL is a beautiful little animal; which from the gentleness of its manners, deserves our protection. It is not hurtful, its usual food is fruits, nuts and acorns; ‘it is cleanly, nimble, active, and industrious; its eyes are sparkling, and its physiognomy marked with meaning. It generally, like the hare and rabbit, sits upon its hinder legs, and uses the fore paws as hands; these have five claws as they are called, and one of them is separated from the rest like a thumb. This animal seems to approach the nature of a bird, from its lightness and surprising agility. It seldom descends to the ground, except in case of storms, but jumps from one ‘branch to another; feeds in spring, on the buds and young shoots; in summer, on the ripening fruits: and particularly the young coves of the pine tree. In autumn it has an extensive variety, the acorn, the filbird, the ehesnut, and the wilding. This season of plenty, however, is not spent in idle enjoyment; the provident little animal gathers at that time its provisions for the winter, and cautiously foresees the season when the forest shall be stripped of its leaves and fruitage. Its nest is generally formed among the large branches of a great tree, where they begin to fork off into small ones. After choosing the place where the timber begins ‘to decay, and a hollow may easily be formed, the squirrel ‘begins by making a kind of level between the forks; and then bringing moss, twigs, and dry leaves, it binds them together with great art, so as to resist the most violent storm. This is covered on all sides, and has but a single opening at top, which is just large enough to admit the little animal; and this opening is itself defended from the weather by a kind of canopy that throws off the rain, though never so heavy The nest, thus formed, with a very little opening above, is, nevertheless, very commodious and roomy below; soft, well knit together, and every way convenient and warm. In’ this retreat the little animal brings forth its young, ‘shelters itself from the heat of the sun, which it seems to fear, and from the storms and inclemency of the winter, which it is still less capable. of supporting. Its provision of nuts and acorns is seldom in its nest, but in the hollows of the tree, laid up carefully, together, and never touched but in cases of necessity. Thus, one single, tree serves for a retreat and a storehouse, and without leaving it during the winter, the squirrel possesses all those enjoyments that its .nature is capable of receiving. The MARMOT is almost as big as a hare, but is more corpulent than a cat, and has shorter legs. its head pretty nearly resembles that of a hare, except that its ears are much shorter.. It is clothed all over with very long hair, and a shorter fur below. These are of different colours, black and grey. The length of the hair gives the body the appearance ‘of greater corpulence than it really has, and at the same time shortens the feet so that its belly seems to touch the ground. Its tail is tufted and well furnished with hair,’ and it is . carried in ‘a straight direction with its body. It has five claws ‘behind, and only four before-. These it uses as the squirrel does, to carry its food to its mouth, and it usually sits upon. its hinder parts to feed in the manner of that little animal. It is readily taught to dance, to wield a cudgel, and to obey the voice of its master. Like the cat, it has an antipathy to the dog, and when it becomes familiar to the family, and is sure of being supported by his master, it attacks and bites even the largest mastiff. From its squat, mus­cular make, it has great strength joined to great agility. However, it is in general a very in offensive animal; and, except its enmity to dogs, seems to live in friendship with every creature, unless when, provoked. As its legs are very short, and made somewhat like those of a bear, it is often seen sitting up, and even walking on its hind legs. Like all the hare kind, it runs much swifter up hill than down; it climbs trees with great ease, and runs up the clefts of rocks, or the contiguous walls of houses, with great facility. Those arms which the HEDGE-HOG possesses in miniature, the PORCUPINE has in an enlarged degree. In the one, the spines are but an inch long; in the other, a foot. The porcupine is about two feet long, and fifteen inches high. It is covered with quills from ten to fourteen inches long, resem­bling the barrel of a goose quill in thickness; but tapering and sharp at both ends. Each quill is thickest in the middle; and inserted into the animal’s skin, in the same manner as feathers in birds. The biggest. are often fifteen inches long, and a quarter of an inch in diameter; extremely sharp, and capable of inflicting a mortal wound. They are harder than common quills, and solid at the end which is not fixed in the skin. All these quills incline backwards, like the bristles of a hog; but when the animal is irritated, rise, and stand upright. Such is the formation of this quadruped, in those parts in which it differs from most others. As to the rest of its figure the muzzle bears some resemblance to that of a hare, but black; the legs are very short, and the feet have five toes, both before and behind; and these, as well as the belly, the head and all other parts of the body, are covered with a sort of short hair, like prickles; there being no part, except the ears and the soal of the foot, that is free from them: the ears are thinly covered with very fine hair; and are in shape like those of mankind: the eyes are small like those of a hog, being only one third of an inch from one corner to the other. After the skin is taken off, there appears a kind of paps on those parts of the body from whence the large quills proceed; these are about the size of a small pea, each answering to as many holes as appear on the outward surface of the skin, and which are about half an inch deep, like as many hollow pipes, wherein the quills are fixed, as in so many sheaths. This animal partakes much of the nature of the hedge-hÓg; having this formidable apparatus rather to defend itself, than annoy the enemy. Indeed many have supposed that it was capable of discharging at its foes its quills. But, it is now well known that its quills remain fixed in the skin, and are then only shed ‘when the animal moults them, as birds do their feathers. The PANG0LIN, a native of the torrid climates of the ancient continent, is, of all animals, the best protected from external injury. It is three or four feet long, or, taking in the tail, from six to eight. It has a small head, a very long nose, a short thick neck, a long body, legs very short, and a tail extremely long. It has no teeth, but is armed with five toes on each foot, with long ‘white claws. But what it is chiefly distinguished by, is its scaly covering. These scales defend the animal on all parts, except the under part of the head and neck, under the shoulders, the breast, the belly, and the inner side of the legs; all which parts are covered with a smooth, soft skin, without hair. The scales of this extraordinary creature are of different sizes and different forms, and stuck upon the body somewhat like the leaves of an artichoke. The largest are near the tail, which is covered with them like the rest of the body. These are above three inches broad, and about two inches long; thick in the middle, and sharp at the edges. They are extremely hard, like horn. They are convex on the outside, and a little concave on the inner; One edge sticks in the skin, while the other laps over that immediately behind it. Those that cover the tail are so hard, when the animal has acquired its full growth, as to turn a musket ball. This lapped round the rest of the body and, being defended with shells even more cutting than any other part, the creature continues in perfect security. Its shells are so large, so thick, and so pointed, that they repel every animal of prey; they make a coat of armour that wounds while it resists, and at once protects and threatens. The most cruel beasts of the forest, the tiger, the panther and hyæna, make vain attempts to force it. They roll it about, but all to no purpose; the pangoim remains safe while its invader feels the reward of its rashness. The ARMADILLO is chiefly an inhabitant of South America; a harmless creature, incapable of offending any other, and fur­nished with a peculiar covering for its own defence. This animal being covered like a tortoise, with a shell, or rather a number of shells, its other proportions are not easily discerned. It appears, at first view, a round misshapen mass, with a long head, and a very large tail sticking out at either end. It is of different sizes, from a foot to three feet long, and covered with a shell, divided into several pieces, that lap over each other, like the plates in the tail of a lobster. This covers the head, the neck, the back, the sides, the rump, and the tail, to the very point. The only parts to which it does not extend are, the throat, the breast, and the belly, which are covered with a white soft skin. By this means the animal has a motion in its back, and the armour gives way to its necessary inflexions. These shells are differently coloured in different kinds, but most usually they are of a dirty grey. This colour in all arises from another peculiar circumstance in their con formation; for the shell itself is covered with a softish skin, which is smooth and transparent. BEASTS may be considered as a numerous groupe, terminated on every side by some (hat but in -part deserve the name. one quarter we see a tribe covered with quills, or furnished with wings, that lift them among the inhabitants of the air; on another, we behold a diversity clothed with scales and shells, to rank with insects; and still, on a third, we see them descending into the waters, to live among the mute tenants of that element. We now come to a numerous tribe, that seem to make approaches even to humanity; that bear an awkward resemblance to the human form, and discover the same faint efforts at intellectual sagacity. Animals of the MONKEY class arc furnished with hands instead of paws ; their ears, eyes, eye-lids, lips, and breasts, are like those of mankind; their internal conformation also bears some distant like ness; and the whole offers a picture that may mortify the pride of such as make their persons the principle objects of their admiration. These approaches, however, are gradual and some bear the marks of our form, more strongly than others. In the APE-kind, We see the whole external machine strongly impressed with tile human likeness ; these walk upright, want a tail, have fleshy posteriors, have calves to their legs, and feet nearly like ours. In the BABooN-kind, we perceive a more distant approach; the beast mixing in every part of the animal’s figure: these generally go upon all fours; but some, when upright, are as tall as a man they have short tails, long snouts, and are possessed of brutal fierceness. The MONKEY-kind are removed a step further: these are much less; with tails as long as their bodies, and flattish faces. Lastly, the OPOSSUM-kind, seem to lose all resemblance of the human figure, except in having hands; their noses are lengthened out, and every part of their bodies totally different from the human; however, as they grasp their food with one hand, which beasts cannot do, this single similitude gives them an air of sagacity, to which they have scarce any other pretensions. The BABOON IS from three to four feet high, very strong built, with a thick body and limbs, and canine teeth, much longer than those of men. It walks more commonly upon all fours than upright, and its hands as well as its feet are armed with long, sharp claws, instead of the broad, round nails, of the ape kind. At the Cape of Good Hope, they are under a sort of natural discipline, and go about whatever they undertake with surprising skill and regularity. When they set about robbing an orchard or vineyard, for they are extremely fond of grapes and apples, they go in large companies, and with preconcerted deliberation; part of them enter the enclosure, while one is set to watch. The rest stand without the fence, and form a line reaching all the way from their fellows within to their rendezvous without, which is generally in some craggy mountain. Every thing being thus disposed, the plunderers within the orchard throw the fruit to those that are without, as fast as they can gather it ; or, if tile wall or hedge be high, to those that sit on the top; and these hand the plunder to those next them on the other side. Thus the fruit is pitched from one to another all along the line, till it is safely deposited at their head quarters. They catch it as readily as the most skilful tennis-player can a ball; and while the busi­ness is going forward, a profound silence is observed. Their sentinel, during this whole time, continues upon the watch, and if he perceives any one coming, instantly sets up a loud cry, on which signal, the whole company scamper off. Nor yet are they willing to go empty handed; for if they be plundering a bed of melons, for instance, they go off with one in their mouths, one in their hands, and one under their arm. If the pursuit is hot, they drop first-that from under their arm, then that from their hand; and, if it be continued, they at last let fail that which they had kept in their mouths. The CHIMPANESE is an animal found in Angola, nearly approaching to the human figure; but of fierce disposition, and remarkably mischievous. In the year 1738, one of these creatures was brought over to England. It about twenty months old. [The parent had it in her. arms when she was killed: she was five feet high.] It was of the female sex, naturally walked erect, was hairy on some part of the body and limbs, and of a strong, muscular make. It would eat any coarse food, but was very fond of tea, which it drank out of a cup, with milk and sugar, as, we do. It slept in the manner of the human species, and its voice resembled tile human, when people speak very hastily; but without any articulate sounds. The males of this species are very bold, and will fight a man, though he is armed. It is said, they often assault and ravish the negro women, when they meet them in the woods. There is another strange species of monkey found in the West-Indies, of the size of a fox. Its face is raised high, its eyes black and shining, and its cars small and round. His hairs are so nicely disposed all over the body, that he appears perfectly smooth; and they are much longer under the chin, so that they form a kind of beard there. These are found in great numbers in the woods, and make a loud and frightful noise. But it is very common for one only to make a noise, and the rest to form a mute assembly round him. Marcgrave says, “I have frequently seen great numbers of them, meeting about noon: at which time they formed a large circle, and one placing himself above the rest, began to make a loud noise. ‘When he had sung thus by himself, for some time, the rest all remaining silent, he lifted up his hand, and they all instantly joined in a sort of chorus. This intolerable yell continued till the same monkey, who gave the signal for their begin­ning, lifted up his hand a second time. On this they were all silent again, and so finished the business of tile assembly. The OPOSSUM IS about the size of a cat, only more corpulent, and its legs more robust. It is of a kind of chesnut colour, very bright and glossy. Its head is long, and terminates in a snout, somewhat like a fox’s. The tail is long, and much resembles that of a rat, which it twists about with a surprising facility. The legs being short, the body is carried at no great distance from the ground. On the belly of the female, a bag is formed by the skin being doubled. It is not very deep, the closest part being toward the upper part of the body, and the open part toward the lower. This is covered with fur, like the rest of tile body, so that it is not very obvious to the sight. It is a harmless, but likewise a defenceless animal: and the young of no creature are produced so small and tender, in respect of the parent animal. Therefore that bag is extremely useful to them. They are cherished there by the warmth of the parent’s body, till toward noon: then they go abroad, till at the first warning by the evening cold, they retire into their lodging again. Nor is this all the help which it affords: for as the tender young of the opossum are delicate morsels, they would be exposed to the rage of many animals, both by day and night. But the body of the parent is a safe and ready receptacle for them. By day she is as watchful over her brood, as a hen over her chickens. She is alarmed at the slightest appearance of danger, and by a noise which they well understand, instantly calls them into her bag. At night she constantly takes them in, and consults for herself and them in a very uncommon manner. There are those among the devourers of her young, who will climb a tree after her. Therefore, when she has climbed, to secure herself and her young still farther, she twists her tail twice round some small bough, and then drops from it. There she hangs with her head downward: and whenever she pleases she recovers the branch with her feet, by a swing, and loosening her tail, walks about as usual. To enable her thus to hang, there are spikes or hooks in the under side of the vertebre of the tail. Indeed, in the first three vertebre there are none: for there they would bç of no use. But they ai’e found in all the rest. They are placed just at the articulation of each joint, and in the middle from the sides. Nothing could be more advantageously contrived. For when the tail is twisted round a bough, these hooks easily sustain the weight. And there 15 no more labour of the muscles required, than just to bow or crook the tail. Another animal of a very peculiar kind is an ICHNEUMON. It is of the weasel kind, with a longer and narrower body than the cat, something approaching to the shape and colour of a badger. Its nose is black and sharp, like that of a ferret. Its colour is a yellowish grey. Its legs are short, and each of its feet has fIve toes. Its tail is very long; its teeth and tongue much like those of a cat. It is a very cleanly animal, very brisk and nimble, and of great courage. It will engage a dog, and will destroy a cat by three bites on the throat. But it is quite inoffensive to mankind, and is kept tame in Egypt, running about the house, destroying all vermin, and playing tricks, like spaniels. When wild, he cannot overtake any nimble animal. But he makes this up by assiduity. His legs being short, he is not much seen; but he has a way of concealing himself yet more, by crawl­ing with his belly close to the ground, which he does all day long. But on the least noise, for his hearing is exceeding quick, he starts up erect on his hinder legs. If the noise is made by any reptile, bird or small beast, he observes whereabouts it is, places his nose directly in a line with it, and begins to move toward it. He is silent and slow, but constant in his approach; often stopping to hear or look forward, and knows exactly where the creature is: when he is got within about five feet, he stops. Nature, which has denied him speed, has given him strength to leap beyond most other creatures. Having taken good aim, he springs from the place, and falls directly on his prey. Thus he deals with beasts and birds. ‘But to serpents he gives chase, and to avoid their bite, always seizes them by the neck. Gesnes tells, that the ichneumon is not only an enemy to serpents themselves, but to their eggs also: which he hunts after continually and destroys, though he does not feed upon them. How mercifully has God given this animal in the countries where those terrible reptiles most abound And which, without this provision, would be so overrun with them, as’ to be uninhabitable. The JACKAL IS of the carnivorous kind. They hunt by scent and go in packs. They pursue with patience, rather than swift­ness, and excite each other by a spirit of emulation. It goes for current that the jackal discovers the lion’s prey;-that each of these retains one of them, and having satisfied himself, lets his dependants feed on the offals of his repast. But the truth is, there are great numbers of jackals in some woods, and when one pf these sees a stag, or other large beast, which is not a beast of prey, he sets up his cry, which is like that of a hound, and follows it. As he continues his cry, the other jackals that are within hearing follow likewise. And could the creature outrun those that began the chase, there is a continual supply; so that it cannot escape. When they have run it down, they worry it at once, and it is devoured almost in an instant. After this the jackals disperse, till another cry invites them. They hunt generally in the night, and in the parts of tile east, where they are most frequent, there never is a night but they are heard, in one part or other of the woods. The other beasts of prey understand the sound; and frequently profit by it. If a lion, tyger or leopard happens to be near, he hears the cry, and stands upon tile watch. These large animals are all very swift, but they are lazy, and never make long pursuits. If the creature pursued be far off, and runs another way, they never trouble themselves about it. But if it be near, or if it runs towards the place where the lion is, he will dart out upon it as it goes by. And the little animals that hunted it down must stand by, and be content with what their master leaves. The SABLE-MICE, which were first observed in Lapland, in 1 697, are near as big as a small squirrel. Their skin is streaked and spotted with black and light brown. They have two teeth above, and two under, very sharp and pointed. Their feet are like a squirrel’s. They are so fierce, that if a stick be held out to them, they will bite it, and hold so fast, ‘that they may be swinged about in the air. In their march they keep a direct line, generally from north east to south west. Innumerable thousands are in each troop, which is usually a square. They lie still by day, and march by night. The distance of the lines they go in, parallel to each other, is of some ells. Whatever they meet in their war, though it were a fire, a deep well, a torrent, lake, or morass, they avoid it not, but rush forward. By this means many thousands of them are destroyed. If they are met swimming over a lake, and are forced out of their course, they quickly return into it again. If they are met in woods or fields and stopt, they raise themselves on their hinder legs, like a dog, and make a kind of barking noise, leaping up as high as a man’s knee, and’ defending their line as long as they can. If at last they arc forced out of it, they creep into holes, and set up a cry, sounding like biab, biab. If a house stands in their way, they never come into it, but stop there till they die. But they will eat their way through a stack of corn or hay. When they march through a meadow, they eat the roots of the grass: and if they encamp there by day, they utterly spoil it, and make it look just as if it had been burnt. They are exceeding fruitful: but their breeding does not hinder their march. For some of them have been observed, to carry one young in their mouth, and another upon’ their back, In winter they live under the snow, having their breathing holes, as hares and other creatures have. I would mention only two creatures more, very extraordinary, and yet but little known. The GLUTTON is frequent in the forests of Germany. It is rarely seen twice of the same figure. It is of the weasel-kind, and is, in its middle state, about the size of a turn-spit dog. Its body is long, its legs short. Its colour is brown, with a reddish tinge; but its breast and belly are white. The tail is long and bushy; the head small and sharp at the nose. The teeth are exceeding sharp, and the claws sharper than almost in any creature. This is the most hungry animal in the world, but is ill provided for catching its prey. Most creatures can out-run it, and itself can scarce run away from any thing. But what he wants in swiftness, be has in climbing, which he performs to admiration: its sharp claws enabling it to run up a tree as fast as on the ground. Its usual place is some large and spreading oak, chose both for safety and for catching its prey. He squats all day on some large branch; and if nothing offers below, he preys in the night on whatever creatures he can find on the tree above. Many birds roost on such trees, which he climbs softly to, ‘and devours. But his favourite food is larger animals. He will lie many days on a slanting bough; and when any which he likes comes underneath, he drops down upon them. Hares and rabbits seldom escape him; but he chooses rather a goat, or any creature of that size. When one of these comes under the tree, he creeps from bough to bough, till he comes just over it, and then drops down upon it. He always contrives to fasten on the fleck. In an instant, he fixes both his teeth and claws, and lies across the neck, near the shoulders. Here he is secure; and while the poor creature runs with all its speed, he is feeding on its flesh. At length it drops, and he conUnues eating in the same ravenous manner, till from a mere skeleton, his back becomes round, and his sides swelled out like a tun. Still he continues to eat, till he can eat no longer. He, too, drops down, and lies panting for breath. He resembles a dead carcase, swelled and ready to burst with lying in the sun: and being unable to move for a long time, is frequently destroyed, and sometimes perishes without an enemy. The God of nature seems to have formed the SLOTH, to represent to us in a strong light, that odious and despicable vice,-from which it takes its name. Its body is short, its head small, and it has scarce any tail. Its fur is long, thick, and of a greyish green, so that when seen on the bough of a tree, it appears only like an excressence or cluster of moss. It is about the size of a cat, but the legs are short, as is the neck: and its long and thick covering, renders it so shapeless, that it seems only an irregular lump of living matter. Its little and remarkably ugly head stands close between the shoulders. The face has much of the monkey aspect. Its small and heavy eyes, are always half shut, and it has no appearance at all of any ears. Its feet are flat and very narrow, but armed with sharp claws, for laying hold on the bark of a tree, by striking deep into it. He rarely changes his place; and never, but when compelled by absolute necessity. As upon the ground it would be a prey to every other animal, so its constant residence is on a tree. Here it is safe from all animals, but those who climb these trees for time birds that roost on them. The leaves and tender part of the tree are its food, and serve it for drink as well as meat. It never moves to another branch, till it has devoured all the nourishment upon that where it is stationed: nor from one tree to another, till the first is wholly withered and wasted. It is observable, the sloth always ascends to the top of a tree, only baiting as he goes, before he begins his devastations. And this is doubtless from the instinctive guidance of nature. For was it to begin eating upward, when it had devoured all, it would have to climb down from the top of a dead tree, and would he half starved in his journey. But this is not all. The havoc which one sloth makes on the largest tree is easily seen. For he eats not only the leaves, but all the buds and bark, leaving only a dead branch: so that unless the same thing might happen by accident, this would betray the creature. It does so happen; and trees then put on the same form, as when they are left by the sloth. But they always die at the top first, and so gradually downward. This animal therefore, wonderfully taught, begins its havoc at the top. As it feeds, the tree decays; but its decay is in the course of nature. The decay spreads downward; and when he has eaten the last of his provision, he is near the ground, and has only to walk away to another tree. But if it is at any distance, his motion is so slow, that he grows quite lean in the expedition. As the sloth brings forth her young in the hollow of a tree, so is she led by the same wonderful instinct, to Conduct them to the topmost branches, as soon as they crawl out. When she is big with young, she climbs some old, hollow tree ; and having fixed on a convenient spot for her young, she climbs to the very highest bough, and there feeds faster than usual. When site is full, she descends with unaccustomed haste, and brings forth one, two, or three young ones. It is well she is full fed ; for site is to support these with her milk, till they can crawl out, without having any supply herself. She is round and fleshy when she retires for this purpose, but a mere skeleton when she comes out.. She crawls as well as she can, to the part where she left off feeding, and her young follow her. Nor will she touch any thing in the way, however both her hunger and laziness may prompt her to it. It is the most timorous of all creatures. And with reason; for it can neither fight nor fly. While it is journeying on the ground, the tread of a human foot shakes the earth enough to put it into terrors. It trembles: the head is turned about every way, and time mouth is open to cry like a young kitten. Insignificant as this creature is, there is a special Providence in the formation and care of it. Not designed for walking, its claws enable it to climb, and then to hold fast in its station. Helpless as it is, the universal Provider has assigned it a place of safety, where it finds plenty of food; and as it cannot easily seek for drink, it has no need of any. To render it the less obnoxious to pursuit, its colour secures. it even from view: and its amazing instinct of feeding front the top to the bottom, proves a designing and directing hand. Before I proceed to some general reflections upon BEASTS, I beg leave to take notice of one circumstance, relating to several species of them, which is very strange, though very common. The horns of many animals fall off every year, and new ones come in their place. Our (leer drop them in March, and the new horns arc full grown by the July following. We may very justly rank this among the most wonderful phenomena of nature, which yields nothing analogous to the growth of such hard, solid bodies, of so great a bulk, in so short a time. Many idle opinions have been maintained, concerning the cause of their falling off. The truth seems to be this: they are a sort of vegetables, grow­ing on animals, as the nails and hand on man, and feathers on birds. And there is some analogy between the growth of them, and that of branches and leaves on trees. Trees commonly drop their leaves in autumn, because the nourishing juice flows into them no longer. And at certain periods, these parts of the animal Thop off, because the blood and juices cease to flow in them. At this time, the hollow part at ‘the root of the horn grows hard, and the pores, through which the juices passed, grow up. And as no more nourishment can then be Carried to the horn, it decays and falls oft’. It is probable this Stoppage of the pores happens, as soon as the horns are at their full growth. But they are so fixt to the head, that it takes a long time for them to loosen and fall. Whereas in leaves, their stalks are so tender, that when the juice ceases to flow, they presently wither and fall. Time analogy between the falling off of deer’s horns, and the falling of leaves and ripe fruit from the tree, will receive light from observing the process of nature in the latter case. If the stalk from which a ripe orange has fallen, be compared with that part of a deer’s forehead, from which a horn is just fallen, it will plainly appear, that nature has operated by the same laws in both. The young horns, while yet soft, are full of blood vessels; and if cut off, especially near the head, bleed violently. By these vessels they are supplied with nourishment for their growth. But these dry up, when there is no farther occasion for them. And hence it is, that no ill symptoms attend the falling off of these parts, when full grown. So far’ we may give a probable account: but who can account for this, that if a stag be castrated, while he is so young as’ not to have horns, he will never have any: and if castrated afterward, while his horns are on, he will never cast them 10. It remains only to add a few reflections. And first, what admirable wisdom is displayed in the motion of various animals, suited to their various occasions! In some, their motion is swift; in others, slow; and both diversified a thousand ways. And first, for swift or slow motion. This is exactly propor­tioned to the occasion of each animal. REPTILES, whose food, habitation and nests lie in the next clod, plant, tree, or hole, or which can bear long hunger, need neither legs nor wings, but their vermicular motion answers all their purposes. BEASTS, whose occasions require a larger room, have accord­ingly a swifter motion: and this in various degrees, answerable to their range for food, and the enemies they are to escape from.’ But as for BIRDS, who are to traverse vast tracts of land and water, for their food, habitation, breeding their young, and for places of retreat and security, from various inconveniences: they are endowed with the faculty of flying; and that swiftly or slowly, a long or short time, according to their occasions. In all this, the wisdom of God appears, ordering all things well. Again. How admirable in the motion of all creatures, is the neat, geometrical performance of it! The most accurate mathe­matician cannot prescribe a nicer motion, than that they perform, to the legs and wings of those that fly or walk, or to the bodies of those that creep. Neither can the body be more completely poised, for the motion it is to have in every creature. From the largest elephant to the smallest mite, the body is exactly balanced. T he head is not too heavy, nor too light for the rest of the body, nor the rest of the body for it. The bowels are not loose, or so placed as to swag, over-balance, or overset the body: but well braced, and accurately distributed to maintain the equipoise of zt. The motive parts also arc admirably well fixed,. in respect to the centre of gravity, placed in the very point which best serves to convey the body. Every leg bears its true share of the weight. And the wings are so exactly placed, that even in the fluid medium, the air, the body is as truly balanced, as we could have balanced it with the nicest scales. Yet again. What an admirable provision is made for the mo­tion of some creatures, by temporory parts! Frogs, for instance, have tails in their tadpole state, which fall out when their legs are grown out. The water-newt also, when young, has four fins, two on a side, to poise and keep the body upright. But as soon as the legs are fully grown, these presently drop off. Secondly, the bore of the gullet in all creatures, is answerable to their occasions. In a fox, which, feeds on bones, as in all ossi­vorous beasts, it is very large. But in a squirrel it is exceeding small, lest he should disgorge his meat in his descending leaps: and so in rats and mice, which often run along a wall with their heads downward. Thirdly, in all animals the strength and size of their stomach are proportioned to their food. Those whose food is more tender and nutritive, have it smaller, thinner, and weaker. Whereas it is large and strong in those whose food is less nutritive, and whose bodies require large supplies. All carnivorous beasts have the smallest stomachs, as flesh goes the farthest. Those that feed on fruits and roots have them of a middle size. Sheep and oxen, which feed on grass, have the greatest. Yet the horse, hare, and rabbit, though granivorous, have comparatively small ones. For a horse is made for labour, and both this and the hare for quick and continued motion: for which the most easy respiration, and so the freest motion of the diaphragm is requisite, but this could not be, did the stomach lie big and cumbersome upon it, as’ is does in sheep and oxen. Another very remarkable circumstance is, that those animals which have teeth on both jaws, have but one stomach; whereas most of those which have no upper teeth, or no teeth at all, have three stomachs. For the meat which is first chewed, is easily digested; but that which is swallowed whole, requires a stronger concoctive power. Fourthly, all the parts of the same animal are adapted one to the other. So, for instance, the length of the neck is always pro portioned to that of the legs Only the elephant has a short neck for the weight of his head and teeth, would to a long neck, have been insupportable. But then he is provided With a trunk, which abundantly supplies the defect. In other beasts and birds, the neck is always commensurate to the legs; so that they which have long legs, have long necks, and they that have short legs, short ones; as may be observed in lizards of all kinds, and the king of them, the crocodile. And creatures that have no legs, as they want no necks, so they have none, as fishes. This equality between the length of the neck and legs, is peculiarÏy seen in beasts that feed on grass. Their legs and necks are very nearly equal. Very nearly, I say, because the neck must necessarily have some advantage; for it cannot hang perpendicular, but must incline a little. Moreover, as these creatures must hold their heads down, for a considerable time together, which would be very laborious and painful for the muscles, therefore on each side of the’ neck, nature has placed a thick and strong ligament, capable of stretch­ing and shrinking again as’ need requires: this, which is vulgarly called white leather, extends from the head (to which, and the next vertebre of the neck is fastened at the end) to the middle vertebre of the back, to which it is knit at the other. And by the assistance of this, they are able to hold their head in that posture all day long. Fifthly, the parts of all animals are exactly fitted to their manner of living. A notable instance of this is in the swine. His natural food being chiefly the roots of plants, he is provided with a long and strong snout; long, that he may thrust it to a convenient depth in the ground, without offence to his eyes; strong and conveniently formed, for rooting and turning up the ground. And besides, lie has an extremely quick scent, for finding out such roots as are fit for him. Hence in Italy, the usual way of finding truffles, or subterraneous mushrooms, is by tying a cord to the hind leg of a pig, and driving him before them into their pastures. They then observe, where he stops and begins to root: and digging there they are sure to find a truffle. So in pastures where there arc earth nuts, though the roots, are deep in the ground, and the leaves are quite gone, the swine will find them by their scent, and root only in the places where they grow. Another instance of like ‘nature we have in the PORPUS, anciently wrote porc-pesce, that is, swine-fish, which resembles the hog, both in the strength of his snout and in the manner of getting his food. For the stomach of one of these when dissected, was found full of sand-eels, which lie deep in the sand, and cannot be gotten, but by rooting and digging there. That very action, for which we look upon swine as unclean creatures, namely wallowing in the mire, is designed by nature for a good end not only to cool their bodies, which fair water would do as well, but also to suffocate and destroy fleas, lice, and other insects, which are troublesome and hurtful to them. For the same reason, poultry and divers other birds bask themselves in the (lust in hot summer weather. The variety of shape and colour observable in BEASTS, prevents any two from being exactly alike, as much as the human features distinguish mankind one from another. Wherefore, then was this variety bestowed upon brutes Are they at all sensible of such diversity Are they the more happy, or more useful to one another for it No. ‘this variety then is doubtless intended for the sake of man, to prevent confusion, and decide and ascertain his property. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 16: PART 02 - CHAPTER 2 - ON BIRDS ======================================================================== Chapter 2 - On Birds 1. Some general remarks 6. Stomach and bladder 2. Of their motion 7. Generation 3. Brain 8. Of some particular sorts of birds 4. Organs of sense 9. Reflections 5. Lungs 1. No part of nature is destitute of inhabitants. The woods, the waters, the depths of the earth, have their respective tenants; while the yielding air, and those tracts where man never can ascend, are also passed through by multitudes of the most beau­tiful beings of the creation. Every order of animals is fitted for its situation in life; but none more apparently than birds. Though they fall below beasts in the scale of nature, yet they hold the next rank, and far surpass fishes and insects, both in the structure of their bodies arid in their sagacity. The body of man presents the greatest variety: beasts less perfectly formed, discover their defects in the simplicity of their conformation: the mechanism of birds is yet less complex: fishes are furnished with fewer organs still; while insects, more imperfect than all, fill up the chasm between animal and vegetable nature. Of man, the most perfect animal, there are but three or four species; the kinds of beasts are more nume­rous; birds are more various still; fishes yet more; but insects afford an immense variety. In all birds, except nocturnal ones, the head is smaller, and bears less proportion to the body than in beasts, that it may the more readily divide the air in flying. Their eyes also are more fiat and depressed, and a circle of small plates of bone, placed scale-wise under the outer coat of the organ, encompasses the pupil on each side to strengthen and defend it from injuries. Beside this, birds have a kind of skin, called the nictitating membrane, with which, hike a veil, they can at pleasure cover their eyes, though their eyelids continue open. This membrane serves also to wipe, cleanse, and probably to moisten its surface. The eyes, though they outwardly appear but small, yet each almost equals the brain; whereas in man the brain is more than twenty times larger than the eye. Hence it follows, that the sense of SEEING in birds is infi­nitely superior to that of other animals. Indeed this piercing sight seems necessary to the creature’s support and safety. Were it not so, from the rapidity of the bird’s motion, it would be apt to strike against every object in its way; and it could scarcely find subsistence, unless it could discern its food front above with astonishing sagacity. A hawk, for instance, perceives a small bird at a distance, which neither men nor dogs could spy; and a kite, from an almost imperceptible height, darts clown on its prey with the most unerring aim. Granivorous birds, or such as live upon vegetables, have their intestines differently formed from those of the rapacious kind. Their gullet dilates just above the breast-bone, and forms itself into a pouch or bag, called the crop. This is replete with salival glands, which moisten and soften the food it contains. After the dry food of the bird has been macerated, it passes into the belly, where, instead of a soft, moist stomach, as in the rapacious kinds, it is ground between two pair of muscles, commonly called the gizzard, covered on the inside with a strong ridgy coat. These coats rubbing against each other, are capable of attenuating the hardest substances; their action being often compared to that of the grinding teeth, in man and other animals. Thus the organs of digestion are in a manner reversed in birds. Beasts grind their food with their teeth, and then it passes into the stomach, where it is softened and digested. On the contrary, birds of this sort first soften it in the crop, and then it is ground and comminuted in the stomach or gizzard. Birds are all careful’ to pick sand, gravel, and other hard’ substances, not to grind their food, as has been supposed, but to prevent the too violent action of the coats of the stomach against each other. To birds, the return of spring is the beginning of pleasure. Those vital spirits which seemed locked up during the winter, then begin to expand; vegetables and insects supply abundance of food; and the bird having more than a sufficiency for its own subsistence, is impelled to transfuse life as well as to maintain it. Those warblings which had been hushed during the colder seasons, now begin to animate the fields; every grove and bush resounds with the challenge of anger, or the call of allurement. The delightful concert of the grove, which is so much admired by man, is no way studied for his amusement: it is the calf of the male to the female; his efforts to sooth her during the time of incubation: ,or a challenge between two males for the affections of some common favourite. It is by this call that birds begin to pair a(the approach of spring, and provide for the support of a future progeny. The loudest notes are usually from the male; the hen expresses her consent, in a short interrupted twittering. Their compact holds-with unbroken faith: most birds live with inviolable fidelity together; and when one dies, the other is always seen to share the same fate soon after. We must look for it in our fields and in our forests, where nature continues in unadulterated simplicity; ‘where the number of males is generally equal to that of females. But the male of all wild birds is as happy in the young brood as the female. They both seem, at this season, transported with pleasure: every action testifies their tender solicitude. But previous to laying, the work of nestling becomes the com­mon care: and this is performed with no small degree of assiduity. It has been asserted, that birds of one kind always make their nests in the same manner, and of the same materials ; but the truth is, they vary this as the materials, places, or climates, differ. The red-breast, in some parts of England, makes its nest with oak leaves, where they are in plenty, and in other parts with moss and hair. Some birds, that with us make a very warm nest, are less solicitous in the warm climates.. In general, however, every species of birds has a peculiar architecture of its own; and this adapted to the number of eggs, the temperature of the climate, or the heat of the animal’s body. Where the eggs are numerous, the nest is warm, that the animal’s heat may be equally diffused to them all. Thus the wren, and all the small birds make their nests very warm; for having many eggs, it is requi­site to distribute warmth to them all : on the contrary, the plover, that has but two eggs, the eagle, and the crow, are not so soli­citous in this respect, as their bodies are capable of being applied to the small number upon which they sit. Nothing can exceed the patience of birds while hatching; neither hunger, nor danger, can drive them from the nest. They are fat upon beginning to sit, yet before incubation is over, are usually wasted to skin and bone. Indeed ravens and crows, while the females are sitting, take care to provide them with food in abundance. But it is different with most of the smaller kinds: daring the whole time male sits near his mate upon some tree, and sooths her by his singing; and often When she is tired takes her place, and patiently continues on the nest till she returns. So great is the power of instinct in these animals, that they Continue almost passive under its influence. Yet, at the same time, the hen, that has all this seeming ingenuity in other respects, is without the least glimmering of common sense; she mistakes a piece’ of chalk for an egg, and sets upon it in the same manner; she is insensible of any increase or diminution in the number of those she lays; she does not distinguish between her own and those of another species; and when the birth appears of never so different a bird, will cherish it for her own. As the principle which acts in these animals cannot be termed reason, so when we call it instinct, we mean something we have no knowledge of. It appears to me the immediate direction of Providence; and such an operation of the Supreme Being as that which determines all the portions’ of matter to their proper centres. While the young are yet unfledged, the old one takes care to provide them with a regular supply: when the family is fully plumed, and capable of avoiding danger by flight, they are then led forth, when the weather is fine, and taught the paternal art of providing for their subsistence. They are led to the places where their food lies; they are shewn the method of discovering or carrying it away; and then led back to- the nest, for a day or two longer. At length, when they are qualified to shift for them­selves, the old one takes them abroad, and leading them to the accustomed places, forsakes them for the last time; and all connection is at an end. Birds in general, though they have so much to fear from man and each other, are seldom scared from their usual haunts. The greatest number remain contented, where they hare been bred. The rook, if undisturbed, never desires to leave’ his native grove; the black bird still frequents its accustomed hedge; and the red-breast, though seemingly mild, claims a certain district, from whence he seldom moves, but drives out every one of the same species from thence without pity. They are excited to migrations by no other motives, but those of fear, climate or hunger. It is from one of these motives, that birds of passage, every year, forsake us for some time; and make their regular returns. The cause of their retreat is, either scarcity of food, or the want of an asylum from man, during the time of courtship, and bringing up their young. Thus the starling, at Sweden, at the approach ‘of winter, finding subsistence no longer, descends into Germany; and the hen-chaffinches of the same country are seen to fly every year through Holland, to pass their winter in a milder climate. Others prepare for longer journeys. Thus the quails, in spring, forsake the heats of Africa, for the milder sun of Europe; and when they have passed the summer with us, steer their flight to enjoy, in Egypt, the temperate air. This with them seems a preconcerted undertaking. They unite together in some open place, for some days before their departure, and, by an odd kind of chattering, seem to debate on the method to proceed. Then they all take flight together, and often in such numbers, that, to mariners at sea, they seem like a cloud upon the horizon. The strongest, and by far the greatest number, make good their intention; but many there are, who grow weary in the way, and drop down into the sea, and sometimes upon the decks of ships. Of the vast quantity of water-fowl, that frequent our shores, few are known to breed here. The cause that urges them to leave us seems to be, not merely the want of food, but the desire of a secure retreat. Our country is too- populous for birds so shy, as the greatest number of these are. When great part of our island was an uncultivated tract of woods and marshes, many species of birds, which now migrate, remained with us the whole year. The great heron, and the crane, that have now forsaken this country, in former times bred familiarly in our marshes. Their nests, like those of most cloven footed water fowl, were built on the ground, and exposed to every invader. But as rural economy increased, these animals were more and more disturbed. Once they had little to fear, as the surrounding marsh defended them from all the carnivorous surrounding quadrupeds, and their own strength from birds of prey; but by a long series of alarms, they have, at length, been obliged to seek, during the summer, some lonely habitation, at a safe distance from every destroyer. Of the numerous tribes of the duck kind, we know of no more than five that breed here. The rest contribute to form that amazing multitude of water fowl which annually repair to the dreary lakes and deserts of Lapland, from the more southern countries of Europe. In those solitary retreats, they perform the duties of incubation and nutrition in full security. There are few of this kind that may not be traced to the northern deserts; to countries of lake s, rivers, swamps and mountains, covered with thick and gloomy forests. In those regions, from the thick­ness of the forests, the ground remains moist and penetrable during the summer season; the woodcock, the snipe, and other slender-billed birds, can there feed at ease; while the web-footed birds find more than sufficient food from the number of insects, which swarm to an incredible degree. The days’ there are long; and the beautiful nights afford them every opportunity of collecting so minute a food, 2. Birds have feathers which they expand in order to fly; the fire branches of which lie so close together, that little air can insinuate itself between them. Now when the column of air on which a body rests is specifically heavier than the body, it remains suspended in the air; if it be lighter, the body sinks: Hence, the larger space a body circumscribes, the more easily does the air sustain it. Consequently the same bird which sinks when the wings are closed, is sustained when they are expanded. To this also the motion of the wings contributes: as a body while moving swiftly, will swim in water, which immediately sinks, if that motion ceases. And so do the feathers, with which their bodies are clothed, which increase their bulk, but not their weight in the same proportion. The parts of birds chiefly concerned in flying, are the wings and the tail. y the first, the bird sustains and wafts himself along. By the econed he is enabled to keep his body steady and upright, particularly in ascending and descending. It is by the largeness and strength of the pectoral muscles, that they are qualified for flying. In men these are scarce a seventeenth part of the muscles of the body. In birds they considerably outweigh all the other’ muscles together. And this circumstance alone, the want of suitable muscles, makes all human attempts to fly, void and vain. Nevertheless the art of flying has been seriously attempted by many, in various ages, particularly in the time of our famous friar Bacon, who lived about 500 years since, and whom his excellent works shew to have been a rare chymist, an excellent mathematician, a knowing mechanic, and a most accomplished experimental philosopher. Yet even lie believed the art of flying possible, and says, he himself knew how to make an engine, in which a man sitting, might be able to convey himself through the air, like a bird. Nay he affirms, that there was then another person, who had actually tried it with success. In flying, the bird first bends his legs and leaps from the ground; then opens the joint of his wings, so as to make a right line, perpendicular to the sides of his body. Being now raised and strongly vibrating his wings, the air re-acts, as much as it is acted upon, and so protrudes his whole body. But in recovering his wing for fresh strokes, it has a great resistance to overcome. To elude this, the bony part of the wing, into which the feathers are inserted, moves sideways with its sharp end foremost, and the feathers follow it like a flag. All birds have near their tail a little bag, which contains oil, to moisten their feathers. Geese have two glands for the secretion. of this: other birds only one. In this are divers little cells ending in two or three large ones, lying under the nipple of the oil bag. This nipple is perforated, and being prest by the bird’s bill, emits its oil. In all birds that fly much, the wings arc placed in the very best manner, to balance their bodies in the air, and to give as swift a progression as they are severally capable of. Otherwise they would reel and fly unsteadily; as we See they do if we destroy the equipoise, by cutting one of their wings. And what nicety may we observe, in a part no more considera­ble, than the vanes of the flag-feathers of the wing !—1. The cdges of the exterior or narrow vanes bend downward, but the interior, wider vanes, upward. By this means they catch hold and lie close to each other, when the wing is spread;’ that not one feather may miss its full force and impulse upon the air. 2. Equal nicety is observed in the very sloping the tips of the flag-feathers: the interior vanes are neatly sloped away to a point, toward the Outward part of the wing. The exterior, (at leas in many birds) are sloped toward the body. And in the middle the wing, the vanes being equal, are but little sloped, so that the wing whether open or shut is as neatly sloped as if constantly trimmed with a pair of scissars. The vane consists not of one continued membrane, because if once broke, it would not easily be repaired: but of many laminæ, which arc thin, stiff, and something resembling a thin quill. Toward the shaft of the feather (especially in the flag-feathers of the wing) these Iaminæ are broad and of a semicircular form, which serves for strength, and forshutting them close together, when impulses are made on the air. Toward the outer part of the vane, they grow slender and taper. On their under side they are thin and smooth; but their upper, outer edge is parted into two hairy edges. As curiously made are the feathers in the wing, and no less curiously placed, exactly according to their several lengths and strength; and these again are lined, faced, and guarded with Covers and secondary feathers, to keep the air from passing through, and so eluding the impulse. How admirably wrought are tile bones of the wing! very strong, hut light withal ; the joints, which open, shut, and move as occasion is; and the various muscles, all suited to the motions which they minister to. Next to the parts for flight, let us view the legs and feet, which minister to their other motions; both made light, for their easier passage through the air; and the latter, some with membranes for swimming, some without, for steady going, for perch­ing, for catching and holding their prey, or for hanging by. the heels to gather their food: the legs, all curved, for their easy perching or roosting, as also to help them upon their wings, in taking their flight. In some they are long, for wading and searching the waters: in others, if need be, remarkably short. And how wisely are they placed! In all, somewhat out of the centre of the body’s gravity; but in such as swim, more than into hers, for the better rowing their bodies: as also to help them in diving. Geese and ducks, their bodies being made for swimming, have their wings too placed out of the centre of gravity, nearer the head; but the extending the neck and head in flight, balances the body upon the wings; which is another excellent use, beside searching for food, of the long neck of these birds. But in the heron, whose head and long neck, although tucked up in flight, overbalances the’ hinder part of the body, the long legs are extended, both to counterpoise the body, and to supply what is wanting in the tail. It has been supposed, that the flying of birds is analogous to the rowing of vessels. But it is a motion of quite a different kind. Oars are struck toward the stern: whereas birds do not vibrate, their wings toward the tail, but waft them downward. Nor does the tail cut the air (as the rudder does the water) at right angles, but horizontally. It likewise keeps the same situation, which way soever the bird turns. It is not therefore by the tail, that most birds turn to the right hand or the left, but by time wings. They turn to the right, by beating the air with the left wing alone toward the tail; to the left, by beating it with the right wing. Thus Pigeons* changing their course toward the left, labour with the right wing, scarce by stirring the other. Birds with long necks have another way of altering their course, by only inclining their head and neck this or that way. Birds rarely fly up or down perpendicularly, but rather in a crooked line. In asscending directly, the natural and artificial tendency would counteract each other. In descending directly, both would concur, and endanger too precipitate a motion. Only the hawk stoops directly to seize its prey: whereas other birds in descending, retard the motion by keeping their wings expanded, and at the same time stretching out their feet and legs. There is no flying animal, but has feet as well as wings; because there is no food, or at least not sufficient for them, to be had always in the air. But if there were, yet such birds could take no rest; for having no feet, they could not perch upon trees. And if they alighted on the ground, they could not raise them­selves again: which birds that have short feet can hardly do. Beside, they would want means of breeding, having no way to lay their eggs, to sit, hatch, or brood their young. It is a remarkable use which is made of pigeons, in the eastern countries. They are trained up in Turkey and Persia, to carry expresses; being first used to short flights, afterwards to longer, till at length they will return from the farthest part of the kingdom. Yea, if they are brought hood-winked twenty or thirty miles, nay, sixty or a hundred, they will find their way in a ,very little time, to the place were they were bred. Every bashaw has a basket of the pigeons bred at the Seraglio; one of which he dispatches thither on any emergent occasion, with letters braced under her wings. This proves a more speedy method, as well as safer, than any other. For one of these birds will carry a letter from Babylon to Aleppo, which is thirty days journey, in forty-eight hours. Before we conclude this head, it may be observed, that all the parts of birds are fitted for the use of flying. First, as the mus­cles of the wings are peculiarly strong, so the under side of them is made concave, and the upper convex, that they may be the more easily lifted up, and the more strongly strike the air. Then the trunk of their body somewhat resembles the hull of a ship ; the head, the prow; which is ‘generally small, that it may the more readily cut the air, and make way for the body. Add to this, that the bodies of birds are small in comparison of beasts, that they may be more easily supported by the air. And they are not only small, but of a broad figure, that they may be buoyed up the better. They are also hollow and light: yea, their very bones are light. For even those of the legs and wings have ample cavities: by this means also they become rigid and stiff: it being demonstrable, that a hollow body is more stiff and inflexible, than a solid one of equal substance. The shafts also of the feathers are either empty, or filled with a light and spungy matter. And their webs consist of two rows of contiguous fila­ments furnished all along with hooks on each side, whereby catching hold of one another they stick fast together. As to their tails, although it is true, as was observed, that all birds whose tails are pointed and end in a right line, turn them— selves by their wings and not their tails, yet in those that have forked tails it is otherwise. Thus it is manifest to sight, that the forked-tailed Kite, by turning her train sideways, raising one horn, and depressing the other, turns her whole body; and doubt­less the tail has the same use in swallows, who have all forked tails, and make more sudden turns in the air than any other bird. To lighten birds still farther, they have large membranes extending to the bottom of their bellies, into which the air is received, where, by the heat of the body it is expanded into twice or thrice the dimensions of the external air. And this they can either compress by the muscles of the abdomen, or expire more or less, in order to their descending swifter or slower, in what degree they please. 3. As to the brain of birds, whereas in men the cortical part of the brain is outermost, in birds it is innermost, and the mem­brane that covers the upper ventricle is modullary. The ventri­cles likewise are situated above, near the upper part of the scull. Perhaps before we proceed, it may be well to premise one, general observation, that the structure of birds is in many respects different from those both of men and beasts; having several parts which these want, and wanting others which they have. Besides, there are great variations in the contrivance of parts which are common to both: all wisely adapted to their different conditions and manner of life. Parts peculiar’ to birds are, 1. The bill. 2. The membrane to draw over the eyes. 3. Feathers and wings. The parts wanting in birds are, 1. Teeth and lips. 2. The bladder, which they do not need, as they drink no more than just to moisten their food. Variations in the parts of birds from those of men and beasts, are, 1. In the ear, which is of a very peculiar make. 2. In the division of the aorta. 3. In the spinal marrow, which is divided into two in the middle of the back. 4. In the bones, which are all hollow. 5. In the heart, which has a fleshy valve at the mouth of the vena cava. 6. In the lungs, which are strongly joined to the back, for the greater conveniency of flight. 7. In the stomach: birds have two oz more, to supply the want of chewing. 8. In the legs and feet. L In their tails. 10. In their pectoral muscles, which are the strongest of all, whereas in man the crural muscles are the strongest. 11. In the brain, as was before observed. 12. In the bronchia, which extends to the very bottom of the abdomen, so as to contain a large quantity of air’. 13. In the ovaries, which in birds are single and fastened on their back. 14. The ears of birds differ much from those both of men and beasts. There is almost a direct passage from ear to ear: so that if the drum be pricked in either ear, water poured in at one ear, will run out at the other. And what is still more remarkable ‘they have a small winding passage, that opens into a large cavity, running betwixt two skulls, and passes all around the head. The upper of these skulls is supported by many hundreds of small, thread-like pillars: which have another use also, to break their sound and hinder its making a confused echo. This passage between the two skulls is much larger in singing birds than in others. So that” a person who has been shewn this, may hereafter know them from all others. The other organs of sense are nearly the same in birds as in other animals. Only there is a difference in the organ of smell. The nostrils lie on each side of the beak, in the inner part whereof, beside the tube which reaches to the lungs, there are little tubes, continued from the membranes and substance of the brain. And these seem to be the organ of smell. Only two nerves pass through the os cribroaumto the beak: lest if there were more perforations, as in other animals, too much air might flow into the brain. The bill of birds is peculiarly remarkable. In the first place, it is neatly shaped for piercing the air. In the next, it is hard and horney, to supply the want of teeth, and also in some measure, of a hand. Its hooked form is of great use to rapacious birds, in catching and holding their prey; and to others, in climbing, and in taking and comminuting their food.* Its extraordinary length and slenderness is of use to some, to search for their food in Parrots have their bills nicely adapted to these services, being hooked, for climbing and reaching what they want, and the lower jaw so exactly fitted to the hook of the upper, that it will break the food, as other creatures do with their teeth. moorish places it as its length and breadth is to others, to hunt and search in muddy places. The contrary form, a thick, short and sharped edged bill, is as useful to all other birds, who must husk the’ grain they swallow. But it would be endless to reckon tip all the shapes and commodious mechanism of all: the sharp­ness and strength of those that have occasion to perforate woods and shells is the slenderness and neatness of such as pick up small insects: the cross form of such as break up fruits; the compressed form of others, with many other curious forms, all suited to the occasions of the several species. In the flat-billed birds, as ducks, there are three pair of nerves, ‘which come down between the eyes in the upper bill, whereby they are enabled to smell and find out their food in the mire or water. The like have been observed in several round-billed birds, but so small as to be scarce discernable. Only in the rook they are discernable enough: and it is remarkable that these, more than any other round-billed birds, grope for their meat in cow-dung, and the like. 5. Of their LUNGS it is observable, that they are not only larger in proportion than those of beasts, but they admit the air, both above and beneath, by which means they become far lighter. A duck is furnished with a peculiar structure of vessels, which enables it to live some time under water. Yet she cannot live without air. One that was put into the air-pump, and the + As the woodcocks and snipes, who hunt for worms in moorish ground, and likewise suck the unctuous humour out of the earth. So also the bills of curlews, and other sea fowl, are very long, to enable them to hunt for worms, &c. in the sands. Ducks, geese, and divers other species of birds, have bills both long and broad, whereby they are enabled to quaffer in the water or mud, till they find their food. The green woodspite, and all woodpeckers have strong and sharp bills, curiously made for digging wood. An even ridge runs along to the top of the green woodpecker’s bill, as if an artist bad designed it at once for strength and neatness. Woodpeckers have also a tongue, ending in a sharp, bony rib, dented on each side, which they can at pleasure shoot out to a great length, and thrust into the holes, clefts and crannies of trees. They strike them likewise into ant hills, and fetch out the ants and their eggs. Moreover, they have short, but strong legs, and their toes stand, two forward, two backward; a disposi­tion which is particularly convenient for the climbing of trees. In this they are likewise assisted by the uncommon stiffness of the feathers of their tails, and by their bending downward, whereby they are fitted to serve them as props to lean on. The cross-bill, whose bill is thick and strong, with the tips crossing each other, readily breaks open fir-cones and other fruits, to come at and feed on the kernels. And undoubtedly the crossing of the bill was designed for this very service. The sea-pye has a long, sharp, narrow bill, compressed sideways, and every way adapted to the raising limpets from the rocks, which are its chief, if not only, food. air exhausted, seemed to bear it better for a few moments than any other fowl. But in less than two minutes her head fell down, and she appeared dying, till revived by letting in the air. A young callow duck, being tried in the same manner, was near death in less than two minutes. It is observable, both of them swelled extremely, on pumping out the air. It not being intended, that water-fowl should live in an exceeding rarified air, but only continue under water, they are qualified for this, but not at all for the other. Yet that Ducks can live almost any where, we may learn from the blind ducks of Zerchintzer lake, in Carniola, a territory of Austria. This communicates with another lake under ground in the mountains of Savornick, and fills or empties itself according to the fulness or emptiness of that. The waters of the upper lake, when it empties, run off by large holes in the bottom. The ducks which are very plentiful in the water, are often carried down with it into the subterraneous lake. In this many of them undoubtedly perish; yet some remain alive. But they loose their. sight and feathers: and at the next filling of the upper lake, both they and vast numbers of fish are thrown up with the water. They make a strange appearance in their naked state; and for want of sight are easily caught. In about a fortnight they recover their sight and their feathers, and are then as big as common wild ducks. At their first coming up, their stomachs are full of small fishes, and something resembling weeds. It seems, there­fore, they were not quite blind, when in their dark habitation, but could see by that small quantity of light, to search for and find their food. Nor is it in this lake only that these ducks are found. They are frequently thrown up, after great rains, at a hole in a mountain, near the town of Laon, in the isle of France. The water then gushing out with great violence, brings these blind and bald creatures with it. And their frequency and cheapness, from the vast quantities which are thrown out, make them esteemed no variety. The bodies of duckers or loons are admirably fitted for diving: being covered with a thick plumage, and the surface of it so smooth, that the water cannot penetrate it. Hereby their bodies are defended from the cold, the water being kept at a distance; and are so poised, that by a light impulse, they easily ascend in it. Again, their feet are situate in the hindmost part of the body, so that shooting them backward and striking the water upwards, they plunge themselves down with great ease, and move forward therein. Their legs also are made flat and broad, and their feet cloven into toes, with appendant membranes on each side. By this configuration they easily cut the water, and are drawn forward, to take their stroke backward: and by this, their feet being moved to the right or left, serve them as a rudder to turn under water. How they rise above water is not determined whether by their natural lightness, or by striking against the bottom, in the manner’ of a leap, or by some peculiar motion of the legs. That they dive to the bottom is undeniable. For in the stomachs, both of the greater and lesser kind, we find much grass and other weeds; and in ‘the lesser kind, little else. Yet both prey upon fish; and their bills are straight and sharp, for the easier striking their prey. It is likewise remarkable, that whereas in other animals the lungs are loose and have much play, in all birds they adhere to the thorax, and have little play. This is a good provision for their steady flight. Also they want the diaphragm, and instead thereof have divers large bladders, made of thin, transparent membranes, with pretty large holes, out of one into the other. These membranes serve for braces to the viscera, as well as to contain air. Toward the upper part, each lobe of the lungs is perforated in two places with large perforations; whereof one is toward the outer, the other toward the inner part of the lobe. ‘Through these perforations the air has a passage into the fore-mentioned bladders; so that by blowing into the windpipe, the lungs are raised, and the whole belly blown up. This doubtless is a means to make them more or less buoyant, as they take in more or less air: and so answers the design of the air-bladder in fishes. In general we may observe, whatever is peculiar in the wings, bills, and every other part of birds, on a close inspection will be found exactly suited to their wants. They are a set of imple­ments nicely proportioned to their manner of life. To instance in a few, sparrows and most small birds are supported by the little grains they find up and down. They have no effort to make, to obtain their food, or break it in pieces, and therefore have a small bill, as well as short necks and legs, which are suf­ficient for their purposes. But the woodcock, snipe, curlew, and many other birds, seek their food deep in the earth or slime. Therefore they are provided with a long neck and bill, and with these they dig and search, and want for nothing. The wood­pecker, who lives in a quite different manner, is as differently formed. His bill is very long, solid, and strong: his tongue is sharp, and extremely long; beside which, it is armed with little points, and covered with glue toward the extremity. He has short legs, two talons before, two behind, and all very crooked. All this equipage suits his manner of living. His food is worms or insects, that live in the heart of branches of trees, or under the bark of old wood; frequently they are sunk very deep, tinder the bark of large billets. The woodpecker has hooked claws, to grasp these branches; and a strong and pointed bill, to find out by darting it up and down, what parts of them are rotten. When he has found out these, he with his bill, shatters the bark and wood. He then sends forth a loud whistling cry, into the cavity, to alarm the insects and put them in motion. Next he darts in his tongue, and by the small points which arise out of it, and the glue that covers it, draws out whatever is lodged there, The HERONS on the contrary, mounts aloft. His legs and thighs are very long, and bare of feathers. He has, a great length of neck, and an enormous bill, very sharp and jagged at the end. What reason can be assigned for a figure, which at first sight seems so extravagant He feeds on frogs and small shell-fish, as well as other fish, which he finds in fens, or bogs, or near the shores of rivers. He wants no feathers on his thighs to walk through water and slime: but he needs very long legs, to run in the water, along the shores, whither the fishes resort for their food. A long neck and bill qualify him for pursuing and seizing his prey at some distance: and the jaggs of his bill enable him to hold the fish, which would otherwise slide away. In fine, his large wings, which seem incommodious to a bird of so small a body, are absolutely needful for his making so great movements in’ the air, and conveying such burdens to his nest, which is fre­quently two or three leagues distant from the place where he fishes. The imperfections, therefore, which we imagine we discover, in this, as in many other animals, in reality belong only to our own understanding, and all our censures of the works of nature, are, in truth, only so many indications of our own ignorance. 6. The stomach, especially of granivorous birds, is of a pecu­liar structure. First, there is a glandulous receptacle, wherein the grains are kept for some time. They are then received into another stomach, consisting of two muscles, and a callous mem­brane. One of these moves obliquely downward, and the other upward. Hereby the shell of the grain is broke, and the meal expressed and mixt with proper juices. The aliments thus pre­pared, fall into the bottom of the stomach, where they are purged again from the refuse : to which end that part is a little raised, that the corn may not pass out too soon. There is also a par­tition, which divide what is already digested from the rest. As birds have n ladder, in the room of urine, a whitish excrement is discharged from the kidneys into the rectum 7. The generation of birds is not well known. In the ovary, placed between the liver and the back-bone, a great number of yolks are contained; one of which, when impregnated, passes through the oviduct into tire womb, where it receives the white. and the shell, and remains till it comes to its full size. The parent then broods over it, till the young being gradually formed, perfected, and quickened, bursts the shell. Under the shell of an egg lies the common membrane, adhering closely to it, except at the bigger end, where a little space is left between them. This membrane contains two whites, each enclosed in its own membrane. In the middle of the inner white is the yolk, enclosed likewise in a separate cover. The outer white is oval, the inner round, as is the yolk, and of a more viscid substance. At each end is a chalaza, a white, dense body, consisting of three little globules, like grains of hail, (so the word signifies) all joined together. These serve both to knit the several mem­branes together, and to keep the liquors in their proper places and position. About the middle of the small end of the yolk, is a little yel­lowish bladder, like a vetch, called the cicatricula, or EYE of the egg. This contains a humour, in and out of which the young bird is generated. The white serves it for food, till it becomes big; then the yolk, and likewise after it is hatched. For even then a good part of the yolk is lodged in its belly, as in a store­house, and being conveyed thence by the intestinal duct into the bowels, serves it instead of milk. An egg, improperly so called, is that, of the whole whereof the animal is formed. Such are the eggs of flies. Proper eggs, when excluded, need no external nutriment. Of proper eggs, some are perfect, that is, have all the parts above described, while in the ovary or womb: some imperfect, which have them not, till after they are excluded; as those of fishes, which assume a white in the water. An egg not impregnated by the male, will never breed young, but always putrify. One impregnated contains the rudiments of the bird, even before incubation. By the microscope we see the plain carina or spine of it swimming in the middle of the cica­tricula, consisting of fine, white threads, which incubation gra­dually perfects. The air bag is very small in a new laid egg, but becomes larger when the ëggis kept. The yolk is špecifically heavier than the white. Hence its smaller end is always uppermost, in all positions of the egg. After incubation, the air-bag gradually extends, till near the hatching; it takes up a third of the egg. By incubation the white becomes thinner and more turbid, especially near the air bag, where it is first consumed. Then it lessens towards the sharp end of the egg, till nothing is left, but a white, chalky substance. The white of an impregnated egg is as sweet all the time of incubation as that of a new laid egg. They are only unim­pregnated eggs, vulgarly called wind eggs, which putrify and stink. The yolk also remains fresh and uncorrupted all the time of the incubation. It is deprest in the middle, as the chick grows, and is soon brought into a form, not much unlike that of a horse­shoe, in the middle of which the chick lies. Not long before the chick is hatched, the whole yolk is taken into the abdomen. The eye or tread, in which the chick lies, is soon enlarged by incubation, and rises to the upper part of the egg. The heart and umbilical vessels, are some of the first parts which we are able to distinguish. The embryo is seen at first like a small worm. Then its carina or spine appears, with the large prominences that afterward shew themselves to be the brain and eyes. The other bowels seem hanging from the spine. Then the chasm of the mouth is discovered. The extremities sprout out. The bowels are gradually covered with the teguments. At last the beak, nails, and feathers are seen. When all its parts are formed, the chick is always found lying on its side, with its neck bent forward, the head covered with the upper wing, and the beak placed between the thighs. The birds which nourish their young, have commonly very few. On the contrary, those whose young feed themselves when their first see the day, have sometimes eiglen or twenty at a brood. This prudence could only spring from Him, who regulates all things to the best advantage. Were those who provide for their young to have so numerous a brood, both the parents would be slaves, and yet the young but ill accommodated. Whereas the mother, who only marches at their head, without nourishing them, can conduct twenty as well as four. But when they first make their appearance, what care do the parents take, till their young can subsist without them Of those that feed their young, the linnet and the nightingale then labour like the rest. Sometimes one parent goes in quest of provisions, Sometimes the other, and sometimes both. They are up before the sun. And the food they have procured, they distribute with great equality, giving each a portion in its turn, before ever they feed one bird twice. And this tenderness for their offspring is so strong, as even to change their natural disposition. Follow the hen when she is the parent of a family, and she is no longer the same creature. She is no longer ravenous and insatiable. If she finds but a grain of corn or a crum of bread, she never touches it herself, but calls her troop, by a note they well understood, and divides it among them. She is no longer timorous, but at the head of her young, will spring even at the stoutest dog. When the turkey-ken appears at the head of her young, she sometimes utters a mournful cry, and they immediately run under bushes, furze or whatever presents itself. She looks upward, and repeats her cry: which is occasioned by her seeing a bird of prey, though so distant, that he appears unto us, only as a dark point under the clouds. But he no sooner disappears, than she utters another cry, which revives all her brood. They run to her, flutter their wings, and shew all the tokens of joy. Now, who apprizes her of an enemy, that never vet committed any act of hostility in the Country And how is she able to discover him, when at so great a distance How are her family instructed, to understand her different cries, and regulate their behaviour accordingly What wonders are these which are daily obvious to our view, though we treat them with inattention! An amazing degree of natural instinct, or understanding, God has imparted to birds of passage. They fly in troops, often in the form of a wedge, with the point foremost. They steer their course through unknown regions, without either guide or compass. And they are peculiarly accommodated for their flight, by the structure of their parts. In the act of migration, it is highly remarkable, 1. That they know, as the scripture speaks, their- appointed times, when to come and when to go. Appointed by whom Surely by the great Creator, who has imprinted on their nature an inclination, at such a time to fly from a place that would obstruct their gene­ration, or not afford food for them and their young, and betake themselves to another place, which will afford all that is wanting. It is highly remarkable, 2. That they know whither to go, and which way to steer their course! That they should be directed yearly to the same place, perhaps to a little island, as the Basse in Edinburgh-Frith! How came land birds to venture over a vast ocean, of which they can see no end And how do they steer their course aright to their several quarters, which before the compass was invented, man himself was not able to do They could not possibly see them at that distance. Or if they could, what should teach or persuade them that that land is more proper for their pur­pose than this That Britain, for instance, should afford them better accommodations, than Egypt, than the Canaries, than Spain, or any other of the intermediate places But it has been commonly supposed that several birds are of this number, because they disappear in winter, which really are not; cuckoos, for instance, and swallows; for neither of these ever cross the seas. Cuckoos lodge all the winter in hollow trees, or other warm and convenient cavities. And swallows have been found in vast quantities, clung together in a lump, like swarms of bees, but utterly cold and senseless, (even in ponds that have been cleaned out,) hanging under the water, I know not how we can doubt of of this fact, that swallows have been found in winter, under water, clung together, attested by men of unquestionable veracity. And yet others affirm, that they have seen flights of swallows crossing the sea in autumn. The truth seems to be this. There are some species of swallows, which seek a warmer climate at the approach of winter, while others remain here in a temporary death, like the flies on which they feed. They have in Virginia, a martin, like ours, only larger, which builds in the same manner. Colonel Bacon observed for several years, that they constantly came thither upon the tenth of March. Two of them always appeared a day or two before, hovering in the air. Then they went away, and speedily returned with the whole flock. The following seems to be a very rational account of most of those that are really birds of passage. When, by the approach of our winter, their food fails, birds of passage are taught by instinct to seek it elsewhere. Want of food seems to be the chief reason for their migration. The length of their wings enables them to catch the flying insects, with which the air is stored during the warm months. And most summer birds of passage, feed on the wing upon such insects as are seen no more when winter comes. If it be considered, how much of the globe still remains unknown, it is no wonder we are not yet acquainted with the places to which they retire. Probably they lie nearly in the same latitude in the southern hemisphere, as those from whence they depart. As swallows cannot bear so much cold, as some other birds of passage, they are constrained to visit us somewhat later, and to depart somewhat sooner. Some birds stay a month after them. Pro­bably many of them perform long journies chiefly in the night. Lying on the deck of a sloop, on the north side of Cuba, I and the company with me heard, three nights successively, flights of rice birds, their notes being plainly distinguishable, passing over our heads northerly, which is their direct way from the southern continent of America, from whence they go yearly when the rice begins to ripen, and after growing fat, return back. There are also winter birds of passage, which arrive here in autumn and go away in spring, namely, the fieldfare, redwing, woodcock and snipe. But the two latter sometimes spend the whole year here. Whereas the two former constantly at the approach of summer, retire to more northern climates, where they breed and remain till, at the return of winter, they return to us again. The winter food of these birds being berries and haws, which are far more plentiful here than in more northern regions, this is the reason of their coming over: but the principal is, the seve­rity of the weather in those climates, which nature teaches them to exchange, for such as are more temperate. But why do they depart from us in spring This still remains among the secrets of nature. Beside these SUMMER and WINTER birds, there are others which come periodically to certain places, for the sake of some sort of food, which their own country is destitute of. These quickly depart, and are seen no more till that the twelve-month. Such are the RICE-BIRD and BLUE-WING of Carolina. But above half a century passed!, from the time of cultivating rice and wheat in Carolina and Virginia, before these foreign birds made their appearance there. The WHEAT-BIRDS now come annually to Virginia, when the wheat ripens, and have come every year, since their first appearance, in numerous flights. The species of birds already known, amount to about eight hundred. Linnæus divides them into six classes; namely, into birds of the RAPACIOUS KIND, birds of the PIE KIND, birds of the POULTRY KIND, birds of the SPARROW KIND, birds of the DUCK KIND, and birds of the CRANE KIND. The four first com­prehend the kinds of land birds; the two last, those that belong to the water. In beginning with the feathered tribe, the OSTRICH seems to unite the class of beasts and of birds in itself. While it has the general outlines and properties of a bird, it retains many of the marks of a beast. In appearance it resembles the camel, and is almost as tall; it is covered with a plumage that resem­bles hair much more than feathers, and its internal parts bear as near a similitude to those of the beast as of the bird creation. It may be considered, therefore, as an animal made to fill up that chasm in nature which separates one class of beings from another. It is usually seven feet high, from the top of the head to the ground. The external eye is like that of a man, the upper eye-lid being adorned with eye-lashes which are longer than those on the lid below. They inhabit the most solitary deserts, where there are few vegetables, and where the rain never comes. The Arabians assert, that the ostrich never drinks; and the place of its habit­ation confirms the assertion. In these regions, ostriches are seen in large flocks, which to the distant spectator appear like a regiment of cavalry. The ostrich is of all other animals the most voracious. It will devour leather, hair, grass, iron, stones, or any thing that is given. But those substances which the coats of the stomach cannot soften, pass whole; so that hair, stones, and iron, are excluded in the form in which they were devoured. In their native deserts, however, they live chiefly upon vege­tables, where they lead an inoffensive and social life; the male, as Thevenot assures us, assorting with the female with connubial fidelity. They lay generally from forty to fifty eggs. It has been commonly reported, that the female deposits them in the sand; leaves them to be hatched by the heat of the climate, and then permits the young to shift for themselves. Very little of this, however, is true: no bird has a stronger affection for her young: none watches her eggs with greater assiduity. Indeed, in those hot climates, there is no necessity for the continual incubation of the female: but though the female forsakes her eggs by day, she carefully broods over them by night. Then they sit on their eggs like other birds, and the male and female take this office by turns. Nor do they forsake their young after they are excluded the shell. On the contrary, the young oneš not even able to walk for several days after they are hatched. During this time, the old ones are very assiduous in supplying them with grass, and very careful to defend the from danger; nay, they encounter every danger in their defence. All land-birds of the rapacious kind, are furnished ‘with a large head, and strong crooked beak, notched at the end, for the purpose of tearing their prey. They have strong, short legs, and sharp, crooked talons, for the purpose of seizing it. Their bodies are formed for war, being fibrous and muscular; and their wings for swiftness of flight, being well feathered and ex­pansive. The sight of such as prey by day is astonishingly quick; and such as ravage by night, have their sight so fitted as to see objects in darkness. Thus formed for war, they lead a life of solitude. They inhabit, by choice, the most lonely places. They make their nests in the clefts of rocks; and in the highest and most inaccessible trees of the forest. Whenever they appear in the cultivated plain, it is only for the purposes of depre­dation: and they spread terror wherever they approach: all the variety of music, which but a moment before enlivened the grove, at their approach is at an end: lesser birds seek for safety, either by concealment or flight; and some are even driven to take protection with man, to avoid their less, merciful pursuers, It would indeed be fatal to all the smaller race of birds, if, as they are weaker than all, they were also pursued by all: but it is contrived wisely, that every order of carnivorous birds seek only for such as are of a size approaching their own. The eagle flies at the bustard or the pheasant, the sparrow-hawk at the thrush and the linnet. And nature has provided that each species should make war only on such as are furnished with ade­quate means of escape. The smallest birds avoid their pursuers by the extreme agility, rather than the swiftness of their flight; for every order would soon he at an end, if the eagle, to its swift­ness of wing, added the versatility of the sparrow. Another circumstance which tends to render the tyranny of these animals more supportable, is, that they are less fruitful than other birds. Those of the larger kind seldom produce above four eggs, often but two those of the smaller kinds, never above six or seven. Likewise the carnivorous kinds only breed annually, and of consequence their fecundity is small. 8. The largest of birds is the CUNTOUR of Peru. The body is as big as that of a sheep. Its wings extended are fifteen or sixteen feet from point to point. It is never seen in forests, because it would not have room to fly, but frequents the sea­shore and the banks of rivers. Nature, to allay their fierceness, has denied them the talons given to eagles, though they are of the eagle-kind. However, their beak is strong enough to tear off the hide, and rip up the bowels of an ox. What a blessing is it to mankind, that there are but few (just enough to keep up the species) of this monster in the feathered creation And into what can we resolve this, but the wise and over-ruling care of an adorable Providence In beasts the smallest animals are noxious, and loathsome; the smallest of birds are the most beautiful, innocent, and sportive. Of all those that flutter in the garden, or paint the landscape, the humming bird is the most delightful to look upon, and the most inoffensive. Of this there are six or seven varieties, from the size of a small wren, clown to that of a humblebee. An European could never have supposed a bird existing so very small, and yet com­pletely furnished out with a bill, feathers, wings and intestines, exactly resembling those of the largest kind. A bird not so big as the end of one’s little finger, would probably be supposed but a creature of imagination, were it not seen in infinite numbers, and as frequent as butterflies in a summer’s day, sporting in the fields of America, from flower to flower. The smallest is about the size of a hazle-nut. The feathers on its wings and tail are black; but those on its body, and under its wings, are of a greenish brown, with a fine red cast or gloss, which no silk or velvet can imitate. It has a small crest on its head, green at the bottom, and as it were gilded at the top; and which sparkles in the sun like a little Star in the middle of its forehead. The bill is black, straight, slender, and the length of a small pin. As soon as the sun is risen, the humming-birds, of different kinds, are seen fluttering about the flowers, without ever lighting upon them. Their wings are in such rapid motion, that it is impossible to discern their colours, except by their glittering. They are never still, but continually in motion, visiting flower after flower: they are furnished with a forky tongue, that enters the cup of the flower, and extracts its nectared tribute. Upon this alone they subsist. The rapid motion of their wings brings out an humming sound, from whence they have their name. The nests of these birds are not less curious than the rest: they are suspended in the air, at the points of twig of an orange, a pomegranate, or a citron tree. The female is the architect, while the male goes in quest of materials; such as cotton, fine moss, and the fibres of vegetables. Of these materials a nest is composed, of about the size of a hen’s egg cut in two, admirably contrived, and warmly lined with cotton. (They lay two eggs at a time, about the size of small peas, and as white as snow, with here and there a yellow speck.) The male and female sit upon the nest by turns: but the female takes to herself the greatest share. She seldom quits the nest, except a few minutes in the morning and evening when the dew is upon the flowers. The of incubation continues twelve days; at the end of which the young ones -appear, much about the size of the end of which fly, Father’ Labat’s companion, in the mission to America, found the nest of a humming-bird, and took it in, at a time when the young ones were about fifteen or twenty days old; he placed them in a cage at his chamber window; but’ he was soon Sur­prised to seethe old ones, that came and fed their brood regularly every hour in the day. By these means they themselves soon grew so tame, that they seldom quitted the chamber; but without any constraint, came to live with their young ones. All four have- frequently come to perch upon their master’s hand, chirruping as if they had been at liberty lie fed them with a fine clear paste, made of wine, biscuit and sugar. They thrust their tounges into this paste, till they were satisfied, and then fluttered and chirruped about the room’. I never beheld any thing more agreeable, continues he, than this lovely little family, that had taken possession of my companion’s chamber, and that flew out and in just as they thought proper; but were ever attentive to ‘the voice of their master when he called them: In this manner they lived with him above six months; but, at a time when he expected to see a new colony, he unfortunately forgot to tie up their cage to the ceiling at night, to preserve them from the rats, and he Found they were devoured in the morning. Even VULTURES are in Egypt of singular service. There are great flocks of them in the neighbourhood of Grand Cairo, which no person is permitted to destroy. The service they render the inhabitants, is the devouring the carron and filth of that great city, which might otherwise corrupt and putrefy the air. They are commonly seen in company with the wild clogs of the country, tearing a carcase very deliberately together. This odd associa­tion produces no quarrels; the beasts and birds live amicably, and nothing but harmony subsists between them. The wonder is still the greater, as both are extremely rapa­cious, and both lean and bony to a very great degree, having no great plenty, even of the wretched food on which they subsist. In America, wherever the hunters go, who pursue beasts for their skins, these birds pursue them. They still keep hovering at a little distance : and when they see the beast flayed and aban­doned, they call out to- each other, pour down upon the carcase, and in an instant, pick its bones as clean as if they had been scraped by a knife. Rooks keep together in pairs and when the offices of court ship are over, prepare for making t ts and laying. The old inhabitants of the place are already the nest which served them for years before, with little dressing, will serve again; the difficulty of nestling lies only the young ones who have no nest. And not only the materials are wanting, but also the place in which to fix it. Every part of a tree will not do for this Purpose, as some branches may not be sufficiently forked; others may not be sufficiently strong; and others may be too much exposed to the rockings of the wind. The male and female upon this occasion are, for some days, seen examining all the trees of the grove very attentively; and when they have fixed upon a branch, fit for that purpose, they Continue to sit upon and observe it very sedulously for two or three days longer. The place being determined, they begin to gather the materials; such as sticks and fibrous roots, which they regularly dispose in the most substantial manner. But here a new and unexpected obstacle arises: it often happens that the young couple have made choice of a place too near the mansion of an older pair, who do not choose to be incommoded by neighbours. A quarrel therefore instantly ensues, in which the old ones are always victorious. The young couple, thus expelled, are obliged again to go through the fatigues of examining and choosing; and having taken care to keep their clue distance, the’ nest -begins., again. But they grow weary of bringing materials from distant places; and perceive that sticks may be provided nearer home. Away they go, therefore, to pilfer as fast as they can; and wherever they see a nest unguarded, they rob it of the choicest sticks of which it is composed. But these thefts never go unpunished. Eight or ten rooks come, and setting upon the new nest of the young couple at once, tear it in pieces in a moment. At length, therefore, the young pair find the necessity of going more honestly to work. While one flies to fetch the materials, the other sits upon the tree to guard it ; and thus in the space of three or four days, with a skirmish now and then between, the pair have fitted up a commodious nest, composed of sticks without, and fibrous roots and long grass within. From the instant the female begins to lay, all hostilities are at an end; not one of the whole grove, that a little before treated her so rudely, will now molest her; so that she brings forth her brood with patient tranquillity. Such is the severity with which even native rooks are treated by each other; but if a foreign rook should attempt to make himself a denizen of their society; the whole grove would at once be up in arms against him, and expel him without mercy. In all its habits the MAGPIE discovers a degree of instinct unusual to other birds. Its nest is not less remarkable for the manner in ‘which it is composed, than for the place it is built in: either in the middle of some hawthorn bush, or on the top of some high tree. It is always difficult of access; for the tree or bush pitched upon, usually grows in some thick hedge-row, fenced by brambles at the root. When the place is chosen; as inaccessible as possible to men, the next care is to keep the nest above from various enemies. The kite, the crow, and the sparrow-hawk, are to be guarded against; as their nests have been sometimes Plundered by the magpie, so it may be, they will take an Opportunity to retaliate. To prevent this, the magpie’s nest is built with Surprising labour and ingenuity. The body of the nest is composed of hawthorn branches; the thorns sticking outward, but well united together by their mutual insertion. It is lined with fibrous roots, wool, and long grass, and nicely plastered round with mud and clay. The body of the nest being thus made firm and commodious, the next work is to make the canopy which is to defend it above. This is composed of the sharpest thorns, so wove together, as to deny all entrance except at the door, which is just large enough to permit egress and regress to the owners. In this fortress the male and female hatch and bring up their brood with security, sheltered from all attacks but those of the climbing school-boy, who often finds his torn and bloody hands too dear a price for the eggs or the young ones. As the WOODPECKER is obliged to make holes in trees to pro.. ‘cure food, so is it also to make cavities still larger to form its nest and to lay in. This is performed, as usual, with the bill. He chooses for this purpose trees that are decayed, or wood that is soft, like beech, elm, and poplar. In these, with very little trouble, it can make holes as exactly round as a mathematician could with compasses. One of these holes the bird generally chooses for its own use, to nestle, and bring up its young in: but as they are easily made, it is delicate in its choice, and often makes twenty before one gives entire’ satisfaction. In our climate woodpeckers are contented ‘with a wainscot habitation for their young; but in Guinea and Brazil, they take a very different method. A traveller who walks into the forests of these countries, among the first strange objects, is struck with the multitude of bird’s nests hanging at the extremity of almost every branch. Many other kinds of birds build in this manner, but the chief of them are of the woodpecker kind. In cultivated countries a great part of the caution of the fea­thered tribe is to ‘hide their nests from the invasion of men. But in the depths of those remote and solitary forests, the little bird having nothing to apprehend from man, is careless how much the nest is exposed to general notice: satisfied if it he out of the reach of those rapacious creatures that live by robbery, and surprise. If the monkey or the snake can be guarded against, the bird has no other enemies to fear : for this purpose, its nest is built upon the depending points of the most outward branches of a tall tree. On one of those immense trees, is seen the most various assemblage of creatures that can be imagined. The top is inhabited by monkeys of some particular tribe, that drive off all others ; lower down twine about the trunk numbers of snakes, waiting till some unwary animal comes within their reach; and at the edges of the tree hang these artificial nests, inhabited ‘by birds of the most delightful plumage. The nests are usually formed in this manner: when the time of incubation approaches, they fly beautifully about, in quest of a kind of moss, called by the ‘English, old man’s beard. It is a fibrous substance, not unlike hair, which bears being moulded into any form. This the little woodpecker first glues by some viscous substance, to the extreme branch of a tree; then build­ing downward, a nest is formed, that descends like a pouch,, from the point of the branch: the hole to enter at, is on the side; and all the interior parts are lined with the finer parts of the same substance, which compose the whole. Such is the general contrivance of these hanging nests; made by some other birds, with still superior art. A little bird in the Philippine islands, makes its nest in such a manner, that there is no opening but from the bottom. At the bottom the bird en­ters, and goes up through a funnel, like a chimney, till it comes to the real door of the nest, which lies on one side. Some birds glue their nests to the leaf of the banana tree, ‘which makes two sides of their little habitation; while the other two are artificially composed by their own industry. But these and all of the kind, are built with the same’ precautions, to guard their young against the depredations of monkeys and serpents. The nest hangs there, before the spoilers, a tempting object, which they can only gaze upon, while the bird goes in and out without danger and molestation. The BIRD OF PARADISE appears to be as large as a pigeon, though in reality not much greater than a thrush. The tail is about six inches long, the wings are large, compared with the bird’s other dimensions. The head, the throat, and the neck, are of a pale gold colour. The base of the bill is surrounded by black feathers, as also the side of the head and throat, as soft as velvet, and changeable like those on the neck of a mallard. The hinder part of the head is of a shining green, mixed with gold. The body and wings are chiefly covered with brown, purple and gold feathers. The uppermost part of the tail-feathers are of a pale yellow, and those under them white and longer than the former; for which reason the hinder part of ‘the tail appears to be all white. But what chiefly excites curiosity, are, two long, naked feathers, which spring from the upper part of the rump above the tail, and are usually about three feet long. These are bearded only at the beginning and the end, the whole shaft, for above two feet nine inches, being of a deep black, the feathered extremity of a changeable colour. This bird is a native of the Molucca islands. There, in the-delightful and spicy woods, do these beautiful creatures fly in large flocks; so that the groves which produce the richest spices, produce the finest birds also. They are called by some, the SWALLOWS or TERNATE, from their rapid flight, and from their being continually upon the wing; in pursuit of insects, their usual prey. The American MOCK-BIRD, does not vie with the feathered inhabitants of that country in the beauty of his plumage.’ It is a plain bird, about the size of a thrush, of a white and gray colour, and a reddish bill. It is possessed not only of its own natural notes, which are musical and solemn, but can assume the tone of every other animal in the wood, from the wolf to -the raven. It seems even to sport itself in leading them astray. It will at one time allure the lesser birds with the call of their males, and terrify them when they come near, with the screams of the eagle. There is no bird in the forest, but it can mimic; and there is none that it has not at times deceived by its call. But it is surest to please, when it is most itself. At those times it frequents the houses of the American planters: and sitting all night on the chimney-top, pours forth the sweetest and the most various notes of any bird whatever. The CRANES is above three feet from the tip of the beak to the tail, and four feet from the head to the toe. It is a tall, slen­der bird, with a long neck and long legs. The top of the head is ‘covered with black bristles, and the back of it is bald and red, which sufficiently distinguishes this bird from the stork, to which it is very nearly allied in size and figure. Cranes were formerly known in this island, and held in great estimation for the delicacy of their flesh: there was even a penalty upon such as destroyed their eggs; but at present, they never go so far out of their way. Cultivation and populousness go hand in hand; and though our fields may offer them a greater plenty, yet they find the ven­ture greater than the enjoyment; and we are better off by their absence than their company. The crane spends the autumn in Europe; then flies off to some more southern climate; returns to Europe in spring; crosses up to the north in summer; visits those lakes that are never dry; and then comes down again to Italy in autumn. In these journies it is amazing to conceive the height to which they ascend. Their note is the loudest of all birds; and is often heard in the clouds, when the bird itself is entirely unseen. But though unseen themselves, they have the distinct vision of every object below. They govern and direct their, flight by their cries; and exhort each other to proceed or descend, when a fit opportu­nity offers. Their loud clangorous sound is, when near, almost deafening: however, it is particularly serviceable to the animal itself, either during its migrations or stay: by it the flock is encouraged in their journies; and if while they are feeding, which is performed in profound silence, they are invaded on any side, the bird that first perceives it sounds the alarm, and all are speedily upon the wing. The stork also is a bird of passage, and goes away toward win­ter to the southern countries. It has a very long beak, and long, red legs. It feeds on serpents, frogs and insects. As it seeks for these in watery places, nature has provided it with long legs. And as it flies to the nest with its prey, its bill is strong and jagged, to hold fast what it has taken. She likewise digs with her bill into the earth for snakes or adders, which she carries to her young. Most of her feathers are white. She lays but four eggs, and sits for thirty days. But what renders this bird more remarkable is, its steady love to its parents. It never forsakes them when they are old, but tenderly feeds and defends them, as long as they live. The following adventure of a tame stork some years ago in the university -of Tubingen, seems to shew a degree of under­standing, which one would scarce expect in the brute creation, This bird lived quietly in the court-yard, till count Victor Gra­venitz, then a student there, shot at a stork’s nest, adjacent to the college, and probably wounded the stork then in it. This happened in autumn, when foreign storks usually leave Germany. The next spring a stork was observed on the roof of the college, which after a time came down to the upper gallery; the next day something lower, and at last, by degrees quite into the court. The tame stork went to meet him with a soft cheerful note, when the other fell upon him with the utmost fury. The specta­tors drove him away; but he came again the next day, and during the whole summer, there were continual skirmishes between them. The spring following, instead of one stork, came four, and attacked him all at once. A surprising event followed. All the turkies, ducks and geese, that were brought up in the court ran together, and formed a kind of rampart round him, against so unequal a combat. This secured him for the present. But in the beginning of the third spring, about twenty storks suddenly alighted into the court, and before the poor stork’s life-guards could form themselves, or the people come to his assistance, they left him dead on the spot; which none could impute to any-thing but the shot fired by count Victor at the strange stork’s nest. The PELICAN somewhat resembles a swan. The body is as large, the neck nearly as long, the legs are short, and the feet are black, broad and webbed in the same manner. It is also of a whitish colour, only the tips of some of his feathers are black. It is much in the waters. It has a most horrid voice, like that of a man grievously lamenting. Its beak is above a foot in length, and the point is Very sharp. The upper part is formed as in other birds; but the lower is unlike every thing in nature. It is made-of two long flat ribs, with a tough membrane connected to one and the other. This reaches also to the throat, and is very broad and loose, so that it can contain a vast quantity of provision. Its eyes are very small; there is a sadness in its countenance; and its whole air is melancholy. They are torpid and inactive to the last degree, so that nothing can exceed their indolence, but their gluttony; it is only from hunger that they labour; otherwise they would continue in a fixed repose. When they have raised themselves thirty or forty feet above the sea, they turn their head with one eye downwards, and continue to fly in that posture. As soon as they perceive a fish near the surface, they dart upon it with the swiftness of an arrow, seize it with unerring certainty, and store it up in their pouch. They then rise again, and continue hovering and fishing, with their head on one side as before. This work they ‘continue till their bag is full, and then fly to land to devour and digest it. This they are not long performing; for towards night they have another hungry call; and they again reluctantly go to labour. At night fishing is over, and they retire a little way from the shore; and though with the webbed feet and clumsy figure of a goose, they will-be contented to perch no where but upon trees among the light and airy tenants of the forest. There they repose for the night; and often spend great part of the day, sitting in dismal solemnity, as it were half asleep. Their attitude is, with the head resting upon their great bag, and that resting upon their breast. There they remain without motion till-the calls of hunger break their repose. The same indolence attends them, even in preparing for incu­bation, and defending their young. The female makes no pre­paration for her nest, nor seems to choose any place to- lay in; but drops her eggs on the bare ground to the number of five or six; and there continues to hatch them. ‘Without any desire of defending her eggs or her young, she tamely sits, and suffers them to be taken from under her. Now and then she just ventures to peck or to cry out when a person offers to beat her off. She feeds her young with fish macerated in her bag: and when they cry, flies off for a new supply. They are but disagreeable and useless domestics; their glut­tony can scarcely be satisfied; their flesh smells very rancid, and tastes a thousand times worse than it smells. The native Americans kill vast numbers; not to eat, for they are not fit even for the banquet of a savage; but to convert their large bags into purses and tobacco-pouches. They bestow no small pains in dressing it with salt and ashes, rubbing it well with oil, and then forming it to their purpose. It thus becomes so soft and pliant, that the Spanish women sometimes adorn it with gold and em­broidery to make work-bags of. Yet with all the hebetude of this bird, it is not entirely incapa­ble of instruction. The emperor- Maximilian had a tame pelican which lived for above eighty years, and always attended his army on the march. The ALBATROSS is one of the largest and most formidable birds of Africa and America. It is as large as. a goose, of a, brown colour, and is one of the most fierce ,of the aquatic tribe, not only living upon fish, but also such small water-fowl as it can take by surprise. It preys, as all the gull-kind do, upon the wing; and chiefly pursues the flying-fish. These are every mo­ment rising to escape from their pursuers of the deep, only to encounter equal dangers in the air. Just as they rise, the dol­phin is seen to dart after them, but generally in vain. The gull has more success, and often takes them at their rise, while the albatross pursues the gull, so that the whole horizon presents but one living picture of rapacity and evasion. But though this bird be one of the tyrants of the deep, there are some associations which even tyrants form, either by caprice, or necessity. The albatross has a peculiar affection for the PEN­GUIN. They choose the same places for breeding: some distant, uninhabited island, where the ground slants to the sea, as the penguin is not formed either for flying or climbing. In such places their nests are seen together, as if they stood in need of mutual assistance. Our men upon Falkland islands, were often amazed at the union preserved between those birds. In that bleak and desolate spot, where they no way dreaded the en­croachments of men, they seemed to make their abode as com­fortable as they expected it to be lasting. They built with an amazing degree of uniformity; their nests covering fields by thousands, and resembling a regular plantation. In the middle, on high, the albatross raised its nest, built of heath, sticks, and long grass, about two feet above the surface; round this the penguins made their lower settlements, rather in hole in the ground, and most usually eight penguins to one albatross. Nothing is a stronger proof that the presence of man, not only destroys the society of meaner animals, but their instincts also. These nests are now totally destroyed; the society is broke up, and the albatross and penguins have gone to breed upon more desert shores, in greater security. The SWAN is as delicate in its appetite, as elegant in its form. Its chief food is corn, bread, herbs growing in the water, and roots and seeds, which are found near the margin. It prepares a nest in some retired part of the bank, and chiefly where there is an islet in the stream. This is composed of water-plants, long grass, and sticks; and the male and female assist in forming it with great assiduity. The swan lays seven or eight eggs, white, much larger’ than those of a goose. It sits near two months before its young are excluded, which are ash-coloured for some months. It is dangerous to approach ‘the old ones, when their little family is feeding round them. They soon take the alarm, and they sometimes give a blow with their pinion, that breaks a man’s leg or arm. It is not till they are a twelvemonth old, that the young swans change their colour with their plumage. All the stages of this bird’s approach to maturity are slow; and mark its longevity. A goose has been known to live a hundred years, and the Swan is supposed to live still longer. The Goose, in its domestic state,’ exhibits a variety of colours. The wild goose always retains the same marks; the whole upper part is ash-coloured; the breast and belly are of a dirty white ; the bill is narrow at the base, and at the tip it is black. These marks are seldom found in the tame; whose bill is entirely red, and whose legs are entirely brown. The wild goose is rather less than the tame; but both invariably retain a white ring round the tail, which shews that they are both descended from the same original. The wild goose breeds in the northern parts of Europe; and in the beginning of winter, descends into more temperate regions. They are often seen flying at very great heights, in flocks from fifty to a hundred. Their cry is frequently heard, when they are at an imperceptible distance above us; and this seems handed from one to the other, as among hounds in the pursuit. Upon their coming to the ground by day, they range them­selves in a line, and seem rather to descend for rest than refresh­ment. When they have sat in this manner for an hour or two, one of them, with a loud, long note, sounds a kind of charge, to which the rest attend, and pursue their journey with renewed alacrity. The wild goose seldom lays above eight eggs; the tame goose often above twenty. The female hatches her eggs with great assiduity; while the gander visits her twice or thrice a day, and sometimes drives her off to take her place, where he sits with great state and composure. But beyond that of all animals is his pride when the young are excluded: he seems then to consider himself as a champion ; lie pursues dogs and men that never attempt to molest him; and though the most harmless timing alive, is then the most petulant and provoking. When, in this manner, lie has pursued the calf or the mastiff, to whose contempt alone he is indebted for safety, lie returns to his female and her brood in triumph, clapping his wings, screaming, and shewing all the marks of conscious superiority. The. SOLUND-G00SE, somewhat less than a land goose, is white only the tips of its wings are black, and the top of the head yellow. The bill is long, and so sharp pointed, that it pierces an inch deep into a board, when they stoop at fish which are laid thereon. This is one way of catching them. When they sleep, they put their head under their wings: but one keeps watch. If that be surprised by the fowler, which frequently happens, all the rest are easily caught by the neck one after another. But if the centinel cries and gives them warning, the whole flock escapes. When they fish for herrings, which come in shoals they. fly near sixty yards high, arid stoop perpendicularly. But when they aim at a single fish, they descend aslant. There is always one tribe among them which is barren: these keep together, and never mix with them that build and hatch. (Is it riot probable, that these are the males, like the drones among the bees) The solund-geese come to the western isles in Scotland in March, taking the advantage of a south-west wind. They send a few before them who make a tour round the isles, and then return to their company. In a few days after, the whole flock comes together, and stays till September. All this time they are daily making up their nests in the shelves of high rocks. They fish, hatch and make their nests by turns. In order to this they amass together, not only heaps of grass, but whatever -else they find floating on the water. In a nest on St. Kilda, was found a soldier’s red coat, and some Molucca beans in another. They are thought the sharpest sighted of all sea-fowls. They have ,a large gorget, somewhat like a pelican, in which one of them will preserve five or six herring entire, and carry them to her nest, where they empty them out, for food to their young. Nay, they have been observed to go a fishing, to some isles which are thirty leagues distant, and bring the fish in their gorget all that way. In the isle of Rona, (one of the Scotch western isles) there are a couple of eagles, which the natives say, not only drive away their young as soon as they are able to fly; but keep possession of the island, not suffering any of their kind to live there but themselves. That which in Iceland they call the DOWN-BIRD, is very remark­able. It is a species of duck, but covered with fine, soft,. downy feathers. The drake is full as large as a goose, but the duck considerably smaller. They abound all over Iceland, but particu­larly the western part, on account of the islands off the coast, where chiefly they build their nests. They build them with the down they pull from their breast. They lay four green eggs, as large as a goose. The inhabitants then take away both the eggs and the nest. The ducks go to work again, pull more down from their breasts, and lay four eggs more, which are again taken away by the inhabitants. This does not however discourage the duck. She builds a third nest, and lays four more eggs: but the drake is now obliged to supply the down, the duck having none left. They now let her hatch her young: for if they disturb her a third time, she builds no more that year, nor ever returns to the sane place. When the young have left the nest, they take it a third time, and so have two sets of eggs, and three parcels of down from the same nest. The BAT seems a medium between bird and beast. But it comes nearer to the latter. They lay themselves up and sleep for the winter months, in the driest parts of caves. There, fixing their talons in the roof, they cover their bodies with their wings, and hang perpendicularly, in great numbers, but so as not to touch .each other. Who can account for another matter of fact which is particu­larly observed on the western islands The western ocean throws up on their shores, great quantities of weather-beaten timber, on which hangs multitudes of little shells, fastened to one another, much as muscle-shells are. In every one of these shells is a per­fect fowl : the little bill is like that of a goose; the eye marked; the head, neck, breast, wings, tail and feet formed. The feathers are perfectly shaped, and of a blackish colour, and the feet like those of other water-fowl : but we cannot hear of any person that ever saw any of them alive. Now as bats are a kind of medium between beasts and birds, are not barnacles a kind of medium between birds and fishes I will conclude this account of birds, with one that seems to unite in itself somewhat of every class preceding. It is at force possessed of appetites for prey like the rapacious kinds, and an attachment to water like the birds of that element. It exhibits in its form the beautiful plumage of the peacock, the shadings of the humming-bird, the bill of the crane, and the short legs of the swallow. The bird I mean, is the KING-FISHER. It is not much larger than a swallow; its shape is clumsy; the legs very small, and the bill very long; it is two inches from the base to the tip; but the colours of this bird atone for its inelegant form. The crown of the head and the edges of the wings are of a deep blackish green, spotted with bright azure; the back and tail are of the most resplendent azure; the whole under side of the body is orange-coloured: ‘a broad mark of the same passes from the bill beyond the eyes; beyond that is a large, white spot; the tail is short, and consists of twelve feathers of a rich, deep blue; the feet are of a reddish yellow. From the diminutive size, and the beautiful colours of this bird, no person would be led to suppose it so rapacious an animal. It is ever on the wing, and feeds on fish, which it takes in surprising quantities, balancing itself at a certain distance above the water for a considerable space, then darting down and seizing the fish with inevitable certainty. The king-fisher, with which we are acquainted, has none of those supposed powers of allaying the storm, or building upon the waves. It is contented to make its nests on the banks of rivers, in such situations as not to be affected by the rising of the stream. When it has found a place for its purpose, it hol­lows out with its bill a hole about a yard deep. Or if it finds the deserted hole of a rat, it takes quiet possession. This hole it enlarges at the bottom, and lining it with the down of the wil­low, lays its eggs there without any further preparation. The female begins to lay early in the season, and excludes her first brood about the beginning of April. The male brings her large provisions of fish, while she is thus employed; and she, contrary to most other birds, is found fat at the season of hatching. 9.I have now only to add a few reflections. And, 1. That birds should all lay eggs, and not bring forth live young, is a clear argument of Divine Providence, designing their preservation thereby. For if they had been viviparous, had they brought any. number at a’ time, the burden of their womb must have been so great and heavy, that their wings would have failed, and they become an easy prey to their ene­mies. And had they borne but one at a time, they would have been bearing all the year. 2.Since it would have been many ways inconvenient to birds to give suck’; and yet inconvenient, if not destructive to the new-born chick, to pass suddenly from liquid to hard food, before the stomach was strengthened and able to digest it, and before the bird was accustomed to use its bill; and gather it up, which it does at first very slowly and imperfectly: therefore na­ture has provided in every egg a large yolk, which serves the chicken a considerable time instead of milk. Mean time it feeds by the mouth a little at a time, and that more and more, till the stomach is strengthened to digest it. 3. Birds that feed, their young in the nest, though they bring but one morsel at, a time, and have perhaps seven or eight, which all at once, with equal greediness, hold up their heads, and gape for it; yet never mistake, never omit one, but feed them all by turns. 4. Though birds cannot number, yet they are able to distin­guish many from few. And when they have laid as many eggs as they can cover, they give over, and begin to sit. Yet they are not determined to such a number : they can go on and lay more at their pleasure. Hens, for instance, if you let their eggs alone, lay four-teen or fifteen, and give over. But if you withdraw their eggs daily, they will go on, to lay five times that number. This holds not only in domestic birds, but also in the wild. A swallow, when her eggs were withdrawn daily, proceeded to lay nineteen. 5. It is remarkable, that birds, and such other oviparous creatures as are long-lived, have eggs enough conceived in them at first, to serve laying for many years, allowing such a proportion for every year, as will suffice for one or two incubations. Whereas insects, which are to breed but once, lay all their eggs at once, be they ever so many. 6. How exceeding speedy is the growth of birds that are fed by the old ones in the nest! Most of them come to near the full bigness, within the short term of a fortnight: an admirable provision, that they may not lie long in that helpless Condition, exposed to the ravine of any vermin, and utterly unable to shift for themselves. 7. What amazing care do the parents take, for the hatching and rearing of their young First, they seek out a secret and quiet place, where they may be undisturbed in their incubation. Then they make their nests, every one after his kind, that their eggs and young may be soft and warm: and those so elegant and artificial, as no art of man can imitate. After they have laid their eggs, how diligently do they sit upon them, scarce giving themselves time to go off, to get them meat When the young are hatched, how diligently do they brood over them, lest the cold should hurt them All the while labouring hard to get them food, and almost starving themselves lest they should want. Moreover, with what courage are they inspired, so as to venture their own lives in defence of them The most timorous, as hens and geese, daring then even to fly in the face of a man. And all these pains are bestowed upon ,those that will render them no thanks for it! And they are’ bestowed just so long as is necessary. For when the young is able to shift for itself, the old retains no such affection for it, but will beat it indifferently with others. 8. It is another proof of a superintending Providence, that all animals are produced at the most convenient time of the year, just when there is food and entertainment ready for them.. So lambs, kids, and many other living creatures, are brought into the world in the spring, when tender grass and nutritive plants are provided for’ their food. The like may be observed concerning silk-worms, whose eggs are hatched just when the leaves of the mulberry tree appear; the aliment being soft and tender, while the worms themselves are so, and growing more strong and substantial, as the insects increase in bulk and vigour. 9. A still farther proof hereof we have in the various instincts of animals, directed to ends which they know not, as, 1. All creatures know how to defend themselves, and offend their enemies. All know what their natural weapons are, and how to make use of them. A boar knows the use of his tusks, a horse of his hoofs, a cock of his spurs, a bee of her sting. Yea a calf will make a push with his head, even before any horns appear. 2. Those creatures which have not strength to fight, are usually swift of foot or wing, and are naturally inclined to make use of that swiftness, and save themselves by flight. 3. Every creature knows and shuns its natural enemy, as a lamb does the wolf, and partridge or poultry, birds of prey. And they make use of a peculiar note, to warn their young of their approach, who there­upon immediately run to shelter. 4. As soon as ever it is brought forth, every animal knows its food. Such as are nourished with milk, immediately find their way to the paps, and suck: whereas those which are designed for’- other nourishment, never make any such attempt. 5. Birds that are fin-toed, or whole-footed, are naturally directed to go into the water’. So ducklings, though hatched and led by a hen, if she .brings them to the brink ‘of a river or pond, presently leave her and go in, though they never saw any such thing before ; and though the hen clucks and calls, and does all she can to keep them out. 6. Birds of the same kind make their nests of the same materials, laid in the same -order, and exactly of the same figure, so that by the sight of the nest one may certainly- know what bird it belongs to. And this, though living in distant countries, and though they never saw any nest made; that is, although they were taken out of the nest, and brought up by hand. Nor- were any of the same kind ever known to make a different- nest, either for matter or fashion: unless where the usual matter was not to be had: in that case, some birds use what they can get.­ I would add a little farther improvement of some particulars mentioned before. What master has taught birds, that they have any need of nests Who has warned them, to prepare them in time, and not to suffer themselves to be prevented by necessity Who hath shewn them how to build What mathematician has given the figure of them What architect has taught them to choose a firm place, and to build a solid foundation What tender mother has advised ‘them to cover the bottom with a soft and delicate sub­stance, such as cotton or down, and when these fail, who has suggested to them that ingenious charity, to pluck off as many feathers from their own breast, as will prepare a soft cradle for their young Again. What wisdom has pointed out to each kind a peculiar manner of building Who has commanded the s-wallow, to instance in one, to draw near to man, and’ make choice of his house for the building her nest, within his view, without fear of his knowing it, but seeming rather to invite him to a consider­ation of her labour Nor does she build like other birds, with bits of sticks, and stubble, hut employs cement and mortar: and that in so firm a manner, that it requires some pains to demolish her work. And yet in all this, it has no other instrument to make use of but a little beak. Yet again. Who has made the birds comprehend that they must hatch their eggs by sitting upon them That this necessity is indispensable; that the father and mother could not leave them at the same time; and that if One Went abroad to seek for food, the other must wait till it returns Who has told them the precise number of clays this painful, diligence is to cost Who has taught them to assist the young in coming out- of the egg, by breaking the shell for them Yea, and advertised them of the very moment, before which they never come! Who has taught several of the birds that marvellous industry, of retaining food and water in their gullet, without swallowing either, and preserving them for their young, to whom this pre­paration serves instead of milk Is it for the birds, 0 Lord, who have no knowledge thereof that thou hast joined together so many miracles! Is it for the men who give no attention to them Is it for those who admire them, without thinking of Thee Rather is it not thy design, by all these wonders, to call us to Thyself; to make us sensible of thy wisdom, and fill us with confidence in thy bounty, who watchest so carefully over those inconsiderable creatures, “two of which are sold for a farthing “ But pass we from the industry of birds, to hearken for a mo­ment to their music: the first song of thanksgiving which was offered on earth before man was formed. All their sounds are different, but all harmonious, and altogether compose. a choir which we cannot imitate. One voice however more strong and melodious I distinguish above the rest. On inquiry I find it comes from a very small bird. This leads me to consider the rest of the singing birds. They likewise are all small: the great ones having a harsh and disagreeable voice. Such an amends is made to these weak, little creatures, for their defect of strength! Some of these little birds are extremely beautiful, nor can any thing be more rich or variegated than their feathers. But it must be owned, that all ornament must give place to the finery of the PEACOCK; upon which God has plentifully bestowed all the riches which set off the rest, and lavished upon it with gold and azure, all the shades of every other colour.. This bird seems sensible of its advantage, and looks as if it designed to display all its beauties to our eyes, when it stalks along, and ex­pands that splendid circumference, which sets them all in Open’ view. But this pompous bird has of all others that are kept tame, the most disagreeable cry, and is a proof, that there may be a shining outside, when there is little substance within. In examining the feathers of the rest, I find one more circum­stance very observable. That feathers of swans and other’ water fowl, are proof against the water. And accordingly they continue dry, though the creature swims or dives ever so long. And yet neither our eyes, nor all our art can discover, wherein they differ from others. I know not how to conclude this chapter, without adding a few more reflections. All the universe is replenished with life; and every part of it, with its proper animals. But would one expect to see them in the air! Nothing seems more .natural to our eyes; but nothing is more astonishing to our reason. The fact is certain, and yet might’ seem to be altogether impossible. A bird in flight, is a mass raised aloft, in spite of the gravity of the air, and the tendency of all bodies to the earth. This mass is raised not by any foreign force, but by a movement suited to the purpose of the creature, and which sustained it in the air, for a considerable time, with a peaceful vigour. Again. In the whole kingdom of birds, none have more than two wings, and yet they all fly in a different manner. Some launch away by repeated springs; others glide through the air with an even motion. These always skim over the earth; those soar up the clouds. Some know how to diversify their flight, by a straight, oblique, or circular motion: to suspend their bodies, and continue motionless in an element lighter than themselves: after this, to start into a horizontal motion, and then dart either to the right or left, wheel into a contrary tract, remount, and then precipitate themselves like a descending stone: in a word, they transport themselves, without opposition or hazard, wherever their necessi­ties or pleasure call them. The structure of their nests, the care with which they attend their eggs, the mechanism of the egg itself, and the birth and education of their young, are equally astonishing. See the perfect similitude that .appears in all the nests of birds of the same species, the constant difference between the nests of one species and another! Together with the neatness and precaution which all of them observe. One species builds its nest on the top of trees; another on the ground, under a canopy of grass: but always with a shelter, either of herbs, or a branch, or a double roof of leaves, down which the rain slides, without entering the opening, which lies concealed below. The outward part of the nest is made of solid materials, thorns, reeds, clay, or compact moss; the inner of softer materials, closely interwoven, so as to keep out both wind and insects. But each species has a peculiar taste. When the building is completed some hang the inside with a tapestry of feathers, or quilt it with wool or silk. How admirably does this display the wisdom of Him who fur­nished man with reason, which extends to every thing around him, and inspired animals with an imitation of it, limited indeed to a few points, but admirable in that limitation! For who informed the bird, that she should lay eggs, and want a nest to lodge and nourish them with genial heat! That this heat would not be con-centered round the eggs, if the nest were too large ; and that were it smaller, it would not be capable of containing all the young. Who has taught her not to miscalculate the time, or lay her eggs before she has completed her nest The same wisdom will more fully, appear, if we observe what the egg contains, with the manner hew the young is there formed, and how it issues from its confinement. The yolk lies in the heart of the egg, enclosed in the first mem­brane, which is surrounded by the second. Near the centre of the egg are the ligaments that sustain the yolk, which is con­tained in a peculiar membrane. A second membrane encloses the first white; a third and fourth encompass the whole. The shell is formed last of all, out of the salts evacuated from all the humours of the body, which the heat gradually fixes and consoli­dates, to serve a double purpose, first, that it may be excluded ‘without crushing the contents; secondly, to defend their young, till it is thoroughly formed, and ready to forsake the egg. Under the membrane which surrounds the yolk, is a white speck, which is the seed of the chick, in miniature. If the smallest portion of the vital spirit be infused into it from the male, by a process of which we have no idea, in the instant the chick receives life, and the whole substance is in motion. If it is not infused, the egg may indeed be laid, but it never comes to a living creature. The pulsation of the heart bears some analogy to the pendulum of a clock, from whose vibrations the whole machine derives all its motions. The moment the heart begins to beat, the animal is alive, and receives by the umbilic duct, the nourishment which it transmits to the other vessels, whose branches distribute it to the whole body. All those little canals, which were fiat before, are now swelled and enlarged. The whole substance imbibes a proper aliment, and the chick begins to grow. in this situation of the speck, out of which it is formed, one circumstance is highly remarkable. This minute particle which is lodged on the film that includes the yolk is always near the centre of the egg, and toward the body of the dam, in order to be impregnated with a necessary warmth. But in how admirable a manner is this effected! The yolk is sustained by two liga­ments, which fasten it on each side to the common membrane, that is glued to the shell. A line drawn from one ligament to the other, would not pass through the middle of the yolk, but above the centre, and cut the yolk in two unequal parts, so that the smaller part which contains the seed, is of necessity raised towards the belly of birds that sit: the other part as necessarily subsides, so that let the egg turn as it will, the young receives no hurt, but still enjoys a warmth that puts all about it in motion. So it feeds at eases first on the white, which is more thin and delicate, and afterwards on the yolk, which affords more substantial nou­rishment, When his bill is hardened, and he grows uneasy at his confinement, he pecks and breaks the shell, and issues out fully replenished with the yolk, which nourishes him a little longer, till he is strong enough to raise himself upon his feet, and can march about to look for provisions. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 17: PART 02 - CHAPTER 3 - OF FISHES ======================================================================== Chapter 3 - Of Fishes 1. The number of fishes 8. Stomach 2. Their covering 9. Fins 3. Their brain 10. Experiments on fish 4. Organs of sense 11. Of shell-fish 5. Gills, or lungs 12. Of the generation of fishes 6. Heart 13. Of some particular sorts of fishes 7. Air bladder 14. General reflections The ocean is the great receptacle of fishes. It has been thought by some, that all fishes are naturally of the. salt element, and that they have mounted up into fresh water, by some accidental migrations. A few still swim up rivers to deposite their spawn: but the great body of fishes, of which the size is enormous, and the shoals endless, keep to the sea, and would expire in fresh water. In that extensive and undiscovered abode, millions reside, whose manners are a secret to us, and whose very form is unknown. The curiosity of mankind, indeed, has drawn some from their depths, and his wants many more. With the figure of these at least he is acquainted: but for their pursuits, societies, antipathies, pleasures, times of gestation, and manner of bringing forth, these all are hidden in the turbulent element that protects them. 1. Number of fish to which we have given names, and of the figure, at least, of which we know something, are above four hundred. Thus, to appearance, the history of fish’ is tolerably copious; but when we come to examine, it will be found the greatest part of these we know very little of. 2. As most animals that live upon land have a covering to keep off the injuries of the weather, so all that live in the water, are covered with a slimy, glutinous matter, that, like a sheath, defends their bodies from the surrounding fluid. This substance, secreted from the pores of the animal’s body, serves not only to defend, but to assist the fish’s easy progress through the water. Beneath this, in many kinds, is found a strong covering of scales, that, like a coat of mail, defends it still more powerfully; and under at, before we come to the muscular parts of the body, an oily substance, which supplies the requisite warmth and vigour. 3.It is observable in all, that though their heads are much larger in proportion to their bodies, yet their brain is consider ably less than that of other animals. It consists of only two small ventricles, placed in the forepart of the head. 4.Their organs of sense do not much differ from those of other animals. But in their eyes this is peculiar, that they are quite spherical, and that the optic nerves, in coming from the brain, cross each other: whereas in other animals they incline a little to each other, but do not meet. A protuberant eye would bye been inconvenient for fishes, by hindering their motion in so dose a medium. And their continually brushing through the water, ‘would have been apt to wear their eyes. Therefore their cornea is flat. But to make amends for this, and for the refraction of water, different from that of air, the wise Creator has made their crystalline spherical, which in other animals is more fiat. It was formerly believed, they did not hear at all. But from later experiments, there is reason to believe, that several species of them do hear, though but- in a low degree. Over the two holes in their bead, which serve for smelling, a fine membrane is spread, by which means they can open and shut them at pleasure; a contrivance highly necessary for creatures that live in. the water. The sense of smelling, which in beasts is so exquisite, and among birds is not wholly unknown, seems given to fishes in a very moderate proportion. It is true, that all fishes have one or more nostrils, and even those that have not the holes perceptible without, yet have the proper formation of the bones for smelling within. But as air is the only medium we know, for the distribution of odours, it cannot be supposed that these animals, residing in water, can be possessed of any power of being ‘affected y them. If they have any perception of smells, it must be in tie same manner as we distinguish by our taste; and it is probable, the olfactory membrane in fishes, serves then; instead of a distinguishing palate : by this they judge of substances, that first tincturing the water with their vapours, are thus sent to the nostrils of the fish, and no doubt produce some kind of sensation. This most probably must be the use of that organ in those animals; as otherwise there would be the instrument of a sense provided for them, without any power in them of enjoyment. Hearing in fishes is found still more imperfect, if it be found at all. Certain it is, that anatomists have not been able to discover, except in the whale-kind, the smallest traces of an organ of hearing, either within or without the head. Indeed, of what advantage would this sense be to animals that are incapable of making themselves heard They have no voice to communicate with each other, and consequently have no need of an organ for hearing. Seeing seems to be the sense which fishes are possessed of in the greatest degree. And yet even this is obscure, if we compare it to that of other animals. The eye, in almost all fish, is covered with the same transparent skin that covers the rest of the head; and which probably serves to defend it from the water, as they are without eyelids. The globe of the eye is depressed before, and is furnished behind with a muscle, which serves to lengthen or flatten it, according to the necessities of the animal. The crystalline humour, which in beasts is flat, and of the shape of a button mould, in fishes is as round as a pea; or sometimes oblong, like an egg. From all this, it appears, that fishes are extremely near-sighted; and that, even in the water, they can see objects only at a very small distance. Thus nature seems to have fitted these animals with appetites and powers of an inferior kind; and formed them for a sort of passive existence in the obscure and heavy clement to which they are consigned: to preserve their own existence, and to continue it to their posterity, fill up the whole circle of their pursuits and enjoyments. 5. Some fishes have LUNGS. But in the greater part the place of them is supplied by GILLS. As we take in and throw out the air by our lungs, so they take in the air, mixt with the water, by their mouth and throw it out by their gills. There is always much air enclosed in water. This the gills separate from it, and present to the blood, as it is presented in the lungs of other animals. Each gill contains a great number of bony lamin, consisting of an infinity of bony fibres, that sustain the innumerable ramifications of .the veins and arteries, which present the blood extremely subdivided, and as it were, each globule by itself to the water: between the laminae, through the whole contexture of the gills, are an infinity of very narrow passages, which receive and divide the water taken in by the mouth, into minute particles. Then the air, its prison-doors being in some measure opened, escapes and joins the blood of all the little arteries. The gills have an alternate motion of dilatation and compression. When they dilate, the water is taken in; when they contract, it is driven out. It seems, that in the instant of contraction, the air expressed from the water is forced into the blood-vessels. It is the same, as to our lungs. The air enters them at the time of inspiration, but is received into the blood at the time of expiration only. So that the water which is taken in by the mouth of fishes, when stript of its air, is carried off by the gills. Mean time, the air which is thus gained is distributed, first to those Fine ramifications of the arteries, which are expanded upon the gill throughout, and then to the veins inosculated therewith. And fishes can no more live without a constant supply of this, than land animals can. The gills in all fishes are eight, four On each side. The lower gill is always smaller than the rest. The other three on each side are gradually larger to the top one, which is always the largest. Each of these is formed of a bony substance, bent into the shape either of a semicircle or a bow. On the convex side of this, there is a sort of plumes or leaves, each of which consists of a double row of bony lamella, formed like so many sickles, and fixed to the convex side of the bow by means of the membrane wherewith it is covered. These lamella have one part convex, and the other concave. The concave part of each lamella is applied to the convex part of the next opposite larnella. Every larnella is invested, with a. fine membrane, which receives the ramifications of the blood-vessels. Every gill has an artery, a vein, and a nerve. The gills receive the blood which is thrown from the heart into the aorta, and drive it to the utmost parts of the lamella, from whence it returns by veins which distribute it throughout the body. 6. In most fishes the HEART is like that in other animals. But in some it has only one ventricle; which necessarily occasions a difference in the manner wherein the blood circulates. In some also the blood is not red, but clear and transparent. In others, especially shell-fish, besides the arteries and veins, there are open tube’s, which convey the water to the farthest part of them: probably that they may find no want of water, when they continue some time on shore. 7. The AIR-BLADDER is described as a bag filled with air, sometimes composed. of one, sometimes of two. and sometimes of three divisions, situated towards the back of the fish, and opening into the maw or the gullet. It is commonly supposed, by its swelling at the will of the animal, to increase the surface of the fish’s body, and so to enable it to rise to the top of the water, and keep there at pleasure. On the contrary, when the fish wants to descend, it is supposed to empty this bladder of its air, and so sink to the bottom. But many fishes have an air-bladder, that continually crawl a’.. the bottom; such as the eel and the flounder: and many more are entirely without it, that swim in every depth; such as the anchovy and the fresh water gudgeon. Indeed, the number of fishes that want this organ, is alone a sufficient proof that it is not necessary for the purposes of swimming: and the ventral fins, which in all fishes lie flat upon the water, are fully sufficient to keep them at all depths. 8. The STOMACH is, in general, placed next the. mouth, and though not sensibly hot, is endued with a surprising faculty of digestion. Its digestive powers seem in some measure to increase with the quantity of food it is supplied with; a single pike having been known to devour a hundred roaches in three days. Its faculties also are as extraordinary, for it digests not only soft fish, but prawns, crabs and lobsters, shells and all. These the cod or the sturgeon will not only devour, but dissolve, though their shells are so much harder than the sides of the stomach which contains them. This amazing faculty in the cold stomach of fishes has justly excited the curiosity of philosophers; and has effectually overturned the system of those who suppose the heat of the stomach is alone a sufficient instrument for digestion. The truth seems to be, that there is a power of animal assimulation lodged in the stomach of all creatures, which we can neither describe nor define, converting the substances they swallow into a fluid, fitted for their own peculiar support. This is done neither by trituration, nor by warmth, nor by motion, nor by a dissolving fluid; but by some principle yet unknown, which acts in a, different manner from all kinds of artificial maceration. Yet though fish are thus hungry, and for ever prowling, no animals can suffer the want of food for SO long a time. The gold and silver fish which we keep in vases, seem never to want any nourishment at all; whether it be that they feed on the water-insects, too minute for our observation, or that water alone is a sufficient supply. Even the pike, the, most voracious of fishes, will live in a pond where there is none but himself, and what is more extraordinary, will be often found to thrive there. Air however is so necessary to all fish, that they can live but a few minutes without it; yet nothing is more difficult to be accounted for, than the manner in which they obtain this necessary supply. Those who have seen a fish in the water, must remember the motion of its lips and its gills, or at least of the hones on each side that cover them. This motion in the animal is, without doubt, analogous to our breathing, but it is not air, but water, that the fish actually takes in anJ throws out through the gills at every motion. The manner of its breathing seems to be this. The fish first takes a quantity of water by the mouth, which is driven to the gills, these close and keep the water so swallowed from returning by the mouth, while the bony covering of the gills prevents it from going through them, until the animal has drawn the proper quantity of air from the body of water thus imprisoned; then the bony covers open and give it a free passage; by which means also the gills again are opened, and admit a fresh quantity of water. Should the fish be prevented from the free play of its gills, or should time bony covers be kept from moving, by a string tied round them, the animal would soon fall into convulsions, and (lie in a few minutes. 9. The chief instruments in a fish’s motion are the FINS, which in some are much more numerous than in others. A fish completely fitted for sailing is furnished with two pair; also three single fins, two above and one below., .Thus equipped, it migrates with the utmost rapidity, and takes voyages of a thousand leagues in a season. But such fish as have the greatest number of fins have not always the swiftest motion. The shark is one of the swiftest swimmers, yet it wants the ventral fins; the haddock does not move so swift, though it has them. The tins not only assist the animal in progression, but in rising or sinking, in turning, or even leaping out of the water. To answer these purposes, the pectoral fins serve like oars, to push the animal forward. They are placed behind the opening of the gills; they are generally large and strong, and answer the same purposes to the fish as wings do to a bird. Those also balance the fish’s head, when it is too large for the body, and keep it from tumbling prone to the bottom, as is seen in large-headed fishes, when the pectoral fins are cut off. Next these -are the ventral fins, placed under the belly. These are always seen to lie flat on the water, in whatever situation the fish may be; and they serve rather to raise or depress the fish, than to assist its progressive motion. The dorsal fin is situate along the ridge of the back ; and serves to keep it in equilibriom In many fishes this is wanting; but in all flat fishes it is very large, as the pectoral fins are proportionably small. Lastly, the tail, which in some fishes is flat, and upright in others, seems to be the grand instrument of motion; the fins are all subservient to it, and give direction to its impetus, by which the fish darts forward with so much velocity. To explain all this, by experiment. a carp is taken, and put into a large vessel. The fish, in a state of repose, spreads all its fins, and seems to rest upon its pectoral and ventral fins, near the bottom: if the fish folds up either of its pectoral fins, it inclines to the same side; folding the right pectoral fin, the fish inclines to the right side; folding the left fin, it inclines to that side. When the fish desires to have a retrograde motion, striking with the pectoral fins, in a contrary direction, produces it. If the fish desires to turn, a blow from the tail, sends it about; but if the tail strikes both ways, then the motion is progressive.. 10. There is something extremely odd in the experiments of an ingenious man, on some of our common fishes. “I put a bansticle, says he, in a glass jar filled with water: At first it refused to eat any thing, which is common with all fishes; but afterward it grew so tame, as to take small worms out of my hand, Nay, it was so hold at last, that when its belly was full, it would set up its prickles, and with all its strength, make a stroke at my fingers, if 1 put them near it. “ This fish was so unsociable, that it would suffer no other fish to lute in the jar with it, and so audacious as to attack whatever I put -in, .though ten times its own size. One day I put in a small ruff; the bansticle instantly assaulted it, and tore off part of its tail, -and I ‘am persuaded would have killed it, had I not separated them. “ The abilities they use- to-- get from place to- place, are likewise extraordinary. Though they are scarce two inches long, I have seen them leap out’ of the water a foot high perpendicularly, and much farther obliquely, when they wanted to get over some obstacle in the- way. “Nature has furnished, them with a kind of breast-plate, to ‘be a defence against outward injury, and with prickles upon their sides -and back, which they erect on the least appearance of danger.’’ . - “I have always observed among the fish I keep in jars, that such as I keep’ awhile together, contract so great an affection for each other, that if they are separated, they grow melancholy and sullen. About christmas I put two ruffs into a jar, where they lived together till April. I then gave one of them to a friend, the other was So affected, that for three weeks it would eat nothing. Fearing it would pine to death, I sent it to its companion: being put to this, it ate immediately, and presently recovered its former briskness.” “In the beginning of September,” says the same gentleman, “I procured a small dace, which I kept in a glass jar till the fatter end of May following. All this while it ate nothing except the small animalcules, which happened to be in the water I gave it, once a day in winter, and twice or thrice in the spring, as the weather grew warmer. When the water was fresh, it came up to the top about once an hour, to blow out some small bubbles of air. Then putting its nose near the surface, it took in fresh, and retired to the bottom again. But as the water became less pureby its use, its returns to the surface were more frequent, and at last it would- remain there continually, till I gave it a fresh quantity. I believe I might have kept it for years, but business one day prevented me from giving it clean water in due time, which put a period to the life of my little companion. “At first it would not suffer me to come nigh the glass, without the utmost confusion and surprise; but at last it grew so tame, that if I came but in sight, it would be sure to be at the same side of the glass; and lie gazing at me, until I was weary of observing it. I often took the opportunity of looking at it by candle-light, which it seemed to take great pleasure in. "In the above-mentioned month, I put into another glass, a ruff about three inches long. At first he too appeared mighty reserved, and would not eat, nor suffer me to Come nigh him: but ‘in a short time all-powerful hunger tamed him: for he could not, like the dace, live on the small inhabitants, of the water, and so was quickly forced to take whatever I provided for him. In a while it grew so tame, that it would not only eat small worms, which I threw into the glass, but would take them out of my hands. Nay, it would even rise out above the water for them; which is contrary to the way wherein this kind of fish Uses to take its food. At last, it would come to my hand, whenever I put it into the glass, and suffer me to handle it. When I had made all the observations I thought proper, after eight months I gave him his liberty.” It has long been supposed that all shells, as well as the animals in them, arose wholly from the egg. But it is now found by various experiments, that the shells of snails, and probably of all other animals, are formed of a matter which perspires from their bodies, and then condenses round them. It is certain all animals perspire and are encompassed with an atmosphere which exhales from them. Snails have nothing peculiar in this respect, unless that their atmosphere condenses and hardens about them, and forms a visible cover for the body, while that of other animals evaporates. This difference may arise from the different substances perspired; that from snails being viscous and stony. This is no supposition, but a matter of fact, proved by numerous experiments. But the reproduction of the shells of some fish, yea, and of the parts contained therein, is far more strange and unaccountable, than their first production. This is particularly observed in crabs and lobsters. Lobsters cast their shell yearly, some time after midsummer. In the room of the old, a new, thin shell is immediately prepared by nature, which in less than eight days, acquires almost the same degree of hardness as the other. The legs of a lobster consist of five articulations. When any of these legs break, which frequently happens, the fracture is always near the fourth joint, and what they lose is precisely reproduced in some time after: four joints shooting out, the first whereof has two claws, as before. If a leg be broken off purposely at the fourth or fifth joint, it is constantly reproduced: but very rarely, if at the first, second, or third joint. What is still more surprising is, that upon visiting the lobster, which is maimed in these barren articulations, at the end of two or three days, all the other joints are found broken off at the fourth, which he has undoubtedly done himself. The part reproduced is perfectly like that broke off, and in a certain time grows equal to it. Hence it is, that lobsters have often their two big legs unequal. This shews the smaller leg to be a new one. If a part thus reproduced is broken off, there is a second reproduction. The summer, which is the only time when lobsters eat,- is the most favourable time for this. It is then performed in four or five days; otherwise it takes up eight or nine months. The common crab-fish has its abode in from twenty to forty fathom water. ‘They herd together in distinct tribes, and have their separate haunts for feeding and breeding, and will not associate with their neighbours. This has been tried, by marking a crab, carrying it two or three miles, and leaving it among other crabs. This crab has afterward found its way home, and been caught in its old abode. This creature too can break off its own limbs. If when it is laid on its back, one of the outer joints of a small leg be bruised, he shews uneasiness by moving it about. Afterward he holds it quite still, in a direct and natural position, without touching any part of the body, or of the other legs with it. Then on a sudden with a gentle crack, the wounded part of the leg drops off. If a hole be pierced in the great leg, the effect will be the same; and the large limb is thrown -off in the same manner, only with greater violence. A mucus then overspreads the wound, which presently stops bleeding; and a small leg is by degrees produced, which gradually attains the size of the former. Nature has given this singular power to these creatures, for the preservation of their lives in their’ frequent quarrels. In these, one crab lays hold of the claw of another, and crushes it in such a manner, that it would bleed to death, had it not the power of giving up the limb, and healing the wound. However different in figure the lobster and the crab may seem, their manners are nearly the same. Though without any warmth in their bodies, or even red blood, they are wonderfully voracious. Whatever they seize upon that has life, is sure to perish, though never so well defended: they even devour each other; and, to increase our surprise, they may, in some measure, be said to eat themselves, as they change their shell and their stomach every year, and their old stomach is generally the first morsel that serves to glut the new. What -this animal differs in from all others, is, that the spinal marrow is in the breast bone. It is furnished with two long feelers or horns, that issue on each side of the head, to correct the dimness of its sight, and apprize the animal of its danger or of its prey. The tail is the grand instrument of motion; and with this it can raise itself in the water. When the young lobsters leave the parent, they seek for refuge in the smallest clefts of rocks, and in crevices at the bottom of the sea. There they grow larger in a few weeks, from the accidental substances which the water washes to their retreats. By this time also they acquire a hard firm shell, which furnishes them with both offensive and defensive armour. They then issue from their fortresses, and creep along the bottom, in hopes of meeting with plunder. The spawn of fish, the smaller animals of their own kind, but chiefly the worms that keep at the bottom of the sea, supply them with plenty. They keep in this manlier close among the rocks, busily employed in scratching up the sand with their claws for worms, or surprising such heedless animals as fall- within their grasp: thus they have little to apprehend, except from each other, for in them, as among-fishes,’ the large are the most formidable of all enemies to the small. But the body of the lobster still continuing to increase, the animal soon becomes too large for its habitation. In general, all animals change their shell once a year; and this is a most painful operation.’ Their molting season is generally about the beginning of summer: at which time their food is in plenty, and their strength and vigour in the highest perfection. But soon all their activity ceases: they seek some retired situation among the rocks, where they remain in safety from the attacks of their-various enemies. For some days before their change, the animal discontinues its usual voraciousness; it is no longer seen harrowing up the sand at the bottom, or fighting with others of its kind, or hunting its prey: it lies torpid and motionless. Just before casting its shell, it throws itself upon its back, strikes its claws against each other, and every limb seems to tremble; its feelers are agitated, and the whole body is in violent motion. It then swells itself in an unusual manner, and at last the shell begins to divide at it its junctures; particularly at the junctures of the belly, where like a pair of jumps, it was before but seemingly united. It also seems turned inside out; and its stomach comes away with its shell. After this it disengages Itself of the claws, which burst at the joints ; the animal, with a tremulous motion, casting them off, as a man would kick off a boot that was too big for him. Thus this wonderful creature is at liberty; but so weak that it continues for several hours motionless. Indeed, so violent and painful is the operation, that many of them die under it; and those which survive, for some time, neither take food, nor venture from their retreats. Immediately after this change, they have not only the softness, but the timidity of a worm. Every animal ,of the deep is then a powerful enemy, which they can neither escape, nor oppose; and this is the time when the dog-fish, the cod, and the ray devour them by hundreds. But this state continues for a very short time: in less than two days, the skin that covered its body is grown almost as hard as before When the lobster is completely equipped in its new shell, it appears how much it has grown in the space of a very few days. The old shell being compared with those of the new, it is increased above a third in its size; and, like a boy that has outgrown his clothes, it seems wonderful how the deserted shell was able to contain so great an animal as entirely fills up the new. It may be worth observing, that lobsters use their tails as fins, wherewith they commonly swim backward, by jerks or springs, reaching sometimes ten yards at a spring. For this purpose, as the gill-fins of other fishes, which are their oars, are a little concave backward, these have the plates of their tails, when they bend them down as they use to do, a little concave forward. Different from all these are the land crabs of the Caribbee islands; which live in a kind of orderly society, within their retreats in the mountains; and regularly once a year march down to the sea side in a body of some millions. They choose the months of April and May to begin their expedition: and then sally out from the stumps of hollow trees, from the clefts of rocks, and from the holes which they dig for themselves under the surface of the earth. At that time the whole ground is covered with this band of adventurers. The sea is their place of destination, and to that they direct their march. No geometrician could send them to their destined station, by a shorter course. They never turn to the right or left, whatever obstacles intervene. And even if they meet with a house, they will attempt to scale the walls, to keep the unbroken tenor of their way. But upon some occasions they are compelled to conform to the face of the country; and if it be intersected by rivers, they wind along the course of the stream. They are commonly divided into three battalions; of which, the first consists of the strongest and boldest males, that like pioneers, march forward to clear the route, and face the greatest dangers. These are often oblidged to halt for want of rain, and wait till the weather changes. The main body of the army is composed of females, which never leave the mountains till the rain is set in, and then descend in regular battalia, in columns of fifty paces broad, and three miles deep, and so close, that they almost cover the ground. Three or four days after this, the rear-guard follows: a straggling undisciplined tribe, consisting of males and females, but neither so robust, nor so numerous as the former. The night is their chief time of proceeding; but if it rains by day, they do not\fail to profit by the occasion; and they continue to move forward in their slow, uniform manner. When the sun shines hot, they make an universal halt, and wait till the cool of the evening. When they are terrified they march back in a disorderly manner, holding up their flippers with which they sometimes tear off a piece of the flesh of an assailant, and leave the weapon where they inflicted the wound. They often clatter their nippers together, as if it were to threaten those that come to disturb them. But though they thus strive to be formidable to man, they are much more so to each other; for if any of them by accident is maimed in such a manner as to be incapable of proceeding, the rest fall upon and devour it on the spot, and then pursue their journey. When after a fatiguing march, perhaps of three months, they arrive at their destined port, they prepare to cast their spawn. The peas are as yet within their bodies, and not, as is usual in animals of this kind, under the tail. And the creature waits for the benefit of the sea-water, to help the delivery. For this purpose, the crab has no sooner reached the shore, than it eagerly goes to the edge of the water, and lets the waves wash over its body, two or three times. Then they withdraw to seek a lodging upon land: in the mean time, the spawn grows larger, is excluded out of the body, and sticks to the barbs under the tail. In this state of pregnancy, they once more seek the-shore, and shaking off their spawn into the water, leave it there. At this time whole shoals of hungry fish are in expectation of this annual supply. The sea, to a great distance, is black with them; and about two thirds of the crab’s eggs are immediately devoured. The eggs that escape are hatched under the sand; and soon after, millions at a time of these little crabs are seen quitting the shore, and slowly travelling up to the mountains. The old ones, however, are not so active to return; they are become so feeble, that they can hardly creep along. Most of them, therefore, are obliged to continue in the fiat parts of the country till they recover, making holes in the earth, which they cover at the mouth with leaves and dirt. There they throw off their old shells. At that time they are quite naked, and almost without motion for six days. They have then under their stomachs four large white stones, which gradually decrease in pro-portion as the shell hardens, and when they come to perfection, are not to be found. It is at that time the animal is seen slowly making its way back, and all this is commonly performed in six weeks. There is likewise an animal of the lobster-kind, that annually descends from its mountains, not only to produce an offspring, but to provide itself a covering not only to secure a family, but to furnish a house. 1 mean the SOLDIER-CRAB. It is about four inches long, has no shell behind, but is -covered down to the tail with a rough skin, terminating in a point. But what nature has denied this animal, it takes care to supply by art; and taking possession of the deserted shell of some other animal, it resides in it, till, by growing too large for its habitation, it is under the necessity of a change. It is a native of the West India islands, and every year descends from the mountains to the sea-shore, to deposite its spawn, and to provide itself with a new shell. Its first care is to provide for its offspring, and it is thought, from the number of little shells which it is seen examining, that it deposites its spawn in them, which thus is placed in perfect security till the time of exclusion. It is then mindful of itself. It is still seen in its old shell, which it has considerably outgrown: a part of the naked body is seen at the mouth of it, which the habitation is too small to hide. A shell, therefore, is to be found large enough to cover the whole body; and yet not so large as to be unmanageable. To answer both these ends is no easy matter, nor the attainment of a slight inquiry. The little soldier is seen busily parading the shore, along that line of pebbles and shells that is formed by the waves; still, however, dragging its old habitation at his tail; Unwilling to part with one shell, till it can find another more Convenient. It is seen stopping at one shell, turning it and passing it by, going on to another, contemplating that for awhile, and then slipping its tail from its old habitation, to try on the flew. This also is found to be inconvenient, and it quickly returns to its old shell again. In this manner it frequently changes, till at last it finds one, light, roomy, and commodious. To this it adheres, though the shell be sometimes so large as to hide the body of the animal, claws and all. Yet it is not till after many trials, and many combats also, that the soldier is thus completely equipped. For there is often a contest between two of them, for some well-looking shell. They both endeavour to take possession: they strike with their claws; they bite each other, till the weakest is obliged to yield. It is then that the victor takes possession, and parades in his new conquest three or four times backward and forward upon the strand, before his envious antagonist. Crabs’-eyes, so called, are found in the bodies of CRAY-FISH. Each fish produces two yearly, one on each side of the stomach, between the coats of it. Here it grows, coat upon coat, and is supplied with petrifying juices, by vessels opening on the inner surface of the outward coat. The first scale, whereon all the others are formed, may be perceived in the centre; the brims or circumferences of many of the rest being likewise apparent. It is believed, that they cast these stones with their shells yearly; but this is not the case. For about the time of casting their shell, the stones break through the internal coat of the stomach, and being ground by the three serrated teeth therein, become dissolved in the space of a few days, which makes it difficult to find them just at this time. They cat their old shells immediately after shedding them. Perhaps these stones may be designed to furnish new petrescent juices to its fluids, for the reproduction of their annual dress. As to turbinated shell-fish, of the SNAIL-KIND we may first observe the SNAIL itself. This is surprisingly fitted for the life it is to lead. It has the organs of life in a manner almost as complete as the largest animal; a tongue, brain, salival ducts, glands, nerves, stomach, and intestines; liver, heart, and blood-vessels: besides this, it has a purple bag that furnishes a red matter to different parts of the body, together with strong muscles, that hold it to the shell, and which are hardened like tendons at their insertion. But these it possesses in common with other animals. We must now see what it has peculiar to itself. The first striking peculiarity is, it has got its eyes on the points of its largest horns. When the snail is in motion, four horns are seen distinctly; but the two longest deserve peculiar consideration, both on account of the various motions with which they are endued, and of their having eyes at the extreme ends of them. These appear like two blackish points. The animal can direct them to different objects at pleasure, by a regular motion out of the body; and sometimes it hides them by a very swift contraction into the belly. Under the small horns is the animal’s mouth; and though it may appear too soft a substance to be furnished with teeth, yet it has no less than eight of them, with which it devours leaves, and other substances seemingly harder than itself. It may seem whimsical to make a distinction between the animal perfections of turbinated and bivalved shell-fish, or to grant a degree of superiority to the SNAIL above the OYSTER. Yet this distinction apparently obtains in nature; and we shall find the bivalved tribe of animals in every respect inferior to the other. Inferior in all their sensations; inferior in all their motions; but peculiarly inferior in their system of animal generation. The snail tribe are hermaphrodite; but require the assistance of each other for fecundation; all the bivalve tribe are hermaphrodite in like manner, but they require no assistance from each other towards impregnation; and a single muscle or oyster, if there were no other in the world, would quickly replenish the ocean. The multitude of muscles is in some places very great; but from their defenceless state, the number of their destroyers are in equal proportion. The crab, the cray-fish, and many other animals, are seen to devour them; but the tochus is their most formidable enemy. When their shells are found deserted, if we then observe closely, it is most probable we shall find that the tochus has been at work in piercing them. There is scarce one of them without a hole in it; and this probably was the avenue by which the enemy entered to destroy the inhabitant. But notwithstanding the number of this creature’s animated enemies, it seems still more fearful of the agitations of the element in which it resides; for, if dashed against rocks, or thrown far on the beach, it is destroyed without a power of redress. In order to guard against these, which are to this animal the commonest and the most fatal accidents, although it has a power of slow motion, which I shall presently describe, yet it endeavours to become stationary, and to attach itself to any fixed object it happens to be near. For this purpose it is furnished with a very singular capacity of binding itself by a number of threads to whatever object it approaches; and these, Reauxnur supposes, it spins artificially, as spiders their webs, which they fasten against a wall. Be this as it will, nothing is more certain than that the muscle is found attached by these threads to every fixed object; sometimes, indeed, for want of such an object, these animals are found united to each other, and though thrown into a lake separately, they are taken out in bunches of many together. To have some fixed resting place, where the muscle can Continue, and take in its accidental food, seems the state that this animal chiefly desires. Its instrument of motion, by which it contrives to reach the object it wants to bind itself to, is that muscular substance resembling a tongue, which is found long in proportion to the size of the muscle. This the animal has a power of thrusting out of its shell; and with this it is capable of making a slit in the sand at the bottom. By means of this furrow it can erect itself upon the edge of its shell-: and thus continuing to make the furrow, in proportion as it goes forward, it reaches out its tongue, that answers the purpose of an arm, and thus carries its shell edge-ways, as in a groove, until it reaches the point intended. Then, where it determines to take up its residence, it fixes the ends of its beard, which are glutinous, to the rock, or the object, whatever it be; and thus like a ship at anchor, braves all the agitations of the waters. Sometimes the animal is attached by a large number of threads; sometimes but by three or four, that seem scarce able to retain it. When the muscle is fixed in this manner, it lives upon the little earthy particles that the water transports to its shells, and perhaps the flesh of the most diminutive animals. However, it does not fail to grow considerably; and some of this kind have been found a foot long. I have seen the beards of a foot and a half; and of this substance the natives of Palermo make gloves and stockings. Oysters usually cast their spawn in May, which at first appear like drops of candle grease, and stick to any hard substance they fall upon. These are covered with a shell in two or three days, and in three years the animal is large enough to be brought to the market. The SCALLOP is particularly remarkable for its method of moving forward upon land, or swimming upon the water. When it finds itself deserted by the tide, it moves towards the sea in a most singular manner. It first gapes with its shell as widely as it can, the edges being often an inch asunder: then it shuts them with a jerk, and by this the whole animal rises five or six inches from the ground. It thus tumbles any how forward, and renews the operation until it has attained its journey’s end. When in the water it is capable of supporting itself on the surface; and there opening and shutting its shells, it tumbles over and over, and makes its way with some celerity. The RAZOR-SHELL has a very different kind of motion. As the former moves laboriously forward, so the razor-shell has only a power of Sinking downward. The shafts of this animal resemble nothing so much as the shaft of a razor; and by this form it is enabled to dive into the soft sand. All its motions are confined to sinking or rising a foot downwards or upwards in the sand, for it never leaves the spot where first it was planted. From time to time it raises about halfway out of its hole.: but if any way disturbed sinks perpendicularly down again. Just over the place where the razor buries itself; there is a small hole like a chimney, through which the animal breathes or imbibes the sea-water. Upon the desertion of the tide, these holes are easily distinguished by the fishermen; and their method of enticing the razor up is by sprinkling a little sea-salt upon the hole. This melting,- no sooner reaches the razor below, than it rises instantly, and shews above half its length above the surface. This appearance is instantaneous; and if the fisher does not seize the opportunity; the razor buries itself to its former depth. There it continues secure; no salt can allure it a second time; but it remains unmolested unless the fisher will be at the trouble of-digging it out, sometimes two feet below the surface. Multivalve SHELL-FISH may be considered as animals shut up in round boxes. To view their habitations externally, one would be little apt to consider them as the retreats of living creatures; and still less, to suppose that some of them carry their boxes with a tolerable share of swiftness, so as to escape their pursuers. Of these there are principally two kinds; such as move, and such as are stationary: the first are usually known in our cabinets by the name of sea-eggs; the others are often admired for the cavities which they scoop out for their habitation in the hardest marble. The first are called, by naturalists, echini, or urchins: the latter are called pholades, or file-fish. Of both these are several sorts; but by describing these two, we shall have a competent idea of all the rest. To a slight view, the sea-urchin may be compared to the husk of a chesnut; being like it, round, and with a number of bony prickles standing out on every side. If we could conceive a turnip stuck full of pins on every side, and running upon these pins with some degree of swiftness, -we should have sonic idea of this extraordinary creature. The month is placed downwards; the vent is above; the shell is a hollow vase, resembling a scooped apple; and this filled with a soft muscular substance, through which the intestines wind from the bottom to the top. The mouth, which is placed undermost, is large and red, furnished with fine-sharp teeth, which are easily discerned. The jaws are strengthened by fine small bones, in the centre of which is a small fleshy tongue; and from this the intestines make a winding of five spires, round the internal sides of the shell, ending at the top, where the excrements are excluded. But what makes the most extraordinary part of this animal’s conformation, are its horns, and its spines, that point from every part of the body, like the horns of a snail, and that serve at once as legs to move upon, as arms to feel with, and as instruments of capture and defence. Between their horns it has also spines that are not endued with such a share of motion. The spines and the horns issue from every part of the body, the spines being hard and prickly, the horns being softer, longer than the spines, and never seen except in the water. They are put forward and withdrawn like the horns of a snail, and are hid at the base of the spine, serving, as was said before, for procuring food and motion. All this apparatus, however, is only seen when the animal is hunting his prey at the bottom of the water; for a few minutes after it is taken, all the horns are withdrawn into the body, and most of the spines drop off. It is generally said of insects, that those which have the greatest number of legs, always move the slowest; but this animal seems to be an exception to the rule; for though furnished with two thousand spines, and twelve hundred horns, all serving for legs, and which from their number seem to impede each other’s motion, yet it runs with some share of swiftness at the bottom, and it is sometimes no easy matter to overtake it. Very different in motion, though not, much different in shape from them, are the acorn shell-fish, the thumb-footed shell-fish, and the imaginary barnacle. These are fixed to one spot, and appear to vegetate from a stalk. Indeed, to an inattentive spectator, each actually seems to be a kind of fungus that grows in the deep, destitute of animal life, as well as motion. But the inquirer will soon change his opinion, when he comes to observe this mushroom-like figure more minutely. He will then see that the animal residing within the shell, has not only life, but some degree of voraciousness; that it has a cover, by which it opens and shuts its shell at pleasure; that it has twelve large crooked arms, furnished with hair, which it thrusts forth for its prey; and eight smaller, which are generally kept in the shell. They are seen adhering to every substance that is to be met with in the ocean; rocks, roots of trees, ship’s bottoms, whales, lobsters, and even crabs; like bunches of grapes clung to each other. It is amusing enough to behold their operations. They for some time remain motionless within their shell; but when the sea is calm, they are seen opening the lid, and peeping about them. They then thrust out their long neck, look round them for some time, and then abruptly retreat back into their box, shut the lid, and lurk in darkness and security. Among the shell-fish on the Waterford coast, is the MUREX, which gave the Tyrian purple. It is in great plenty there, and is by the English called a horse-winkle. The shell is about an inch long, and half an inch broad, and turns spirally like a snail’s shell. Each fish has a peculiar reservoir, which contains a large drop of liquor: if this is pressed out on linen, the linen first appears of a dirty yellow, inclining to green; afterward it changes to a lemon colour, then to a deep green; then it turns to a deep blue, and at last to a charming purple. The shells of the ancient purple-fish, are still common on the Tyrian shore. The fish itself is found in, great abundance in the seas of the Spanish West Indies, near Panama and Nicoya, exactly agreeing with Pliny’s account of the ancient Murex. Cloth of Segovia, died with-this purple, is sold for twenty crowns an eli, and is very rarely worn by any, but the greatest noblemen in ‘Spain. The Caribbee islands have also the same sort of fish, which we may likewise find nearer home, namely on the coasts of Somersetshire, as well as of South Wales. The PEARL MUSCLES lie partly open: the inside of the shell is of a pearly colour. The pearl lies in the - smaller end of it, at the extremity of the gut, and out of the body of the fish, between the two films that line the shell. This answers to the stone in the other animals, increasing by crusts growing over one another. Accordingly if a pearl be pinched in a vice, the upper coat will crack and leap away. And as it is now known, that the shells of fishes are formed of stony matter oozing out of their body, it is no wonder if that matter when it chances to overflow, bursts forth in any cavity of the body, and forms a little mass, which hardening, becomes a pearl of the same colour with the shell. Whereas all other animals take in nutriment by the mouth, the muscle takes it in by the anus. The part called the head, though without eyes, ears, or tongue, is immoveably fastened to one of the shells so that it cannot receive any thing. The food of a muscle is water, which, as the shell opens, enters in at the anus, and passing on by certain canals, running between the shell and the animal, is thence conveyed into the mouth. We have lately discovered a progressive motion in those shellfish, which were supposed to be quite fixed. Even OYSTERS, which one would think wholly immoveable, if they are thrown irregularly into a vessel of water, will in a while turn themselves till the smooth shell becomes uppermost: otherwise they could hold no water in the concave shell for their sustenance. Muscles can walk on the ground, which they do in this manner: lying on the flat side of their shell, they thrust out a part, in form of a tongue, wherewith they make little motions to the right and left, and thereby dig a passage in the sand. In this digging they drop gradually on one side, and so get the shell mounted on its edge; then they stretch out the tongue as far as they can, and rest for a minute or two on its extremity to draw the shell after them, as water snails do. This motion is repeated as long as they please; thus they form a sort of groove in the sand, which sustains the shell on either side, and leaves behind them a sort of irregular tract, three or four yards long. In rivers abounding with muscles one may see many of them, with a muscle at the end of each. That called the arm or a leg in a sea-muscle, which in its natural state is not above two lines long, may reach out of the shell two inches: and the muscle having laid hold on a fixed point therewith, bends and shortens it and so drags itself on. The beard serves for an anchor to fasten to some heavy body, that it may not be carried away with the motion of the waves. ‘When a pond muscle walks, it thrusts out its whole belly, in form of the keel of a ship, and creeps on the belly as the serpent does. So true it is, that nature is not confined in her manner of operation, hut is ever varying, though never confused. In Port Mahon harbour, there are stones from half a hundred to five hundred weight each, lying at all depths, full of shells, each containing a single fish, of the muscle kind. The holes in the surface are far narrower than the hole in which the fish is, which it seems is capable of enlarging its room as it grows bigger, by abrading the sides of its cells. And this is apparent, from the sandy matter found in the bottom of those cells, whenever the orifice is higher than the bottom; for then the fish cannot throw it out. The BOLLANI likewise in the Adriatic sea, live in large stones. Their shell is rough and oblong, not unlike a date. They are found in several kinds of porous stones. In the pores of these the spawn is deposited. Frequently the aperture, through which it Was injected, is no longer perceivable; but the fish thrives notwithstanding. On breaking some of these stones, one finds near thirty give fish, though no opening can be perceived on the outside. Each has just room to open its shell, the inside of which is white, the outside ash colour; the largest is four or five inches long. Both the fish itself and its juices are so luminous, One ma see to read by it; and even water, in which it has been squeezed, put into a glass, will shine ten or twelve hours. Likewise in Toulon harbour are found solid stones, containing, in separate cells, secluded from all communication with the air, several living shell fish. The same are found along the- coast of Alcona, in stones weighing fifty pounds and upwards. The outside of which is soft, but the inside so hard as to require an iron snail, and a strong arm to break them. PHOLADES BOLLANI, when divested of their shells, resemble a roundish, soft pudding, with no instrument that seems in the least fitted for boring into stones, or even penetrating the softest substance. A pholas is furnished with two teeth indeed; but these are placed in such a situation as to be incapable of touching the hollow surface of its stony dwelling. It has also two covers to its shell that open or shut at either end; but these are totally unserviceable to it as a miner. The instrument with which it performs all its operations, and buries itself in the hardestrocks, is only a broad fleshy substance, somewhat resembling a tongue, that is seen issuing from the bottom of its shell. With this soft yielding instrument, it perforates the most - solid marbles; and having, while little and young, made its way, by a very narrow passage into the substance of the stone, it then begins to grow bigger, and thus th enlarge its apartment. While yet naked and very small, it has effected an entrance, and has buried its body in the stone: it there continues for life at its ease; the sea water, that enters at its apertures, supplying it with luxurious plenty. When the animal has taken too great a quantity of water, it is seen to spurt it out of its hole- with some violence. Upon this seemingly thin diet, it quickly grows larger, and soon finds itself under a necessity of enlarging its habitation and its shell. The motion of the pholas is slow beyond conception; its progress keeps pace with the growth of its body; and in proportion as it grows larger, it makes its way farther into the rock. When it has got a certain way in, it then turns from a certain direction, and hollows downward; till at last, when its habitation is completed, the whole apartment resembles the bowl of a tobacco pipe; the hole is the shank, being that by which the animal entered. Thus immured, the pholas lives in darkness, indolence and plenty; it never removes from the narrow mansion into which it has penetrated; and seems perfectly content with being enclosed in its own sepulchre. The influx of the sea water, that enters by its little gallery, satisfies all its wants; and without any other food, it is found to grow from seven to eight inches long, and thick in proportion. Yet the pholas, thus shut up, is not so solitary an animal as it would at first appear; for though it is immured in its hole without egress; though it is impossible for the animal, grown to a great size, to get out by the way it made in, yet many of this kind meet in the heart of the rock, and, like miners in a siege, who sometimes cross each other’s galleries, they frequently break in upon each other’s retreats: whether their thus meeting be the work of accident or of choice, few can take upon them to determine; certain it is they are most commonly found in numbers in the same rock; and sometimes above twenty are discovered within a few inches of each other. As to the nest, this animal is found in greatest numbers at Ancona in Italy; it is found along the shores of Normandy and Poitou, in France; it is found also upon some of the coasts of Scotland, and in general is considered as a very great delicacy at the tables of the luxurious. One of the most extraordinary kinds of shell-fish is the ANIMAL-FLOWER, In Barbadoes. In the parish of St. Lucy, on the north side of the island, there is a high rocky cliff fronting the sea, near the bottom-of which is a large cave. This opens into another cave, the bottom of which is a bason of water. In the midst of this bason is a rock, always covered with water: on the sides of which, a few inches below the water, are seen, at all times of the year, issuing out of little holes, what have the appearance of finely radiated flowers; in size, colour and shape greatly resembling a common marygold. If you attempt to pluck one of these, as soon as your fingers come within two or three inches of it, it contracts, closes up its border and shrinks back into the hole of the rock. But if left undisturbed for a few minutes, it issues again,- and soon appears in full bloom. This might induce one to believe, that it was no other than an aquatic sensitive plant. But on a nearer inspection we may discern four dark coloured filaments, rising from the centre, moving with a quick and spontaneous motion, and frequently closing, to seize its prey, much like the claws of a lobster. So that the seeming flower is really an animal; and its body, which appeared to be the stalk of the flower, is black, about as big as a raven’s quill. It seems the vivid yellow colour of its feelers, is absolutely necessary to procure its food. The water in the cave, having no motion, cannot bring any food to them. Therefore the Creator has endued this creature with a quality which may allure its prey. For bright colours invite many aquatic animals, as the flame of a candle does flies. 12. As to the generation of fishes, some of them are viviparous, others oviparous. The womb and ovaries of most fishes, are not unlike those of birds. The female casts out innumerable eggs, in the sea, in lakes, and in rivers. Great part of these are devoured by the males. The rest are hatched by the warmth of the sun, and the young ones immediately swim away, without any help from the parent. Sea-tortoises lay their eggs on the sea-shore, and cover them with the sand. It is not uncommon to see a great number of young tortoises rise out of the sand, and without any guide or instructions, march with a gentle pace toward the water. But the waves usually throw them back upon the shore, and then the birds destroy the most of them. So that out of two or three hundred of them it is seldom that ten escape. It seems at first view, that nature, in this instance, charges herself with unnecessary expense. But a little reflection shews the contrary. We do not complain of the fertility of a hen, which frequently lays above two hundred eggs in one year: although it may be, that not one chick is hatched out of all these. The design of the Author of nature is plain: not barely to preserve the species, but at the same time, to provide man and other animals with an excellent food. So his intention in the fertility of a tortoise, is not barely to continue that species, but to accommodate a number of other animals with food convenient for them, But whence could arise the common opinion concerning the generation of SOLES Namely, that they are produced from a kind of shrimps or prawns A French gentleman, being deter-mined to try, put a large quantity of prawns into a tub about three feet wide filled with sea water. At. the end of twelve or thirteen days, he saw there eight or ten little soles, which grew by degrees. He repeated- the experiment several times, and always found little soles. Afterwards he put some soles and prawns together, in one tub, arid in another, soles alone. In both, the soles spawned; but there were no little soles, only in the tub where the prawns were. But how can prawns be of use toward producing soles Farther observations cleared up this. When shrimps or prawns are just taken out of the sea, you may discern between their feet many little bladders, which are strongly fastened to their stomach, by a kind of glue. If you open these bladders gently, you see a sort of embryos, which, viewed with a microscope, have all the appearance of soles. Now here lies the mystery. These are the eggs or spawn of soles, which in order to hatch, are fastened to the shrimps or prawns: like many plants and animals, which do not grow or receive nourishment, but upon other plants and animals. The prawns therefore are the foster-mothers of soles, during their first infancy. And this has occasioned many to imagine they were their real mothers. The coming of certain kinds of fish in-shoals to certain coasts, at a certain time of the year, is of great advantage to mankind. But the reason of it has been little understood. Yet observation may clear it up. There is a small insect common in many seas, particularly on the coast of Normandy, in June, July, and August. They then cover the whole surface of the water as a scum. And this is the season when the herrings come also in such prodigious quantities. The fishermen destroy much of these vermin; yet to these alone their fisheries are owing. For it is evident the herrings feed on these by the quantities found in all their stomachs. And doubtless, the very reason of their coming is to feed upon them. Probably the case is the same in all other places, where the herrings come in the same plenty. The numberless swarms of herrings, cod, and other fish, that come forth yearly from their shelter, under the ice adjoining the north pole, divide themselves into three bodies. One part direct their course southward, toward the British islands; another part westward, toward Newfoundland, and other places in North- America: and the third part along the coast of Norway, and then through the Sound into the Baltic. The water, though quite still before, curls up in waves wherever they come. They crowd together in such numbers, that they may be taken up by pailfulls. A large shoal of herrings, reaches (according to the fishermen’s account) a hundred or two hundred fathoms deep. They -extend also to a considerable circumference. Were they all to be caught, the greatest part would be lost. For it would be impossible to get hands, tubs, salt, and other necessaries to cure them. Several hundred ship-loads are sent every year from Bergen alone to foreign parts: besides the quantities that the peasants at home Consume, who make them their daily provision. The fishers, on the western isles of Scotland, observe, that there is a large herring, double the size of a common one, which leads all that are in the bay, the shoal following him wherever he goes. This leader they term the king of herrings: and when they chance to catch it alive, they drop it carefully into the sea, judging it petty treason to destroy a fish of that name. Mackerels come in the same numbers at certain times of the year; and for the same reason. They are particularly fond of a sea plant, the narrow leaved, purple sea-wick, which abounds on the coasts of England; and is in its greatest perfection in the beginning of summer: though at some-times later than other, according to the severity or mildness of the winter. The chief occasion of their coming is to feed on this plant. And those who attend to its growing up, would know when to expect the- mackerel, better than those who listen for thunder. But this is not the sole occasion of their coming. The real truth is this. The sea near the pole is the native country of all fish of passage. The ice which continually covers that sea, affords them a safe retreat. Large, voracious fish, want a free air for perspiration, and cannot pursue the smaller sort into their sanctuaries, where they multiply so prodigiously, that at length, for want of subsistence, they are forced to quit their retreat. The large fish wait for them at the extremity of the ice. They devour all they can catch, drive them close into the coasts, while the birds of prey pour down upon them from all quarters. In consequence of this persecution their march is always in columns, which are commonly as thick as they are broad. With regard to the herrings, they quit the ice in the beginning of the year. But the prodigious column which they form soon divides into two wings. The right moves westward, so as to be- near Iceland in the month of March. The left bends its-course easterly, and comes down the north sea to a certain latitude, where it divides into two other wings, the eastern-most of which coasts along Norway. Hence it sends off one division, by the strait of the Sound, into the Baltic, another towards the country of Holstein, Bremen, &c. and thence into the Zuderzce. The western wing, which is the largest, falls directly upon the isles of Shetland and the Orkneys. And thither the Dutch go to wait their coming. All that escape these dexterous fishers, go on to Scotland, and, dividing again into two columns, one passes to the east of that kingdom, and goes round England, detaching numerous divisions to the coasts of Friesland, Holland, Zealand, Flanders, and France, while the other moves to the westward of Scotland and Ireland. The remains of the whole western wing, which have escaped the nets of the fishers, and the voracity--of other fish and fowl, having at length rallied, in. the channel, the column is formed anew, and then issues into the ocean: from which (without shewing itself again on the coast) it regains, like the remains of the first western wing, which had not travelled so far, the polar ice, at the approach of winters And under the protection of this,, the loss is repaired, which the species had suffered since they left it. Thus ‘does the divine wisdom supply many thousands of men with food, as well as numberless other animals; and yet prevent any ‘decay of that necessary provision, which is continually consumed and as constantly recruited. The TUNNIES come in equal shoals at certain seasons, to the coasts of Provence and Languedoc. The fish called by the French, the Emperor, is the great enemy of these fish. He is in summer so plentiful in those seas, that they cannot escape him but by flying to the shallow waters. The PLICHARDS catched on the coast of Britanny, are still a stronger proof of the natural means that bring fish in shoals to certain places. The people of Britanny purchase from Norway, the offals and entrails of all the large fish caught there. These they cut in pieces, and strew in vast quantities on the sea along the coasts. This always brings thither shoals of pilchards, enough to supply all the maritime places in the neigbourhood. The SALMON (bred both in the sea, and in rivers) is another fish, which comes in shoals at certain times. But this is on another occasion. The female salmon chiefly ejects her roe at the mouth of rivers, in shallow water. The male comes presently after, keeps other fish from devouring it, and casts his sperm upon the roe. They are in great plenty from the middle of April till the middle of July; at which time also, they come in shoals into the rivers, partly to refresh themselves in fresh water, arid partly to rub or wash off in the strong currents, a greenish vermin called salmon lice: insects, wisely designed by the Creator, to drive this rich and valuable fish into the hands of men. The salmon, when they are going up the rivers out of the sea, always swim as near the bottom as they can. And on the contrary, when they are going down them into the sea, they always swim near the surface. The reason is, in going up, they swim against the current, which always runs swiftest at the surface. When they are going down on the surface, the current alone is sufficient to carry them. At Leixlip, seven miles from Dublin, there is a fine water-fall, or salmon-leap, so called from the numberless salmon which leap up it, at the season of the year for spawning. When they come to the foot of the fall, you may observe them frequently to leap up just above the water, as if to snake an observation of the distance. Soon after they leap up again, with an attempt to gain the top, and perhaps rise near it: but the falling water drives them down again. The same fish soon springs up again, and rises above the fall: yet this is equally unsuccessful, for dropping with their broadsides on the rapid curvature on the waters, they are thrown back again headlong. The only method of succeeding in their attempt, is to dart their heads into the water, in its first curvature over the rocks. By this means they first make a lodgment on the top of the rock ‘for a few moments, and then scud up the stream. There seems’ to be a peculiar instinct in them, to aim at this very point; for the force of the stream on the top of the precipice, is less at the bottom, close to the rock than on the surface. It is almost incredible, the height to which they will leap; they frequently leap near twenty feet. The manner of their doing it is, by bending their tails round, almost to their heads; it is then by the strong re-action of their tails against the water, that they spring so much above it. 1 3. One particular instance of the Divine care, is observable in the TURBOT. He is not well able to swim, especially in stormy weather. He must then keep at the bottom, and stick in the sand. And for that reason, he is provided with a skin or membrane which draws over his eyes, to keep the sand out of them. WHALES are as many degrees raised above other fishes in their nature, as they are in their size. They resemble beasts in their internal structure, and in some of their appetites and affections. They have lungs, a midriff, a stomach, intestines, liver, spleen, bladder, and parts of generation like beasts. Their heart also resembles that of beasts, driving red and warm blood in circulation through the body. As these animals breathe the air, they cannot bear to be long under water. They are constrained, every two or three minutes, to come up to the surface to take breath, as well as to spout out through their nostril (for they have but one) the water which they sucked in while gaping for their prey. The senses of these animals seem also superior to those of other fishes. The eyes of other fishes are covered only with that transparent skin that covers the rest of the head: but in all the cataceous kinds, they are covered by eye-lids as in man; This keeps that organ in a more perfect state, by giving it intervals of relaxation. The other fishes, that are very staring, must see, if for ho other reason, more feebly, as their organs of sight are always exerted. As for hearing, they are furnished with the internal instruments of the ear, although the external orifice no where appears. It is probable, this orifice may open by Some canal into the mouth; but this has not as yet been discovered it is likely, that all animals of the kind can hear, as they certainly utter sounds to each other. This vocal Power would be as needless to animals naturally deaf, as glasses to a man that was blind. But it is in the circumstances in which they continue their kind, that these-animals shew an eminent superiority. Other fish deposit their spawn, and leave the success to accident; these never produce above one young, or two at the most; and this the female’ suckles entirely in the manner of quadrupeds, her breasts, being placed as in the human kind. in fishes of the whale-kind, the tail has a different position from what it has in all other fishes. For, whereas, in these it is erected perpendicular to the horizon; in them, it lies parallel thereto; partly to supply the use of the hinder pair of fins, which these creatures have not, and partly that they may be able to raise or depress their body at pleasure. For it being necessary they should frequently come to the top of the water, to take in, or -let out the air, they are provided with an organ to facilitate their ascent and descent as they have occasion. And, as for turning their bodies in the water, they perform that as birds do; by strongly moving one of their fins, while the other is quiescent. The Norway whale is frequently sixty or seventy feet long. His shape pretty much resembles that of a cod; he has a large head, and small eyes in proportion. On the top of the head are two openings, through which he spouts out the water (which he takes in as he breathes) like a large fountain, which makes a violent noise. His skin is smooth and not very thick. The colour of his back is dark and marbled. His belly is white. His throat is very narrow, in proportion to his size. Under his backbone lies a long bladder, which he dilates or contracts as he pleases. He rows himself with his tail. They copulate after the manner of land animals. The female brings forth but one or two at a birth, at which time they are nine or ten feet long. They suck for some time: when they are tired with swimming, she carries them between her great fins. Under the skin lies the blubber or fat. Its usual thickness is about six inches: but about the under lip it is found two or three feet thick. Out of this the oil is extracted. One-whale ordinarily yields forty or fifty, sometimes eighty or ninety hundred weight. The use of blubber seems to be partly to poise the body and make it equiponderant to the water; partly to keep the water at a distance from the blood, lest it should be chilled by its immediate contact; and partly to keep the fish warm, by reflecting ‘the hot steams of the body, and so redoubling the heat. Under the fat the flesh is of a reddish colour. Their general food is certain small insects, which float upon the water in great heaps, and are no larger than flies. But they likewise eat various sorts of small fish, particularly herrings, which they drive together in large shoals, and then swallow vast quantities at a time. The whale commonly goes under the shoal; then opens his mouth and sucks in all he can. Sometimes lie swallows so many, that he is ready to burst, and sets up a hideous roar. But he is far more troubled by a slender fish about four feet long, which tears great pieces of flesh out of him. The whale then not only makes a frightful noise, but often leaps a considerable height. In these leaps he sometimes raises himself perpendicular above the surface of the water, and then plunges himself down with such violence, that if his head strikes any of the hidden rocks that are in the shallows, he fractures his skull, and comes instantly floating up dead. So that there is no creature in the world so great or strong so as to be exempt from calamities ! The whalebone whale is about seventy feet long, and very bulky, having scales, and no fins, but only one on each side, from five to eight feet long. The spermaceti whale is much of the same dimensions. The spermaceti oil lies in a great trunk, four or five feet deep, and. ten or twelve feet long, near the whole length, breadth and depth of the head. It seems to be no other than the brain. Not but some other parts of the fish yield an oil, but not so good as that in the trunk. The care of their young is remarkable: while they carry them under water, they often rise for the benefit of the air. Whenever they are chased or wounded, as long as they have sense, and perceive life in their young, they will not leave them, and if in their flying the young one drops off, the dam comes about, and passing underneath takes it again. Whales are gregarious, being sometimes found a hundred in a swarm, and are great travellers. In autumn the whalebone whales go westward: in spring eastward again. The several kind of whales do not mix with each other, but each keep by themselves. Their wonderful strength lies chiefly in the tail. A boat has been cut down from the top to the bottom by the tail of a whale, and the clap-boards entirely splintered, though the gunnel on the top was of tough wood. Another has had the stern post, three inches thick, cut off smooth without so much as shattering the boat, or drawing the nails of the boards. It is commonly supposed, that all fishes are mute, as well as void of hearing. But a late author says, there is one kind of whale, that when they are struck, roar so loud as to he heard two miles. He likewise asserts, that some of them have hearing, as have frogs, snakes and all ‘the lizard kind, though they have not the usual outward apparatus of hearing, But they have the auditory passage, by which sound is conveyed, and internal organs, to which the meatus auditorious reaches This is observable in all the whale kind, and in all fishes that have lungs. And whereas, some have supposed, that water cannot transmit sound, the contrary of this is now well known. -Many experiments have shewn, that even a man under water may hear what is spoken in the open air. The HIPPOPOTAMOS, or river horse, is above seventeen feet long from the snout, to the insertion of the tail; above seven feet in circumference -round the body, and above seven feet high: the head is near four feet long, and above nine feet in circumference. The jaws open about two feet wide, and the cutting teeth, of-which’ It hath four in each jaw, are above a foot long. its feet- resemble those of the elephant, and are divided into four parts. The tail is short, flat and pointed; the hide is impenetrable to the blow of a sabre; the body is covered over with a few scattered hairs of a whitish colour. The figure of the animal is between that of an ox and a hog, and its cry between the bellowing of the one, and the grunting of the other. It chiefly resides at the bottom of the great rivers and lakes of Africa; the Nile, the Niger, and the Zara; there it leads an indolent life,- seldom disposed for action, except when excited by the calls of hunger. Upon such occasions, three or four of them are often seen at the bottom of a river, forming a kind of line, and seizing upon such fish as are forced down by the violence of the stream. In that element they pursue their prey with great swiftness and perseverance; they swim with much force, anti remain at the bottom for thirty or forty minutes without rising to take breath. T hey traverse the bottom of the stream, as if walking upon land. But it often happens, that its fishy food is not supplied in sufficient abundance; it is then forced to come upon land, where it is an aukward and unwieldly stranger; it moves but slowly, yet it commits dreadful havock among the plantations of the helpless natives, who see their possessions destroyed, without daring to resist their invader. Their chief method -is, by lighting fires, striking drums, and raising a cry to frighten it back to its favourite element. But if they happen to wound it, it then becomes formidable to all that oppose it: overturning whatever it meets. It possesses the same inoffensive disposition in its favourite element, that it is found to have upon land; it never attacks the mariners in their boats, as they go up or down the stream; but should they inadvertently strike against it, there is much danger of its sending them, at once, to the bottom: “I have seen, says a mariner, one of these animals open its jaws, -and seizing a boat between his teeth, at once, bite and sink it to the bottom. I have seen it upon another occasion, place itself under one of our boats, and rising under it, overset it with six men which were in it; who, however, happily received no other injury.” Such is the great strength of this animal: and from hence, probably, the imagination has been willing to match it in combat against others more fierce and equally formidable. The crocodile and shark have been said to engage with it, and yield an easy victory; but as the shark is only found at sea, and the hippopotamos never ventures beyond the mouth of fresh water rivers, it is most probable that these engagements never occurred; it sometimes happens, indeed, that the princes of Africa, amuse themselves with combats, on their fresh water lakes, between this and other formidable animals; but whether-the rhinoceros or the- crocodile are of this number, we have not been particularly informed. If this animal be attacked at land and finds itself incapable of vengeance, from the swiftness of its enemy, it immediately returns to the river, where it plunges in head foremost, and after a short time rises to the surface, loudly bellowing, either to invite or intimidate the enemy; but though the negroes will venture to attack the shark, or the crocodile, in their natural element, and there destroy them, they are too welt apprized of the force of the hippopotamos to engage it; this animal, therefore, continues the uncontrolled master of the river, and all others fly from its approach or become-an easy prey. As the hippopotamus lives upon fish and vegetables, so it is probable the flesh of terrestrial animals may be equally grateful: the natives of Africa assert, that it has often been found to devour children and other creatures that it was able to surprise upon land; yet as it moves but slowly, almost every creature, endued with a common share of swiftness, is able to -escape it; and this animal, therefore, seldom ventures from the river side, but when pressed by the necessities of hunger, or of bringing forth its young. The female always comes: upon land to bring forth, and it is supposed that she seldom produces above one at a time; upon this occasion, these animals are particularly timorous, and dread the approach of a terrestrial enemy; the instant the parent hears the slightest noise, it dashes into the stream, and the young one is seen to follow it with equal alacrity. The young ones are said to be excellent eating; but the negroes, to whom nothing that has life comes amiss, find an equal delicacy in the old. Dr. Pocock has seen their flesh sold in the shambles like beef; and it is said, that their breast in particular, is as delicate eating as veal. As for the rest, these animals are found in great numbers, and as they produce very fast, their flesh might supply the countries where they are found, could those barbarous regions produce more expert huntsmen. But this ‘creature, which once was in such plenty at the mouth of the Nile, is now wholly unknown in Lower Egypt, and is no where to be found in that river, except above the cataracts. One can hardly tell whether to rank him among land or water animals. ‘He sleeps on land, but passes almost all the rest of his time under water. He has to feed under water, yet is the most unwieldy of all creatures, and cannot swim at all. He comes out of the water in an evening to sleep: and when he goes in again he walks very deliberately in overhead and pursues his course along the bottom, as easy and unconcerned as if it were the Open air. The rivers he most frequents are very deep, and where they are clear, this affords an astonishing sight. An animal of this size and make, must be one of the strongest in the world. It therefore requires from nature no swiftness, either to avoid pursuit, or to overtake its prey, as it was designed to feed chiefly on vegetables. The manner of its feeding on them is this: ‘When he walks into the river, he seldom looks about till he is near the middle. Here he seeks for the larger water-herbs, particularly for the root of a large water-lilly. People from a a boat on the surface, frequently see this. He roots tip these with his nose, like a hog, and his mouth and throat being very wide, swallows them up in vast morsels half chewed. But he has frequently occasion to breath: in order to which, when feeding at his ease, his custom is, every thirty or forty minutes, to rise to the surface of the water. This he does, by a spring from the bottom, made with all his feet at once. Having taken a little fresh air, and looked about him he, drops to the bottom again. Of all the inhabitants of the deep, those of the SHARK-kind, are the most voracious. The smallest of this tribe is not less dreaded by greater fish, than many that seem more powerful; nor do any-of them seem fearful of attacking animals far above their size. But the great WHITE SHARK joins to the most amazing rapidity, the strongest appetites for mischief; as he approaches nearly in size to the whale, he far surpasses him in strength and celerity, in the formidable arrangement of his teeth, and his insatiable desire of plunder. The white shark is found from twenty to thirty feet long. Some -assert, that they have seen them of four thousand pounds weight. The mouth is enormously wide; as is the throat, and capable of swallowing a man with great ease. But its furniture of teeth is still more terrible: of these there are six rows, extremely hard, sharp-pointed and of a wedge-like figure. It is asserted, there are seventy-two in each jaw; one hundred and forty-four in the whole. With these the jaws, both above and below, are planted all over, but he has a power of erecting or depressing them at pleasure. When the shark is at rest, they lie quite flat in his mouth: but when he prepares to seize his prey, he erects all this dreadful apparatus, and the animal he seizes dies, pierced with a hundred wounds in a moment. His skin is rough, hard and prickly, being that substance which covers instrument-cases, called shagreen. No fish can swim so fast he; he outstrips the swiftest ships, plays round them, darts out before them, and returns to gaze at the passengers. Such amazing’ powers, with such great appetites for destruction, would quickly unpeople even the ocean: but providentially the shark’s upper jaw projects so far above the lower, that he is obliged to turn on one side, not his back, as is generally supposed, to seize his prey. As this takes some small time to perform, the animal pursued often seizes that opportunity to escape. TORTOISES are commonly known to exceed eighty years old; and there was one kept in the arch-bishop of Canterbury’s garden; at Lambeth, that was remembered above a hundred and twenty. it was at last killed by the severity of the frost, in its winter retreat, which was a heap of sand, at the bottom of the garden. The young tortoises are gene rally excluded in about twenty-six days. The little animals no sooner leave the eggs than they seek for their provision; and their shell with which they are covered from the beginning, expands and grows larger with age. As it is. composed of a variety of pieces, they are capable of extension at their sutures, and the shell admits of increase in every direction. It is otherwise with those animals, whose shell is composed all of one piece that admits of no increase: which, when the tenant is too big for the habitation, must burst the shell, and get another. But the covering of the tortoise grows larger in proportion as the interior parts expand ; in some measure resembling the growth of the human skull, which is composed of a number of bones, increasing in size, in proportion to the quantity of the brain. All tortoises therefore, as they never change their shell, must have it formed in pieces: and though in some these marks have not been attended to, yet doubtless they are general to the whole tribe. It is of different magnitudes, according to its different kinds some turtles not being above fifty pounds weight, and some above eight hundred. The great MEDITERRANEAN TURTLE is the largest of the turtle-kind, with which we are acquainted. It is found from five to eight feet long, and from six to nine hundred pounds weight. All tortoises, having small and weak feet, are exceeding slow in their motions. They have neither tongue nor teeth, nor any offensive weapon. How then can they take, how can they chew or in any degree comminute their food This is well provided for: they break not only shells, but sometimes even stones with their lips: which, by their excessive hardness, effectually supply the want of teeth. But how can they defend themselves Abunclant provision is made for this also. Their shells more than cover the whole body, and are of so firm a texture, that a loaded waggon may go over them, without any injury either to the shell or the creature within it. The blood of the tortoises is colde; than any common spring water; yet is the beating of the heart as vigorous as that of any animal, and the arteries as firm as those of any creature. There is something highly remarkable in the change of tadpoles Into frogs; but there is still something more remarkable in the FROG-FISH. These are found in ‘great numbers in the river. Surinam. At first they are perfect frogs, they are spotted with brown, yellow, and green; but are paler on the belly, their hinder feet are webbed, like those of a goose, the fore feet without webs. The first change the animal undergoes, is by the, growing of a tail. After this the fore feet decrease, and perish by degrees. The decrease of the hinder legs follows, and at last the frog is changed’ into a perfect fish It may not be unacceptable or unprofitable to those who see God even in his lowest works, to add a short account of a few more inhabitants of the waters. FLYING-FISH are very rarely a foot long. They have a pretty large, though thin and light head. The mouth is generally open; the body small, roundish, and tapering towards the tail; besides the usual fins, they have under their necks, three broad and pretty long ones, of a more subtle structure, nearly as thin as a fly’s wing, hut strengthened with rows of bones. On the back part of their neck they have also a flying fin, about six inches long, quite erect; and lower down the back, there is another shorter, but broader. These wings they use to escape the pursuit of creatures too powerful for them. They rise several feet above the water, and fly the length of two or three musket-shot. Then they drop, because their wings are dry, which serve them no longer than they are moist. The INK-FISH, as some call it, has a still more extraordinary way of escaping its pursuers. “I have lately,” says the author of the Natural History of Norway, “procured a dried one, which is two feet long. The body is almost round, resembling a small bag, and is blunt at both ends. But the head is the most remarkable part. It has two large eyes, and a mouth like a bird’s beak. Above this stand eight horns, like a star. Each horn is octangular, and covered with many small, round balls, something larger than a pin’s head. On each side of the body there are two skinny membranes, with which he can cover himself all over. The fore part of the body is quite filled with a black fluid. When it is pursued, it discharges this, which colours the water all around, and renders it invisible. This is a wonderful gift of nature, for the preservation of an animal, otherwise utterly helpless. The ARBORESCENT STAR-FISH is another of the curiosities of nature. It is upwards of a foot in diameter, having its mouth in the middle. The figure of the trunk is pentangular, and from the five angles arise as many branches, which subdivide into several others, and those again into others, that are less, till the last are scarce thicker than horse-hairs, and in number above a thousand. in swimming he spreads all these branches like a net; and when he perceives any prey within them,’ draws them in again, and so takes them with all the dexterity of a fisherman. Full as surprising a creature is the TORPEDO, a flat fish, much like a thorn-back. It is common on the coast of Provence, and is eaten without any ill effect. But upon touching it with the linger, the person commonly, though not always, feels an unusual, painful numbness, which suddenly seizes him up to the elbow, and sometimes up to the shoulder. It resembles, but far exceeds, the. pain felt by striking the elbow violently against a hard body. But it lasts only a few moments, and gradually wears away. if a man touch it with a stick he feels a little of it; if he presses his hand strongly against it, the numbness is the less. But it is so uneasy as to oblige him very speedily to let it go. Many have attempted to account for this; but should we not rather honestly own our ignorance The SEA-NETTLE, SO called, is another strange production of nature, common, I suppose, in all the northern seas. It generally swims to the top of the water, and is throughout soft, smooth, and transparent. It appears to be a lump of slime or jelly. But it coheres firmly together, being marked in the middle with a cross somewhat like a flower-de-luce. These creatures are blue, white, or red, and some of them have many branches underneath. These are usually something larger than the common sort, anti are of a dark red. They all abound with a corrosive poison, which if it drop on any part of the body will cause a smart and an inflammation, much like’ that produced by nettles. Hence it has its name. However it is no vegetable, but evidently a living creature. For it has sensation: it grows, moves to and fro, contracts and extends itself. It often picks up and devours small fish, and is itself devoured by others. The care of the Creator is observable, even in so inconsiderable a creature as a LIMPET, a small shell-fish, which so fastens itself to the rock, that scarce any thing can unloose its hold. The fact has long been known. But the manner of its fastening itself, was not understood till very lately. Its shell approaches to’ the figure of a cone; the base of which is occupied by a large muscle, which alone has nearly as much flesh in it, as the whole body of the fish. This is not covered by the shell, but serves the creature equally to move forward or to fix itself to the rock. When it is in a state of rest, which is the common case, it applies this muscle every way round to the surface of some stone, and thereby holds itself fixt to it so firmly, that it is impossible to take it off with the hands. Those who would remove them are obliged to make use of a knife for that purpose. And even then it is not easy: for on whatsoever side the blade of the knife attempts to enter, the fish immediately fixes its muscle with double force to the stone. The true cause of his adhesion iš a viscous juice, a kind of glue, thrown out by this muscle, which though it is not perceptible to eye, yet it is easily perceived by the touch. For if immediately after the removing a limpet from the stone, the finger be applied to the place, it is fastened very strongly to it, by means of the glue left there. But if any wet have come upon the stone, since the fish has been removed, no viscosity can be perceived on it, the whole substance of the glue being immediately dissolved. This consideration may lead us to observe the great care of nature over all her works. How eminently is it manifested in this little fish It was absolutely necessary for its preservation, that it should have a power of fixing itself to the stone, or it would have been washed away by every wave. And this power is given it, by means of that glue which fixes it so firmly. But when itis fixed, how shall it be loosed This is equally necessary. For if there be not some power in the animal itself, to dissolve this glue, it must needs perish for want of food, when once fixt to a barren spot. Water is the proper dissolvent of this glue. But it cannot be the external water. This is kept at. a distance, by the close adhesion of the outer rim of the great circular muscle. And it is needful it should; else it would always dissolve the glue, as soon as it was discharged. But the under surface of the body of the animal is covered all over with small tubercles, most of which contain water. When, therefore, it would move, it has only to discharge a small quantity of this water, and the cement immediately dissolves and sets it at liberty. The other tubercles doubtless contain the viscous matter. So that, when the animal would fix itself, it needs only to squeeze one set of its tubercles; anti when it would loose itself, the other. 14. Upon the whole, how natural are the reflections, which a late writer makes on the inhabitants of the water! What an abundance of fish do the waters produce t In these I seem to discern nothing but a head and a tail! They have neither feet nor hands. Nor have they any neck: so that their head can not be turned at all, any otherwise than by turning the whole body. Were I to consider their figure only, I should think they were destitute of all that was necessary for the preservation’ of their life. But with these few outward organs they are more nimble and dexterous, than if they had several hands and feet. And by the use they make of their tail and fins, they are carried along like arrows. But as almost all fishes prey upon each other, and cannot sustain their own lives, any otherwise than by continually destroying those of their own species, how can the inhabitants of the water subsist How can many species escape utter destruction God has guarded against this, by multiplying them in so prodigious a manner. More than three hundred thousand eggs have been counted in the roe of a single salmon. By this means, let them be destroyed ever so fast, still their increase is equal to their consumption. But who can explain how the inhabitants of the sea enjoy their perfect health, in the midst of water so loaded with salt And by what art is it, that they preserve, even there, a flesh that has not the least taste of it Why do those, which are fittest for the use of man, come and offer themselves on our coasts; while so many that would be useless, if not pernicious, affect remoteness from us Why do several of them, in their stated seasons, run up into our rivers, and communicate the advantages of the sea, to such countries as are far distant from it What hand conducts them with so much care and goodness but thine, 0 thou Prerserver of men ! ======================================================================== CHAPTER 18: PART 02 - CHAPTER 4 - OF REPTILES ======================================================================== Chapter 4 - Of Reptiles 1. Of their motion 6. Water lizards often change their skins 2. Of serpents 7. Reproduction of parts cut off 3. Of their brain, stomach, generation 8. Of tape-worms 4. Venom 9. Of worms that feed upon stones 5. Of some particular sorts of reptitles 1.Not far removed from fishes are REPTILES, so named from their creeping, or advancing on the belly. Many species of them have legs and feet, but very small in proportion to the body. There is a world of contrivance in their motion. The whole body of the earth-worm, for instance, is a chain of annular muscles, or rather one continued spiral muscle, the orbicular fibres whereof being contracted, make each ring narrower and longer, by which means it is enabled, like the worm of an augre, to bore its passage into the earth. Its creeping may be explained by a wire, wound round a cylinder. If this is taken off, and one end extended and held fast, it will bring the other near it. So the worm having shot out its body, which is spiral, takes hold by its small feet, and so brings on the hinder part. Its feet ate placed in a four-fold row, the whole’ length of the worm. With these, as so many hooks, it fastens to the earth, or whatever it creeps over, sometimes this, sometimes that part of the body, and stretches out, or draws after it another, most eminent species of reptiles SERPENTS, which we may therefore particularly consider. Their bodies are of a very peculiar make, having a composition of bones articulated together. Here part of the body ‘is applied to the ground, and the other part shot forward, which being applied to the ground in its turn, brings the other after it. The spine of their back vari­ously writhed, helps their leaping, as the joints of the feet in other animals. They make their leaps by means of the muscles that extend the folds thereof. The number of joints in the back-bone are numerous beyond what any one would imagine. In the generality of quadrupeds they amount to not above thirty or forty. In the serpent kind, they amount to a hundred and forty-five from the head to the vent, and twenty-five more from that to the tail. The number of these joints must give the back bone a surprising degree of pliancy: but this is still increased by the manner in which each of these joints is locked into the other. In men and beasts the fiat surfaces of the bones are laid one upon the other, and bound tight by sinews; but in serpents the bones play one within the other like ball and socket, so that they have a full motion upon each other in every direction. Thus if a man were to form a machine composed of so many joints as are in the back of a serpent, he would find it no easy matter to give it such strength and pliancy at the same time. ; The chain of a watch is but a bungling piece of work in comparison. Though the number of joints in the back-bone is great, yet that of the ribs is still greater; for, from the head to the vent, there are two ribs to every joint, which makes their number two hundred and ninety in all. These ribs are furnished with muscles, which being inserted into the head, run along to the end of the tail, and give the animal great strength and agility. The skin also’ contributes, to its motions, being composed of a number of scales united to each other by a transparent membrane, which grows harder as it grows older, until the animal changes, which is generally done twice a year. This cover then bursts near the head, and the serpent ‘creeps from it, by an undulatory motion, in a new skin, much more vivid than the former. If the old slough be then viewed, every scale will be distinctly seen like a piece of net work. There is much geometrical neatness in the disposal of the serpents scales, for assisting the animal’s sinuous motion. As the edges of the foremost scales lie over the ends of the following, so these edges, when the scales are erected, which the animal has a power of doing in a small degree, catch in the ground, like the nails in the wheels of a chariot, and so promote and facilitate the animal’s progressive motion. The erecting these scales is by means of a multitude of distinct muscles, with which each is supplied, and one end of which is tacked each to the middle of the foregoing. Serpents differ very widely as to size. The LYBOIJA of Surinam, grows to thirty-six feet long. The little serpent at the Cape of Good Hope is not above three inches, and covers whole sandy deserts with its multitudes! This tribe of animals, like that of fishes, seems to have no bounds put to their growth. Their bones are in a great measure cartilaginous; and they are consequently capable of great extention; the older, therefore, a serpent be comes, the larger it grows; and as they live to a great age, they arrive at an enormous size. Leguat assures us, that he saw one at Java, that was fifty feet long. Vipers are often kept in boxes for six or eight months without any food whatever; and there are little serpents sometimes sent over to Europe, from Grand Cairo, that live for several years in glasses, and never eat at all, nor even stain the glass with their excrements. Thus the serpent tribe unite in themselves two very opposite qualities; wonderful abstinence, and yet incredible rapacity. Serpents will swim a long time, but they cannot stay long under the water, without being suffocated. In winter they retire under stones, roots of trees, old walls, or any warm, dry shelter. Here they sleep half dead, though with their eyes open, till the returning sun recalls them to life. 3. Their BRAIN little differs from that of fishes: but their stomach very much. It is like a loose gut, which runs along, from the jaws quite to the tail. They have likewise solid ribs and vertebre, at small distances, from the neck to the end of the tail. Hereby they are enabled, to raise themselves up, to support, to writhe themselves into rings, to spring forward, and to suck or swallow any thing with surprising force. And their whole flesh is of so close and firm a texture, that they will live for some time, even after they are cut in pieces. There is nothing more harmless than the common snakes: they are as innocent as flies. There is a great deal of geometrical nicety in the sinuous motion of serpents. For the assisting herein, the annular scales under their body, are very remarkable, lying across the belly, contrary to those in the back and the rest of the body. Also the edges of the foremost scales, lie over the edges of the following scales from head to tail. So that when each scale is drawn back, or set a little upright by its muscle, the outer edge of it is raised a little from the body, to lay hold on the earth, and to promote the serpent’s motion. But there is another admirable piece of mechanism, that every scale has a distinct muscle, one end of which is fixed to the middle of its scale, the other to the upper edge of the next scale. There is nothing peculiar in the generation of serpents, most of which are oviparous. 4. Vipers and many other’ serpents have small bags near the root of their teeth, which contain the POISON. When they bite, this is squeezed out, by the compression of those bags. If they are taken out of a viper, the liquid they contain mixed with the blood of an animal, causes death. But if taken in by the mouth, it does no harm, losing its efficacy by mixing with other liquids. A viper has the biggest and flatest head of all the serpent kind. It is usually half an ell long and an inch thick, with a snout not unlike that of a hog. It has sixteen small teeth one row; beside two large, sharp, hooked, hollow, transparent teeth, placed at each side of the lower jaw. These convey the poison into the wound, through a long slit. They are flexible, and then only raised, when the viper is going to bite. The roots of them are encompassed with a little bladder, containing a large drop of yellow insipid juice. The slit is a little below the point of the teeth, which are not hollow to the top. Hence arise all those dreadful symptoms, which frequently end in death. But they are all prevented or removed, by rubbing oil upon the wound. Vipers creep but slowly, and never leap or bite, unless provoked. They are of a yellowish colour, speckled with longish brown spots. The belly is of the colour of well polished steel. Other serpents lay eggs; the female viper only brings forth her young alive, wrapt up in skins, which break on the third day, and set them at liberty. The venom of a viper is not mortal to a sound and robust body though attended with painful swellings, violent vomitings, fren­sies, and convulsions. In eight or ten days; the poison having run through divers parts of the body, throws itself into the scrotum, and swelling it extremely, causes great heat, and much urine, very hot and sharp, by which it is discharged, this being the certain crisis of the disease. But a sickly or fearful person, bit ‘by a viper, surely dies, if there be not speedy help. Any one bit, in two or three days weighs almost as much more as he did before. ‘Who can account for this It is remarkable, that the youngest vipers are provided with poisonous teeth grown to perfection, commensurate to their bulk; that so they may be able to kill their prey and feed themselves, as soon as they are born. The poison of a rattle-snake is equally fatal and more swift in its operation; for it frequently kills within an hour. The snake is in some places 15 feet long.* But whenever it moves in order to bite, the tail begins to rattle: and that considerably loud; so that a man, if be has presence of mind, may easily get out of its way. When it bites a hare, lie is observed to lick her all over before he takes her into his mouth: probably, that having moistened and smoothed her skin, he may the more easily swallow her. It is very remarkable, that he frequently stays under a tree, on which a bird or squirrel is hopping about, with his mouth wide The American rattle.snake is seldom more than four feet in length. open. And the event constantly is, the creature in awhile drops into it. Sir Hans Sloane thinks, he has wounded it first: and that he then waits under the tree till the poison works, and the animal’ ‘drops down into the mouth of its executioner. But this is not the case, as plainly appears, from what many have been witnesses of. A swallow, pursuing his prey in the air, if he casts his eye on a snake beneath him, waiting with his mouth wide open, alters his course, and flutters over him in the utmost consternation, till sinking gradually lower and lower, he at last drops into his mouth. To the same purpose is the famous experiment of Dr. Spren­ger, mentioned in the Hamburgh magazine. He let loose a mouse on the ground, at a little distance from a common snake. It made a few turns, and squeaked a little, and then ran directly into the mouth, of the snake, which all the while lay still, and without motion. The rattle-snake, being less nimble than others, would find difficulty in getting its prey, were it not for the singular provision made, by the rattle in his tail. When he sees a squirrel or bird on a tree, lie gets to the bottom, and shakes this instrument. The creature looking down, sees the terible eye of the. snakebent full upon it. It trembles, and never attempts to escape, but keeps its eye upon the destroyer, till tired with hopping from bough to bough, it falls down, and is devoured. Indeed the same power is in the viper. The field-mice, and other animals, which are its natural food, if they have once seen his eyes, never escape, but either stand still or run into its mouth. But vipers in general will not eat, after they are under confinement. The viper-catchers throw them together into great bins, where they live many months, though they eat nothing. It is only a female viper, when big with young, that will eat during its confinement. If a mouse be thrown into the bin, at the bottom of which forty or fifty vipers are crawling, among which one is with young, she alone will meddle with it, and. She not immediately. The rest pass it by, without any regard, though it be their natural food. But the female, after she has done this several times, will at length begin to eye it. Yet she passes by it again, but soon after stops short, and holding her head facing that of the mouse, seems ready to dart at it, which however she never does, but opens her mouth, and brandishes her tongue. Her eyes having now met those of the mouse, she never looses sight of it more; but they face one another, and the viper advances with her open mouth, nearer and nearer, till without making any leap, she takes in the head, and afterward the whole body. A common snake will avoid a man; but a rattle-snake never turns out of the way. His eye has something so terrible in it, that, there is no looking stedfastly at him. But lie creeps very slow, ‘with his head close to the ground, so that one may easily get out of his way’. His leaping is no’ more than uncoiling himself, so that a man is in no danger, if he is not within the length of the snake. Neither can he do any harm, unless he first coil, and then uncoil himself; but both these are done in a moment. The noise they make is not owing, as some imagine, to little bones lodged in their tails. But their tail is composed of joints that lap over one another, like a lobster’s, and they make that noise by striking them one upon another. I his is loudest in fair weather; in rainy weather they make no noise at a!!. It is remarkable, that whenever a single snake rattles, all that are within hearing ‘rattle in like manner. Of how extremely penetrating a nature is their poison! A man provocking one of them to bite the edge of his broad-axe, the colour of the steeled part presently changed: and at the first stroke he made with it in his work, the discoloured part broke out, leaving a gap in the axe. A gentleman in Virginia has lately given a particular account of what he felt after being bit by one of them. “Hearing,” says he, “a bell upon the top of a steep hill, which I knew to be on one of the cows of the people where I then quar­tered, I went right up the hill; but near the top my foot slipped, arid brought me down upon my knees. I laid my hand on a broad stone to stay myself; I suppose the snake lay on the other side, who bit my hand in an instant, then slid under the ground, and sounded his rattles. But I soon found him, crushed his head to pieces with a stone, took him up in my left hand, and ran home, sucking the wound on my right hand, and spitting Out the poison. This kept it easy: but my tongue and my lips grew stiff and numb, as if they were froze. When I came home, one presently ripped’ a fowl open, and bound it upon my hand. This eased me a little. I kept my elbow bent and my fingers up, which kept the poison from my arm. Another bruised some turmeric, and bound it round my arm, to keep the poison in my hand. This kept my arm easy for some hours; and my hand, though numb, was not much sweller, nor even painful: but about midnight it puffed up on a sudden, and grew furious, till I slit my fingers with a razor. I also slit the back of my hand, and cupped it, and drew out a quart of slimy stuff; yet my arm swelled. Then I got it tied so fast, that it was almost void of feeling. Yet would it work, writhe, jump, and twine like a snake, change colours, and be spotted. And the spots moved to and fro upon the arm, which grew pain­ful at the bone. All things were applied for two days which could be thought on; but without effect, till the ashes of white ash-bark, made into a plaster with vinegar, drew out the poison. We then untied the arm; but within two hours all my right side turned black. Yet it did not swell, nor pain me. I bled at the mouth soon after, and continued bleeding and feverish four days. The pain raged in my arm, and I was by times delicious for an hour or two. After nine days the fever went; but my hand and arm were spotted like a snake all the summer. In autumn my arm swelled, gathered, and burst, so away went poison, Spots and all. “But the most surprising circumstance was my dreams. In all sickness before, these were always pleasant. But now all were horrid. Often I was roIling among old logs; sometimes I was a white oak cut in pieces. Frequently my feet would be growing into two hickory trees so that it was a terror to me, to think of going to sleep.” 5. There is a wonderful provision made for those snakes, who are inhabitants of the waters. A WATER-SNAKE has no air­bladder like fishes: but to make amends for this want, it has a large membranous air-bag on its back, which it empties or fills with air at pleasure, by an aperture which it can shut so close, that the least globule of water cannot enter. By this means it can enlarge or lessen the bulk of its body, and inhabit any depth of water. As for the SERPENT or THE WATERS, of which an account is gravely given, by the writer of the Natural History of Norway, which he talks of, as being five or six hundred yards long, and as rearing his head higher than the main mast of a man of war, I presume, it is very nearly related to the CRAKEN of the same author; a sea—monster, to which a whale is but a shrimp, larger than twenty men of war put together. And this our writers of magazines and reviews, swallow without any difficulty! Is it from the just judgment of God, that men who do not believe the Bible, will believe any thing The king of all reptiles, which are known with any certainty, is the CROCODILE. There are sixty-two joints in the back bone, which, though very closely united, have sufficient play to enable the animal to bend like a bow to the right and the left; so that what we hear of escaping the creature, by turning out of the right line, and of the animal’s not being able to wheel after its prey,. seems to be fabulous. It is likely the crocodile can turn with great case; for the joints of its back are not stiffer than those of other animals: and we know by experience, it can wheel about very nimbly for its size. It is probable, that the smell of musk, which all these animals cxhale, may render them agreeable to the savages of some parts of Africa. They are often known take the part of this animal, which contains the musk, and wear it as a perfume about their persons. Travellers are not agreed in what part of the body their musk-bags are contained; some say in the ears; some, in the parts of generation; but the most probable opinion is, that this musky substance is amassed in glands under the legs and arms. The American crocodile, or allegator, is only fifteen or sixteen feet long. But those bred in Africa, or the East-Indies, are said to be between five-and-twenty and thirty. It may well be said of him, which cannot be said of the whale, that his scales are his pride: for on his back, as well as on his head, they are impene­trable as steel. No creature dares withstand him. “He is the king of the children of pride.” And as every female crocodile lays some hundreds of eggs at once, they would utterly dispeople the waters, were it not that the male devours all he can find of them. And so diligent is he in his search, that scarce one out of a hundred escapes him. It is another instance of divine mercy, that he cannot bite under water. By this circumstance, creatures that are able to dive, generally escape his ravenous jaws. It is a vulgar error, that he moves the upper jaw: lie moves the lower only. The CAMELEON, as well as the allegator, is of the lizard-kind. Some in Egypt are twelve inches long; but the Arabian seldom exceeds six. He has four feet, and a long flat tail, whereby lie hangs on trees, as well as by his feet. His snout is long, his back sharp, and grained like shagreen. He has no ears, neither does he make or receive any sound. The tongue is half the length of the animal, round to the tip, which is fiat and hollow, somewhat like an elephant’s trunk. And this he darts out, and draws back with surprising swiftness. The great use of this is, to catch flies, which are its proper food; not the air, as is vulgarly thought, by darting it out upon them. Its colour is not always the same. One at Paris, when it was in the shade, and at rest, was of a bluish gray. In the sunshine, this changed to a darker gray, and its less illumined parts to various colours. When handled or stirred it appeared speckled with dark spots bordering upon green. If it was wrapt up a few minutes in a linen cloth, it was sometimes taken out whitish. But it did not take the colour of any other cloth or substance that enclosed it. So that its assuming all the colours it comes near, is a groundless imagination. The cameleon at London was of several colours, like a mottled coat. The most discernible were, a green, a sandy yellow, and a liver colour. When stirred or warmed it was suddenly full of black spots, as big as a large pin’s head. But when it was quiet, they gradually disappeared. There are four species of cameleons: 1. The Arabian, about the size of the green lizard. This is of a whitish colour, varie­gated with reddish and yellowish spots. 2. The Egyptian, which is of a middle hue, between a whitish and a faint green. 3. The Mexican. And, 4. A kind which has been frequently shewn in Europe, and differs from all the rest. His head is large: but he alters his body at pleasure, inflating it more or less : and not only his body, but his legs and tail. This is peculiar to him. The body, thus puffed up, will remain so two hours. But it is insensi bly sinking all the time. It can continue a long time in either of these states; but is generally uninflated. It then looks miserably lank and lean: its back bone may be seen perfectly, its ribs counted, and even the tendons of the feet distinctly Seen through the skin. Its mouth is furnished with continued, denticulated bones: but it does not appeal- what use they are of, since it preys on flies, and swallows them whole, unless for holding a stick in its mouth crossways: which, according to Ælian, he frequently does, to pre­vent being swallowed by serpents. . The structure and motion of his eyes are surprising. They appear to be large spheres of which one half stands out of the head, and is covered with a thick skin, perforated with a small hole at. top. Through this is seen a very vivid and bright pupil surrounded with a yellow il-is. This hole- is a longitudinal slit, which he opens more or less at pleasure. The motion of his eyes is not less singular. It can turn them, so as to see either forward, backward, or on either side, without moving the head at all, which is fixt to the shoulders. And he can give one eye all these motions, while the other is perfectly still. Each foot has five toes, all of one side, two behind and three before. He moves very slowly on the ground, but on trees more easily. Its tail is then its safety, as it twists it round the branches, when in any danger of falling. But bow can so slow a creature catch tile most nimble sorts of insects What nature has denied it in agility, is abundantly supplied by other means. Its slow and easy motion renders it but little suspected at a distance. And when it comes within a proper space of its object, it stretches out its tail, poises its body, and fixes itself,, so as seldom to meet with a disappointment. When all is ready, it uncoils its long, slender tongue, and darts it so swift as scarce ever to miss its prey. The common colour of the cameleons in Smyrna is green, toward the belly inclining to a yellow. But those in the ruins of the castle are greyish, like the stones among which they breed. One of them,, having been kept in a napkin, appeared whitish; but it never changed to red or blue, though wrapt in cloth of those colours for several hours together. On being handled or disturbed, it became stained with dark spots, bordering on green. Sometimes from a green all over, it became full of black spots: sometimes when it appeared black, green spots suddenly appeared. So far is it from being true, that it changed its colour, according to every object near it. Nor could we perceive this change to be any fixed law; it rather seemed spontaneous. This only was constant; being placed on green, it became green; being on the earth, it changed to the colour of earth. Another uncommon creature of tile lizard kind is a SALAMAN­DER. This is supposed to live in fire; but without any ground. It is indeed generally found in the chinks of glass-houses, or near furnaces, where the heat is so great, that no other animal could endure it, without being destroyed in afe-v minutes But some years ago, the trial was made by several gentlemen, whether it could really live in fire. Some charcoal was kindled, and the animal laid upon the burning coals. Immediately it emitted a blackish liquor, which entirely quenched them. They lighted more coals, and laid it upon them. It quenched them a second time in the same manner. But being presently laid on a fire, it was in a short time burnt to ashes. In many parts of Lower Egypt, there is a kind of lizard termed OOCAREL. It resembles a crocodile, only that it is but three or four feet long, and lives wholly on the land. As it is exceeding fond of the milk of ewes and she goats, it makes use of a remark­able expedient. It twists its long tail round the leg of the ewe or goat, and so sucks her at his leisure. In most parts of Italy there are swarms of lizards, especially of the green kind. In the spring, hundreds of them are seen, basking on the roofs, and crawling up and down the walls of houses. They are very nimble, and have a bright sleek skin, and beautiful eyes, but are entirely harmless. The scorpions are not so; they harbour not only in old walls and under stones, but in every part of the house, especially the beds; and if touched, immediately sting. The sting of an Apulian scorpion, has the same effect with the bite of a tarantula. And it requires the same method of cure; only by different instruments, the flute and bagpipe in particular, with the brisk beat of a drum. But the common remedy against the sting of a scorpion is, to bruise the animal, and bind it on the wound. 6. With regard to water lizards, commonly called NEWTS, which most .people suppose to be venomous, they are harmless as land lizards, and are found in summer, in most shallow, stand­ing waters. One, who kept several of them in glass jars for many months, observes, in respect of that odd circumstance, casting their skins, they do this every fortnight or three weeks. A (lay or two before the change, the animal appears more slug­gish than usual, and takes no notice of its food, which at other times it devours greedily. The skin in some parts appears loose, and not of so lively a colour as before. It begins this work, by loosening with its fore feet, the skin about its jaws, pushing it forward gently and gradually both above and below the head, till it can slip out first one leg and then the other. Then it thrusts the skin backward as far as those legs, can reach. Next it rubs itself against pebbles, gravel or whatever else it can meet with, till more than half the body is freed from the skin: which then appears doubled back, covering the hinder part of tile body and tail. Then turning its head round to meet its tail, it takes hold of the skin ‘with its mouth, and Setting his feet thereon, by degrees pulls it off, drawing the hind legs out, as it did the fore legs. If you then examine the skin, it will be found inside outward, but without the least hole or breach, the part which covered the hind legs seemingly hike gloves turned inside out,. though entirely Perfect and unbroken. They do not however put off the coverings of their eyes, as most kinds of snakes do; for the skin of the newt has always two holes, at the places where the eyes have been. When the skin is off, if it be not soon taken away, the creature swallows it whole. Many creatures, of very different kinds, put off their skins or shells at certain periods, and if we may guess at other shell fish by the fresh water shrimps, their shells are put off without any breach but one, lengthways in the middle of the belly part, through which the body, tail and claws are pulled out, and the shell left in a manner whole. In the insect tribe, the changes of caterpillars are well known. The spider throws off its skin as frequently, getting out of it by a rupture underneath, and leaving every claw entire ; and even the horny covering of his forceps. Even the mite casts its skin at several short periods, and nearly in the same manner. A particular species of water lizards, abbe Spallanzani terms an AQUATIC SALAMANDER. Yet, he observes, this cannot bear any great degree either of heat or cold. But the most remarka­ble circumstance relating to it, is, that let its tail, legs or even jaws be cut away, and in a short time they are reproduced. The tail, beside a complete apparatus of nerves, muscles, glands, arteries and veins, has vertebræ of real bone. And their legs do not differ from those of the most perfect animals, in the number of bones, whereof they are composed. 7. Now, when the legs and tails of this animal are taken away, new vertebræ, new bones are produced: a phenomenon as won­derful as any hitherto known. This takes place in every known species of salamanders, at any period of their life, on the earth or in the water; and let the length of the divided parts be greater or less. Nor do tile constituent parts of the new tail differ from those of the part that was cut, either in number, structure or connection. But a whole year is scarce sufficient to render the new part equal to that which was cut off. Indeed the regenerat­ing power ceases during the winter half year. When the part reproduced is cut off, it is succeeded by another, which proceeds in the same manner as the former, and this a second, a third or fourth time: the salamander still forming new parts by the same unalterable laws. There are in the legs of a salamander ninety and nine bones. In the four regenerated legs there is the same number. The form and internal structure of the reproduced bones, and of the natural, are the same. But the colour of the new bones is some­what different, and their substance more tender. And all these parts are reproduced in the same manner and at the same time, the creature is fed, or kept fasting. When their jaws are cut off, the same thing happens. New bones are reproduced, new teeth, new cartilages, veins and arteries. From the wonderful reproduction of SO many parts in this, may we not extend our inquiry to other animals of equally complicated structure Let us. inquire first concerning tad­poles. If the whole of their tails be cut off, they sink to the bottom of the water and perish. But if part only, they soon recover it. In one summer’s day the reproduction makes a rapid progress in young tadpoles. And in a short time, the new part’ of the tail and the old together, equal the tail of others born at the same time. A second, third and fourth reproduction constantly follows, upon a second, third or fourth section. Nay, successive regenerations never fail, as long as the tadpole keeps its tail. If no nourishment is given to tadpoles, they do not grow, nor are the membranes of the infant state cast off. Yet the tails cut off, will be reproduced nearly in the same time. If the head of an earth-worm be cut off, a new head is repro­duced. Nay, if both the head and tail are cut off from the middle part, both of them are reproduced. Nor is this regene­rating power soon exhausted. A second reproduction being cut off, is succeeded by a third, this by a fourth, that by a fifth, and so on. The same thing takes place in another kind of worm, little known, which the abbe calls an AQUATIC BOAT-WORM. It is com­posed of rings like the earth-worm, which it shortens or lengthens at pleasure, and so moves from place to place. Toward the head it is as large as the largest goose-quill, and its length is about a span. It lives in shallow, clear water, either stagnated or flowing gently, fixing its fore part in the mud, whence it is nourished. The back part reaches the top of the water, and being stretched and hollowed, forms a kind of boat on the surface. Its sides rise above the water, so that none gets in. But on the least agitation of the water, the insect immediately shuts up his boat, and retires into the mud. When the motion is over, he again thrusts his tail out of the water, and makes his boat afresh, which remains entire till he is disturbed again. And this he does not fail to make, though the mud is removed, and he left with little water. It seems the organs of respiration are placed in this part, as they are in various sorts of aquatic animals. These worms are quicker in their reproduction than earth­worms. They more easily recover their heads, as well as tails, and this power exerts itself throughout the whole year. The case of the snail may seem still more strange. It can first reproduce its horns. After they have been cut off, the trunk becomes like a small knob, whence springs a black point, which is tile eye. The trunk then increases in length and size, till it equals the former horn. If the head be cut off, a new one succeeds; but in a singular manner. If a worm’s head be cut off, the reproduction is an entire organic body; that is, a part in miniature exactly similar to that which was cut off. But what appears on the trunk of a snail, is not an entire organic body, containing in miniature all the parts of the head which were cut off: but these parts grow piece by piece at different intervals, and require time to unite and consolidate into one mass, resembling the original pattern. For instance: sometimes the reproduction is like a round, small body, containing the primary parts of the two lips, and of the small horns, which are united to the mouth, and to the new formed teeth. This round body is placed on the centre of the trunk. The large horns and the fore part of the snail, which in the entire animal are contiguous to the head, are wanting. Another trunk shews the larger horn on the right side, more than a tenth of an inch long, already provided with its eye. Under this, at some distance, the first lineaments of the lip appear. In a third snail arise three horns, two of which are of their natural length, while tile third is but just above the skin. Some shew nothing but the trunk, without any sign of reproduc­tion, although the head was taken off at the Same time with that of the others, from which are come forth such a number and variety of organs: on. the contrary, in some snails, there is no difference between tile old and the new head: only there is an ash-coloured line, pointing out exactly where the head was cut off. That earth-worms feed upon earth, will be put beyond dispute, if any one is at the pains to examine the little curled heaps of dung, which are ejected out of their holes. But it is in all pro­bability, not pure earth, but such as is made of leaves, roots, and plants, when gradually rotted and moulded away. And what makes this the more probable, is, that -they are observed to drag’ the leaves of trees into their holes. 8. Both the whole TAPE-WORM, and every part of it, seems to be a complete animal. In every joint there is a mouth for receiv­ing food, and doubtless organs for digesting it. Single joints, as well as larger pieces, are frequently voided alive. All those pieces are almost equally turgid with chyle. Now it is not pro­bable, that a single worm should, in voiding, be broke in so many pieces: and had it been done some time before, they would be emaciated. There seems then to be an analogy, between this jointed worm and knotted grass; each joint of which is a com­plete plant, and propagates itself. It is indeed a zoophyton, a plant-animal, bred in animal bodies: since so large and frequent detruncations do not destroy the life of it. 9.Not only vegetables and animals have their respective insects, to which they afford food as well as habitation, but stones themselves. Those kind of worms, called, LITHOPHAGI, are a proof of this. One might think it incredible that these little creatures should subsist by gnawing stones. And yet nothing is more certain, these worm-eaten stones being found almost every where. These are generally lime-Stones. Grit and free-stone are seldom eaten in this manner. Yet there is an ancient wall of free-stone in the Benedictine abbey at Caen in Normandy, so eaten with worms, that one may put one’s hands into many of the Cavities. The worms are covered with a greenish shell, having fiat heads, a wide mouth, and four black jaws. And they lay their eggs in those cavities, which they gnaw in the stone. One more reptile we may examine a little more minutely, in which the wisdom of God is not a little displayed. It is a com­mon LEECH. When this is at rest, its upper lip forms a regular semicircle. When he moves, this semicircle becomes two oblique lines, the junction of which makes an angle, which he ap­plies to whatever lie would fix himself to. The two lips then make a sort of hollow. Both these and its mouth are made of so supple fibres, that they take the figure of the part they are applied to, and fix perfectly close to it. The wounds it makes are not punctures, but three cuts made like three rays, which uniting in a centre make equal angles with each other. They appear as if made by a fine lancet. They are indeed made by three rows of fine and sharp teeth, which the mi­croscope shews to be placed along the middle of a strong muscle. When the mouth has seized on any part, the muscle exerts its action, and strikes in all the teeth at once. Between tile mouth and the stomach there is a small space, in which are two different arrangements of fibres. The one set are flat and plain, the others are circular. The former contracting in length, enlarge the capacity of the throat; and tile circular ones determine the blood toward the stomach, by contracting it when the blood is received. Hence it passes into a kind of mem­branous sack, which serves the animal both for stomach and in­testines. This takes up the greatest part of its body. On each side of this long canal there is a number of little bags. These, being filled with blood, swell out the body of tile animal to a large size. Here it remains for many months, and serves the creature for nourishment. If any thing is excreted, it can be only by insensible perspiration, since the creature has no anus, nor any aperture which can supply the place of one. FROGS change their skins every eight days. TOADS, as well as frogs, are harmless, defenceless creatures, and their greatest crime is their ugliness. Newly generated frogs, which fall to the bottom, remain there the whole day; but having lengthened themselves a little, for at first they are doubled up, they mount to the mucus which they had quitted, and feed upon it with great vivacity. The next day ihey acquire their TADPOLE form. In three days more they have little fringes, that serve as fins beneath the head, and these, four days after, assume a more perfect form. It is then they feed greedily Upon the pond-weed; and leaving their former food, on this they continue to subsist, till they arrive at maturity. When they come to be ninety-two days old, two small feet begin to Sprout near the tail; and the head appears to be separate from the body. Tile next clay the legs are considerably enlarged; four days after they refuse all vegetable food; their mouth ap­pears furnished with teeth; and their hinder legs are completely formed. In two days more the arms are completely produced, and now the frog is every way perfect, except that it still con­tinues to carry tile tail. In this odd situation the animal, resem­bling at once both a frog and a lizard, is seen frequently rising to the surface, not to take food, but to breathe. In this state it con­tinues for six or eight hours, and then tile tail dropping off, the animal appears in its perfect form. Thus the frog, in less than a day, having changed its figure, changes its appetites also. So extraordinary is this transform­ation, that the food it fed upon so greedily but a few days before, is now utterly rejected. It would even starve, if supplied with no other. As soon as the animal acquires its perfect state, it becomes carnivorous, and lives entirely upon worms and insects. But as the water cannot supply these, it is obliged to quit its native element, and seek for food upon land, where it lives by hunting worms, and taking insects by surprise. Concerning the toad,” says Mr. Arocott, “ that lived with us so many years, and was so great a favourite, the greatest curi­osity was its being so remarkably tame; it had frequented some steps before our hail door, some years before my acquaintance commenced with it, and had been admired by my father for its size (being the largest I ever met with), who constantly paid it a visit every evening. I knew it myself above thirty years: and, by constantly feeding it, brought it to be so tame that it always came tq the candle and looked up, as if expecting to be taken up and, brought upon the table, where I always fed it with insects of all sorts. It would follow them, and when within a proper distance, would fix its eyes, and remain motion less for near a quarter of a minute, as if preparing for the stroke, which was an instantaneous throwing its tongue at a great distance upon the insect, which stuck to the tip, by a glutinous matter. The motion is quicker than the eye can follow. I cannot say how long my father had been acquainted with the toad before I knew it; but when I was first acquainted with it, he used to mention it as the old toad. I have known it for thirty-six years. This toad made its appearance as soon as the warm weather came, and retired to some dry bank to repose till spring. When we new-laid the steps, I had two holes made in the third step, on each side, with an hollow of more than a yard long; in which I imagined it slept as it came from thence at its first appearance. It was seldom provoked. Neither that toad, nor the multitudes I have seen tormented with great cruelty, ever shewed the least desire of revenge. In the heat of the day toads come to the mouth of their hole; I believe for air.’ I once, from my parlour window, observed a large toad I had in the bank of a bowling-green, about twelve at noon, in a very hot day, very busy and active upon the grass. So uncommon an appearance made me go out to see what it was; when I found an innumerable swarm of winged ants had dropped round his hole, which temptation was irresistible. Had it not been for a tame raven, I make no doubt but it would have been now living. This bird one day seeing it. at the mouth of its hole, pulled it out, and although I rescued it, pulled out one eye, and hurt it so, that notwithstanding it lived a twelvemonth, it never enjoyed itself, and had a difficulty of taking its food, missing its mark for want of its eye.” All toads are torpid and unvenomous, and seek the darkest re­treats, not from the malignity of their nature, but the multitude of their enemies. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 19: PART 02 - CHAPTER 5 - OF INSECTS ======================================================================== Chapter 5 - Of Insects 1. Of their shape and make 14. Of the cicadula 2. Of their eyes 15. Of the drone-fly 3. Their heart, respiration 16. Of the fire-fly 4. Their generation, particularly the silk-worm and silk-spider 17. Of the ephemeron 5. Of the common spider 18. Of butterflies 6. Of the tarantula 19. Of catterpillars 7. Of the coya 20. Of the transformation of insects 8. Of microscopic animals 21. Of ants 9. Of the flea 22. Of the ant-eater 10. Of the louse 23. Of bees 11. Of the death watch 24. Of the polypus 12. Of the eggs of flies 25. Of the transformation of animals 13. Of gnats There remains only the lowest order of animals, usually termed INSECTS, because they have an incision, as it were, which in a manner cuts them in two parts. Of these I would speak the more largely, because generally they are little known. Rather they are despised, and purposely passed over, as unwor­thy of our consideration. And yet it is certain, the wisdom of the great Creator does most conspicuously shine in them. I. As to the shape of their bodies, though it be somewhat different from that of birds, being for the most part not so sharp before, to cut and make way through the air, yet it is better adapted to their manner of life. For, considering they have little need of long flights, and that the strength and activity of their wings, far surpass the resistance they meet with from the air, there was no occasion for their bodies to be so sharpened. But the nature of their food, the manner of gathering it, and the great necessity they have of accurate Vision, and large eyes in order thereto, required the largeness õf the head, and its amplitude before the rest of the body is all well made, and nicely poised for their flight and other occasions. The make of their bodies is no less admirable: not built throughout with bones, covered over with flesh, and then with skin, as in most other animals: but clothed with a curious mail of a middle nature, serving both as a skin and bone too; as it were on purpose to shew, that. the great Contriver of nature is not bound up to one way only. How admirably are the legs and wings fitted for their intended service Not to overload the body nor to retard it, but give it the most proper and convenient motion. What, for example, can be better contrived for this service than the wings Distended and strengthened by the finest bones; and these covered with the’ finest and lightest membranes; and many of them provided with the finest articulations, and foldings, in order to be laid up in their cases, when they do not use them; and yet always ready to be extended for flight. 2. The structure of the EYE is in all creatures an admirable piece of mechanism. But this is peculiarly observable in that of an insect. Its hardness is an excellent guard against external injuries: and its outer coat is all over beset with curious, trans­parent inlets, enabling it to see every way, without any loss of time, or trouble to move the eye. And their feelers, besides their use in cleaning the eyes, are a good guard to them in their walk or flight, enabling them by the sense of feeling to discover annoyances, which, by their nearness, might escape the sight. The eye of a fly is in truth an assemblage of multitudes, often many thousands of small eyes. Nature has given each fly two large reticular eyes, that are covered with a kind of network. And as each contains such a multitude of smaller eyes, one would imagine this might suffice. Yet some flies have four reticular eyes; the two smaller are placed as usual, the two larger are behind the other, on the upper part of the head. In different species the reticular eyes are of different colours. Some are brown, some yellow, green, red, and this in all the different shades of those colours. And some have the. gloss of metals highly polished, But, besides these, many species of flies have a sort of eyes, which are not ‘reticular, but of a perfectly Smooth and even sur­face, and far’ smaller than the reticular. Three of these are on the back of the head of vast numbers, which are triangularly placed. Some have more, and some have less than three. Gnats have none of them- Their heads are in a manner covered with their reticular eyes, so as to leave no room or occasion for smooth ones. Nor are these smooth eyes peculiar to flies. Other insects also have them: the grasshopper in particular has two, which are placed near the nose. 3. The species of insects are almost innumerable. All of these, some suppose to have no heart, as they have no sensible heat, none that can be perceived either by the touch, or by any other experi­ment. But this is a mistake. Many indeed have not such a heart as other animals have: but all have something analogous to it, something that answers the same purpose. Some likewise have thought, that insects have no respira­tion. But later experiments shew, that there is no species of them which have not lungs, and these larger in proportion than other animals. In most of them they lie on or near the surface of the body. And hence it is, that if flies are besmeared with oil, or any other unctuous matter, they die in a short time, their respiration being stopt, so that they are properly suffocated. 4. Some also imagined, that insects were generated out of mere putrefaction, because they observed worms come out of putrified flesh, which afterwards turned to flies. But it is certain, if putrifying flesh be shut up close, no worms are ever generated from it. Hence we learn, that flies lay their eggs in flesh, which hatch when it putrifies: so that the animal just comes to life when its food is ready for it. All insects lay their eggs, where there is heat enough to hatch them, and proper food as soon as they are hatched. Those whose food is in the water, lay their eggs in the water: those to whom flesh is a proper food, in flesh those to whom the fruits or leaves of vegetables are food, are deposited on the proper fruits or leaves. And constantly the same kind is found on the same fruit or plant. Those that require more warmth, are lodged by the parent, in or near the body of some animal. And as for those to whom none of these methods are proper, the parents make their nests by perforations in the earth, in wood, in ‘combs: carrying in and sealing up provisions, that serve both to produce the young, and to feed them when pro­duced. The eggs of all insects become worms, commonly called nymphæ. They are next changed into aurelia, so called, enclosed in a case; and these dying, a fly or butterfly succeeds. Some aurelia shine like polished gold. From the beautiful and resplendent colour, some authors have called it a chrysalis, implying a creature made of gold. This brilliant hue, which does. not fall short of the best gilding, is formed in the same manner in which we see leather obtain a gold colour; though none of. that metal ever enters into’ the tincture. It’ is only formed by a brown varnish laid upon a white ground; and time light thus gleam­ing through the transparency of the brown, gives a charming golden yellow. These two colours are found one over the other in the aurelia, and the whole appears gilded, without any real gilding. To trace these wonderful changes a little, In one kind of insects. A SILK-WORM, from a small egg, becomes a worm of the cater pillar kind, and feeds on mulberry leaves, till it comes to maturity. Then it’ winds itself up into a silken case, about the size and shape of a pigeon’s egg, and is metamorphosed into an aurelia, in which state it has no motion or sign of life: till at length it awakes, breaks through its silken sepulchre, and appears a butterfly. As soon as the silk-worm has strength, he makes his web, a slight tissue, which is the ground of this admirable work. This is his first day’s employ. On the second, .he covers himself almost over with silk. The third, he is quite hid. The following days he employs in thickening his ball, always working from one single end so fine a thread, that those who have examined it, affirm it would reach six miles. The SILK-SPIDER makes a thread, every whit as strong, glossy, and beautiful as the silk-worm. It spins from seven nipples. These, as so many wire-drawing irons, draw out a viscous liquor, which gradually dries in the air and becomes silk.* Each of these nipples contain many smaller nipples, invisible to the naked eye; through the several perforations, whereof, numberless finer threads are drawn. Before the spiders begin to spin, they apply more or fewer of the large nipples to the body whence the web is begun. And as they apply them more or less strongly, more or fewer of the smaller nipples come to touch: and accordingly the whole thread will be compounded of more or fewer single threads. One compound thread frequently consists of fifteen or sixteen single ones. Their threads are of two kinds: one serves only for the web with which they catch flies. The other is much thicker and stronger, in which they wrap up their eggs, in order to shelter them from the cold, as well as from devouring insects. These threads they wind loosely round, resembling the balls of silk­worms that have been loosened for the distaff. * All boneless insects are hermaphrodites, as are snails, leeches and many sorts of worms. But such worms as become flies are not, being indeed of no sex. The balls are gray at first, but turn blackish when long exposed to the air. From these balls a silk Is made, nothing inferior to the common silk; It takes all kinds of dyes, and may be made into all kinds of stuffs. Only there is a difficulty in keeping the spiders: for they are so extremely quarrelsome, that if a hundred of them. be put together, in a few hours scarce twenty will be alive. 5. Amazing wisdom is displayed In the make of the common spider. She has six teats, each furnished with innumerable holes. The tip of each ‘teat is divided into numberless little prominences, which serve to keep the threads apart at the- first exit, till they are hardened by the air. In every teat, threads may come out at above a thousand’ holes. But they are formed at a considerable distance, each of them having a little sheath, in which it is brought to the hole. In the belly are two little soft bodies, which are the first source of the silk. In shape and transparency they resemble glass beads, and the tip of each goes winding toward the teat. From the root of each bead proceeds another branch much thicker, which also winds towards the same part. In these beads and their branches is contained the matter of which the silk is formed, the body of the bead being a kind of reservoir; the two branching canals proceeding from it. It was before observed, that the tip of each teat. may give passage to above a thousand threads, And yet the size of the teat in the largest spider does not exceed a small pin’s head. But the smallest spiders no sooner quit their eggs than they begin to spin. Indeed their threads can scarce be perceived, but the web formed thereof is as thick and close as any. And no wonder, as four or five hundred little spiders often concur’ in the same work. How minute are their teats! When perhaps the whole spider is less than the teat of its parent. Each parent lays four or five hundred eggs, all wrapt up in a bag. And as soon as the young ones have broken through the bag, they begin to spin. And even this is not the utmost which nature does. There are some kinds of spiders so small, as not to be discerned without a microscope. And yet there are webs found under them! What must be the fineness of these threads! To one of these the finest hair is as a cat rope. There are several species of spiders that fly, and that to a sur­prising height. “ The last October,” says an eminent writer, “ I took notice that the air was very full of webs. I forthwith mounted to the top, of the highest steeple on the minister (in York) and could thence discern them yet exceeding high above me. Some of the spiders that fell upon the pinnacles I took, arid found them to be of a kind, which seldom or never enter houses, and cannot be supposed to have taken their’ Right from the steeple." There are divers animals as well as spiders, that have some way of conveyance, utterly unknown to us. Thus the animals on the standing waters, so numerous as often to discolour them, and tinge them red, yellow or green. That these have some way of conveyance is certain, because not only most stagnated waters are stocked with them, yea, not only new pits and ponds, but even holes and gutters on the top of houses, churches and steeples. That they have not legs for travelling so far, is manifest; it is therefore probable, either that they dart out webs, and can make themselves buoyant and lighter than the air: or that their bodies are naturally lighter than air, and so they can swim from place to place. it is highly probable, that the eggs of such as are oviparous may be light enough to float therein. To trace this matter farther: every one must have observed threads floating in the air; but few consider what end they serve.’ They are the works of spiders. Their usual method. is, to let down a thread, and then draw it after them. But in the midst of this work they sometimes desist; and turning their tail according to the wind, emit a thread with as great violence, as a jet of water discharged from a cock. Thus they continue darting it out, which the wind carries forward, till it is many yards long. Soon after, the spider throws herself off from her web, and trusting herself to the air, with this long tail, will ascend swift, and to a great height with it. These lines, which the spiders attach to them, though unobserved, make these air-threads, that waft them along the air, and enable them to prey on many insects, which they could not reach by any other means. All spiders that spin, young as well as old, cast out their threads, and sail thereby in the air. And the threads themselves shew the use thereof, being usually hung with the fragments of devoured animals. When the threads are newly spun, they are always single, and are generally seen ascending higher and higher. But when they are seen coming, down, they are sometimes composed of three or four, and either without any spider or with several. It is plain this happens from the threads meeting and entangling in the air, which of course brings them down. It is common to see a spider mount to the topmost branch of a bush, and from thence dart out several threads one after another, trying, as it were, how she likes them. When she has darted one several yards, she will of a sudden draw it up again, and wind it into a link with her fore-feet, but more frequently break it off, and let it go. A spider will sometimes dart out and break off many threads, before it spins one that it will trust to. But at length she spins one to her liking, and commits herself to the air upon it. The business of feeding is not all the use of these threads; but they evidently sport and entertain themselves by means of them, floating to and fro in the air, and changing their’ height at pleasure. These air-threads are not only found in autumn, but even in the depth of winter. The serene days at Christmas bring out many: but they are Only short and slender, being the Work of young spiders, hatched in autumn, and are thrown out as it seems only in sport. The thicker ones of autumn are the only ones intended to support the old spiders, when there is plenty of small flies in the air, which make it worth their while to sail among them. 6. The TARANTULA is a kind of spider, chiefly found near the city of Tarentum, in Apulia. It is about the size of an acorn, and has eight eyes and eight feet. Its skin is hairy; from its mouth rise two trunks, a little crooked and exceeding sharp. Through these it conveys its poison’: they seem likewise to be a kind of moveable nostrils, being in continual motion, especially ‘when it is seeking its food. It is found in other parts of Italy, but is dangerous only in Apulia. And there it does little hurt in the mountains, which are cooler, but chiefly on the plains. Indeed it is not venomous, but in the heat of summer, particularly in the dog days. It is then so enraged as to fly upon any that ‘comes within its reach.,, The bite causes a pain, like that of the stinging of a bee. Jim a few hours the patient feels a numbness, and the part is marked with a strong livid circle, which soon rises into a painful tumour. A little after he falls into a deep sadness, breathes with much difficulty, his pulse grows feeble and his senses dull. At length he looses all sense and motion and dies, unless speedily relieved. An aversion to blue and black, and an affection for white, red and green, are other unaccountable symptoms of its disorder There is no remedy but one. While he lies senseless and motionless, a musician plays several tunes. When lie hits on the right, the patient immediately begins to make a faint motion. His fingers first move in cadence, then his feet; then his legs, and by degrees his whole body. At length he rises on his feet, and begins to dance, which some will do for six hours without intermission. After this he is put to bed, and when his strength is recruited, is called up by the same tune to a second dance. This is continued for six or seven days at least, till he is so weak, that he can dance no longer. This is the sign of his being cured; for if the poison acted still, he would dance till he dropt down dead. When he is thoroughly tired he awakes as out of sleep, without remembering any thing that is past. And some­times he is totally cured; but if not, he finds a melancholy gloom, shuns men, seeks water, and if not carefully watched, often leaps into a river. In some the disorder returns that the twelvemonth, perhaps for twenty or thirty years. And each time it is removed as at first. Equally unaccountable are the two relations published some years since, by a physician of undoubted credit. The first is, a gentleman was seized with a violent fever, attended with a delirium. On the third day he begged to hear a little concert in his chamber. It was with great difficulty the physician consented. From the first tune, his face assumed a serene air, his eyes were no longer wild, and the convulsions ceased. He was free from the fever during the concert; hut when that was ended, it returned. The remedy was repeated, and both the delirium and fever always ceased during the concerts, In ten days, music wrought an entire cure, and he relapsed no more. The other case is that of a dancing master, who, ‘through fatigue, fell into a violent fever. On the fourth or fifth, day he was seized with a lethargy, which after some time changed into a furious delirium. He threatened all that were present, and obstinately refused all the medicines that ‘were offered him.. One of them saying, that perhaps music, might a little compose his imagination; a friend of his took up his violin, and began to play on it. The patient started up in his bed, like one agreeably surprised, and shewed by iris head (his arms being held) the pleasure he felt Those who held his arms, finding the effects of the violin, loosened their hold, and let him move them, according to the tunes. In about a quarter of an hour, he fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke he was out of all danger. We have many other odd accounts of the power of music; and it must not be denied, but that on some particular occasions, musical sounds may have a very powerful effect. I have seen all the horses and cows in a field, where there were above a hundred, gather round a person that was blowing a French horn, and seeming to testify an awkward kind of satisfaction. Dogs are well known to be very sensible of different tones in music; and I have sometimes heard them sustain a very ridiculous part in a concert. The great old lion which was some years since kept at the infirmary in Edinburgh, while he was roaring with the utmost fierceness, no sooner heard a bag-pipe, than all his fierceness ceased. lie laid his ear close to the front of the den, nibbled his nose and his teeth against the end of his pipe, and then rolled upon his back for very glee. I have seen a German flute have the same effect on an old lion and a young tyger in the tower of London. 7. There is found in America a kind of spider more mischiev­ous than even the tarantula, chiefly in the vallies of Neyba, and others within the jurisdiction of Popayon. It is called a COYA. It is much less than a bug, and is of a fiery red colour. It is found in the corners of walls and among the herbage. On squeezing it, if any moisture from it falls on the skin of either man or beast, it immediately penetrates the flesh, and causes large tumours, which are soon followed by death. The only remedy is, on the first appearance of a swelling, to singe the person all over with a flame of straw, or of the long grass growing on those plains. This the Indians perform with great dexterity, some holding him by the feet, others by the hands. Travellers here are warned by their Indian guides, if they feel any thing crawl on their neck or face, not even to lift their hand, the coya being so delicate a texture, that it would immediately burst. But let them tell the Indian what they feel, and he comes and blows it away. The beasts which feed there, are taught by instinct, before they touch the herbage with their lips, to blow on it with all their force, in order to clear it of these pernicious vermin. And when their smell informs them, that a coya’s nest is near, they immediately leap and run to some other part. Yet sometimes a mule, after all his care, has taken in a coya with his pasture. In this case after swelling to a frightful degree, it expires upon the spot.’ Thus does even the irrational creation “ groan and travail in pain together,” until it shall be “ delivered into the glorious liberty of the children of God !“ Mention was made of the extreme smallness of some spiders.. But how much smaller are those ANIMALCULA, discerned by the microscope These are in almost all water. Even in that wherein the best glasses can discover no particles of animated matter, after a few grains of pepper, or a small fragment of a plant of almost any kind, has been sometime in it, animals full of life are produced, and so numerous as to equal the fluid itself in quantity. A small quantity of water taken from any ditch in summer, is found to abound with just such creatures, only larger. Nay any water, set in open vessels in the summer months, will, after a few days, yield multitudes of them. These we know by their’ future changes are the FLY-WORMS of GNATS, and several other sorts of flies. And we easily judge, they owe their origin to the eggs of the parent-fly, there depo­sited. No doubt then but the air abounds with other animalcula, as minute as the worms in these fluids. And these are the flying-worms of these animalcula, which after a proper time spent in that state, will become flies like those to which they owe their origin. The waters in which different liquors are infused afford a pro­per matter for the worms of different species of flies. And some of these doubtless are viviparous, others oviparous. This may occasion the different time taken up for producing insects in dif­ferent fluids. Those proper for the worms of a viviparous fly, will be soonest full of them: whereas a longer time is required to hatch the eggs of the oviparous. Now, every animalcule being an organized body, how delicate must the parts be that are necessary to make it such, and to pre­serve its vital actions It is hard to conceive how, in so narrow a compass, there is a heart, to be the fountain of life, muscles necessary for its motion, glands to secrete its fluids, stomach and bowels to digest its food, and other innumerable parts, without which an animal cannot subsist, And every one of these must have fibres, membranes, coats, veins, arteries, nerves, and an infi­nite number of tubes, whose smallness exceeds all efforts of imagination. And yet there are parts that must be infinitely smaller than these, namely the fluids that move through them, the blood, lymph and animal spirits, whose subtilty, even in large animals, is incredible. As to some of the animalcules observed by Lewenhoeck, he computed, that three or four hundred of them placed close together in a line, would only equal the diameter of a grain of sand. Twenty-seven millions then of these’ animals equal in bulk a grain of sand. But Hartsoeker carries the matter still farther. If, says he, according to our’ present system of generation, all animals were formed from the beginning of the world, and enclosed one within another, and all of them in the first animal of each species: how minute must the animalcula produced now, have been at the beginning 9. Even the meanest and most contemptible of insects, skews the wisdom of its Creator. FLEAS, for instance, deposite their eggs only on such animals, as afford them a proper food. These hatch into worms of a shining pearl-colour, which feed on the scurf of the cuticle. In a fortnight they are very active, and if disturbed, suddenly roll themselves into a ball. Soon after they begin to creep, with a very swift motion. When arrived at their full size, they spin a thread out of their mouth, wherewith they form them­selves a case. After a fortnight’s rest here, each of them bursts a perfect flea, leaving its exuviæ behind. It is milk-white till the second day before its eruption; then it changes colour and gets strength, so that upon its first delivery, it springs nimbly away. Minute animals are found proportionably much stronger and more active than large ones. The spring of a flea in its leap vastly exceeds any thing greater animals are capable of. Mr. De Lisle has computed the velocity of a little creature, which ran three inches in half a second. Now supposing its feet to be the fifteenth part of a line, it must then, in order to travel over such a space in such a time, make five hundred steps in the space of three inches; that is, it must shift its feet five hundred times in a second, or in the ordinary pulsation of an artery. What is the motion of any large animal, in comparison of this Or what is the swiftness of a greyhound or a race-horse, to that of such an animalcule The body of a flea appears, by a microscope, to be all over curiously adorned with a suit of polished sable armour, neatly jointed, and beset with multitudes of sharp pins. It has six legs, the joints of which are so adapted, that it can fold them up one within another; and when it leaps, they all spring out at once, whereby its whole strength is exerted, and the body raised above two hundred times its own diameter. 10. A LOUSE also affords to our observation, a very delicate structure of parts. It is divided into the head, the breast, and the tail. In the head appear two fine black eyes, with a horn that has five joints and is surrounded with hairs, standing before each eye. From the nose projects in a sheath the piercer or sucker, which it thrusts into the skin. This is judged to be seven hun­dred times finer than a hair. It has no other mouth than this. The skin of the breast is transparent, and from the under part of it proceed six legs, each having five joints; each leg is termi­nated by two claws, which it’ uses as we would a thumb and middle finger. If one of them, when hungry, be placed on the back of the hand, it will thrust its sucker into the skin, and the blood it sucks may be seen passing in a fine stream to the fore-part of the head. Falling into a roundish cavity there, it passes on to another recep­tacle in the middle of the head. Thence it runs to the breast, and then to a gut which reaches to the hinder part of the body, where in a curve it turns again a little upward. It then stands still, and seems to undergo a separation: some of it becoming clear and watery, while other black particles pass down to the anus. Lice are not hermaphrodites; and the males have stings, which the females have not. A female lays in twelve days a hundred eggs, which hatch in six days. Suppose these produce fifty males, and as many females: these females coming to their full growth in eighteen days, may each in twelve days lay a hundred eggs more, . And these in six days more may produce a young’ brood of five thousand. So swiftly do these creatures multiply! Most animals are subject to lice, but each of a different kind, and none of them like the human. Nay, even insects are not free. Beetles, ear-wigs and snails are- particularly subject to them. Numberless little red lice are often seen about the legs of spiders. A sort of whitish lice are common on bees. They are also on ants. Fishes, one would think, living in the water, and perpetually moving to and fro, should be free from lice. But they have their sorts too, which nest under their scales, the salmon in particular. Besides which, there are frequently found great numbers of long worms, in the stomach and other parts of fish. And these work themselves so deeply into their flesh, that they cannot easily be got out. Many insects are bred in the nostrils of sheep. One may take out twenty or thirty rough maggots at a time. A rough, whitish maggot is found also within the intestinum rectum of horses. Others are generated in the backs of cows, which at first are only a small knot, being an egg laid there by some insect. Afterwards it grows bigger, and contains a maggot, lying in a purulent matter. In Persia, slender worms, six or seven yards long, are bred in the legs and other parts of men’s bodies. Yea, there have been. divers instances of worms taken out of the tongue, gums, nose, and other parts, by a person of Leicester, before many witnesses. 11. A very extraordinary kind of insect, is that which is called a DEATH-WATCH, because, it makes a noise like the beating of a watch. One is a small beetle, somewhat more than a quarter of an inch long, of a dark brown, and spotted, having a large cap on the head, and two feelers springing from beneath the eyes. Dr. Derham observed it to draw back its mouth, and beat with its forehead. He kept two, a male and a female, in a box, for some months, and could bring one of them to beat when he pleased, by imitating its beating. And he soon found this ticking to be the. way, whereby they wooed one another. The other kind is a grayish insect like a louse, which beats some hours together without intermission, and that slowly; whereas the former beats only seven or eight strokes at a time, and much quicker. It is very common in summer in all parts of our houses, is nimble in running to shelter, and shy of beating, if disturbed; but is free to beat, and to answer your beating, if you do not shake the place where it lies. This commonly, if not always, beats in or near paper. It is at first a small, white egg, like a nit. It hatches in March, and creeps about with its shell on. It is then smaller than the egg itself, but soon grows to the perfect size. That death-watches sometimes beat, without wooing, we may learn from the account of an accurate observer. “As I was in my study, I happened to hear what is called a death-watch. Inclining my head towards a chair, I found it was beating there. The manner of its beating was this. It lifted up itself on its hinder legs, and extending its neck, struck its face upon the sedge, which was bared upon its outward coat, about the length of half an inch. The impression of its strokes was visible: the outward coat of the sedge being depressed, where it had just been beating, for about the compass of a silver penny. I am inclined to think it beats for food. There were several places on the sedge, where it had been at work, and where it had probably been sojourning for some days possibly the insect may sometimes woo its mate by beating thus: but it was not the case now. It had not any other of its kind near it. It seemed therefore to be preparing its food. It was about a quarter of an inch long, of a dark, dirty colour, having a broad helmet over its head, which he can draw up under it, so that is a notable defence against the falls, to which he is Continually exposed, creeping over rotten and decayed places. “The second day after I took it, I opened the box, and set it in the sun. It was soon very brisk, and crept nimbly to and fro, till suddenly it struck out its wings, and was going to take its leave; but on my shading it over, it drew in its wings, and was quiet.” This seems to be the smallest of the beetle kind. A gentleman describes one of a very, different sort, in the philosophical trans­actions. “On the removal of a large leaden cistern, I observed, at the bottom of it, black beetles. One of the largest I threw into a cup of spirits, (it being the way of killing and preparing insects for my purpose.) In a few minutes it appeared to be quite dead. I then shut it up in a box about an inch and a half diameter, and throwing it into a drawer, thought no more of it for two months, when opening the box, I found it alive and vigorous, though it had no food all the time, nor any more air than it could find in so small a box, whose cover shut very chose. A few days before, a friend had sent me three or four cock-roaches. “These I had put under a large glass; I put my. beetle among them, and fed them with green ginger, which they ate greedily; but he would never taste it, for the five weeks they lived there. The cock-roaches would avoid the beetle, and seemed frightened at his approach: but he usually stalked along not at all regarding whether they came in his way or not. During the two years and a half that I have kept him, he has neither eat nor drank. “ How then has he been kept alive Is it by the air There are particles in this, which supply a growth to some species of plants, as sempervive, orpine and house-leek: may not the same or the like particles supply nourishment to some species of animals In the amazing plan of nature, the animal, vegetable and mineral kingdoms, are not separated from each other by wide distances, but near their boundaries, differ from each other, by such minute and insensible degrees, that we cannot find out certainly, where the one begins, or the other ends. As the air therefore nourishes some plants, so it may nourish some ani­mals: otherwise a link would seem to be wanting, in the mighty chain of beings. It is certain cameleons and snakes can live many months without any visible subsistence: and probably not merely by their slow digestion, but rather by means of particles contained in the air, as this beetle did; yet doubtless in its natural state, it used more substantial food. So the plants above-named thrive best with a little earth, although they flourish a long time, and send forth branches and flowers, when they are suspended in the air. “ Even in the exhausted receiver, after it had been there half an hour, it seemed perfectly unconcerned, walking about as briskly as ever. But on the admission of the air, it seemed to be in a surprize for a minute. “ After I had kept him half a year longer, he got away, through the carelessness of a servant who took down the glass.” 12. A FEMALE FLY, within four and twenty hours after her congress with the male, begins to deposite her eggs on some sub­stance proper to give nourishment to the worm that is to be produced. These eggs in general are white and oblong. But there are some of them which are singular. To describe one species of them may suffice, the eggs laid on hog’s dung. They are white and oblong, but of a peculiar make. At one end of each of these eggs, between that end and the middle, are two little wings, standing out on either side. As soon as the fly has laid her eggs, she thrusts them into the dung. This keeps the coat of the egg soft; otherwise the embryo could never get out. But if the whole egg were thrust in, the creature would be suffocated, as soon as it is hatched. Therefore part only is to be immersed, and part to be left out. nd this is admirably pro­vided for by these wings. For when the female thrusts in the egg, it easily enters at the smaller end, which is the part first protruded from her body: but it stops at the wings, and so the upper part remains open to the air. Some species of flies fasten their eggs to the sides of vessels of water. All these eggs have a thin flake running down the two sides diametrically opposite. So that they look as if they were enclosed in a frame. The use of this frame is, to hold the body of the egg more firmly to the side of the vessel. Those eggs, which have it not, are deposited by the female fly with a viscous matter about them. Some flies lay their eggs in the bodies of caterpillars. These are at great pains to carry those caterpillars to the places’ where it is proper their eggs should be hatched. There is one species whose worm can never succeed, unless it be both bred in the caterpillar, and that caterpillar buried under ground. To this purpose the parent, when ready to lay her eggs, forms a hole in the ground, and covers it with a little clod. Then she goes in search of a proper caterpillar, perhaps one much larger than herself,, which nevertheless she drags to her hole. This she uncovers, and goes in to see if all is right. Then she goes and draws the caterpillar in, deposites her eggs in his flesh, and stops up the hole with pellets of dirt and dust, carefully rammed in between. When the worms are hatched, they feed on the flesh of the caterpillar till they are full grown; then they change into aurelia, and afterwards into the form of the parent fly, in which state they easily make their way out of the ground. Some of these lay their eggs in the bodies of smaller flies.’ They often fly with one of them in their legs, the head of it being close to their bellies. They carry these to little holes in the ground. In the first they lay their eggs. Then they bring others, to be food for their young when hatched. One fly is not enough; therefore their parents carry them more every day, crawling backward into the hole, and dragging in the flies after them. When the worms change into aurelia, their cases are made of the exuviæ of the flies they have been feeding on. The eggs ‘of insects are usually the occasion of what are termed blights. These seldom happen but on the blowing of sharp easterly winds. Many insects attend those winds, and lay their eggs on proper plants. Indeed the large worms or cater­pillars, which attend some blights, seem to be only hatched by those winds. But they probably bring those swarms of insects, which occasion the curling of the leaves of trees. Every insect feeds on one plant and no other. On this only it lays its eggs. Hence it is, that one kind of tree only is blighted, and the rest escape. All trees then cannot be blighted at once, unless one wind could bring the eggs of all insects, with as many different degrees of heat and cold, as are required to hatch and preserve each species. And what though we do not always perceive animals in blights By microscopes we discover animalcula, a million times less than those that are perceivable by the naked eye. The gentlest air’ may waft these from place to place: so that it is no wonder if they are brought to us from Great Tartary; even the cold air of which may give them life, and from whence there is not so much sea as to suffocate them in their passage, by the warmth and salt-ness of its vapours. Trees are preserved from blights by sprinkling them with tobacco-dust or pepper-dust, which are death to all insects. But one kind of blight is caused, merely by long continued, dry, easterly winds. These stop the perspiration in the tender blos­soms, so that in a short time they wither and decay: soon after, the tender leaves are affected; their perspiring matter becoming thick and glutinous, so as to be proper nutriment to the insects, which are then always found upon them. In this case the insects are riot the cause, but the effect of the blight. It is a kind of blight that produces galls, which are the buds of oaks swelled out. The cause is, into the heart of the tender bud a fly thrusts one or more eggs. This egg soon becomes a worm, and eats itself a little cell in the pith of the bud, which would have grown into a branch. The sap, which was to nourish that branch, being diverted into the remaining parts of the bud, these grow large and flourishing, and become a covering for the cell of the insect Not only the willow and some other trees, but plants also, net­tles, ground-ivy, and others, have such cases produced upon their leaves. The parent insect, with .its tail, bores the rib of the leaf when tender, ,and makes way for her egg into the very pith. Pro­bably she lays it there, with some propel juice, to prevent the vegetation of it. From this wound arises a small excrescence, which, when the egg is hatched, grows bigger and bigger, as the worm increases, swelling on each . side the leaf, between the two membranes. This worm turns afterwards to an aurelia, and then to a small green fly. The Alleppo-galls, wherewith we make our ink, are of this number, being only cases of insects, which gnawed their way out, through the little holes we see in them. For a sample of the tender galls, see the balls as round and sometimes as big as small musket bullets, growing under oaken leaves, close to the ribs, of a greenish yellowish colour. Their skin is smooth, with frequent risings therein. Inwardly they are very soft and spongy; and in the very centre is a case, with a white worm therein, which afterwards becomes a fly. As to this gall, there is one thing peculiar: the fly lies all winter within this ball, and does not come to maturity till the following spring. In the autumn these balls fall to the ground with their leaves. Yet the insect enclosed in them is fenced against the winter frosts, partly by other leaves lying upon them, and partly by the thick spungy wall, afforded by the galls themselves. 13.There are few insects more prolific than the GNAT. All its changes, from the egg to the perfect animal, are fulfilled in three weeks or a month: and there are usually seven generations of them in a year, in each of which the parent lays two or three hundred eggs. These she ranges in the form of a boat, and each egg is shaped like a nine-pin. The thicker ends of these are placed downward. They are firmly joined together by their middles, and their narrower parts stand upward. Viewed with a microscope, the larger end is observed to be terminated by a short neck, the end of which is bordered by a kind of ridge. The neck of each is sunk in the water, on which the boat swims: for it is necessary they should keep on the sur­face, since otherwise the eggs could never be hatched. The ranging these in so exact order, requires the utmost care of the parent. Gnats lay their eggs in the morning hours, and on such waters as will give support to their young. Here the parent places herself on a small stick, a leaf, or any such matter, near the water edge, in such a manner that the last ring but one of her body touches the surface of the water. The lašt ring of all, where there is the passage for the eggs, is turned upward, and every egg is thrust out vertically. When it is almost disengaged, she applies it to the sides of the Cluster already formed : ‘to which it readily .adheres by means of a viscous matter wherewith they are covered. The great difficulty is, to place the first laid eggs in a proper position to receive the rest, and to sustain themselves and them, in a proper direction. These she with great precaution places exactly, by means of her hinder legs. And when a sufficient number of them are arranged, all the rest is easy: inasmuch as these are a firm support to all that follow them. These are circumstances sufficiently extraordinary in this little animal; but it offers something still more curious in their method of its propagation. However similar insects of the gnat kind are in their appearances, yet they differ widely in the manner in which they are brought forth; for some are oviparous, some viviparous; some are males, some are females, some are of neither sex, yet still produce young, without any copulation whatsoever. This is one of the strangest discoveries in all natural history! A gnat, separated from the rest of its kind,, and enclosed in a glass vessel, with air sufficient to keep it alive, shall produce young, which also, when separated from each other, shall be the parents of a numerous progeny. Thus down for five or six generations do these extraordinary animals propa­gate in the manner of vegetables, the young bursting from the body of their parents, without any previous . impregnation. At the sixth generation, however, their propagation stops; the gnat no longer produces its like from itself, but requires the access of the male. 14. A CICADULA is a small insect found in May and June, on the stalks or leaves of plants, in a kind of froth, commonly called cuckoo-spit. This froth is not from time plant, but the mouth of the animal.; and if it be gently wiped away, will be presently seen issuing out of its mouth, till there is as large a quantity of it as before. ‘f hey are of the shape of a louse, some being whitish, some yellowish, and others green. They often change their skins, while they live in this froth, and only creep a little. But when they leave the plant they hop and fly, having wings which cover the whole body. The COCHINEAL is an insect of the same species with the gall-insect. It is found adhering to several plants; but only one communicates its valuable qualities to it, the OPANTIA or’ PRICKLE PEAR. This consists of thick leaves, and its fruit, resembling a fig, is full of a crimson juice, to which the insect owes its colour. When first hatched, it is scarce bigger than a mite, and runs about Very swiftly. But it soon loses its activity, and fixing on the least and most juicy part of the leaf, clings there for life, without moving any more, only for its subsistence, which it sucks in with its proboscis. The male has no appearance of belonging to the same species They are smaller than the Female, have wings, and like, the butterfly, are Continually in motion. They are constantly seen among the females, walking over them, as it were carelessly, and impregnating them. But it is the female only which is gathered for, use, four times in the year: for so many are the generations of them. 15. The most singular part of the life of a DRONE-FLY, is ‘that it passes in the form of a worm. It is then distinguished from all other worms by its long tail: at different times this is indeed of different lengths: but it is always longer than the worm itself. It is found, smooth, and very ‘small at the extremity; sometimes no thicker’- than a horse-hair. To know the use of this tail, we must first know the nature of the worm itself. It is an aquatic, and never leaves the water till it changes into its fly-state. They lie in multitudes in the mud at the bottom of vessels of stinking water. Put them into vessels of clean water, and they will soon shew the use of their tails. Though they live under water, they cannot live without breathing fresh air. This is the end to which their long tails serve. For even while they lie buried in the mud, their tails are extended to the top of the water, and being open at the extremity, let air into their bodies. And as soon as they’ are in a vessel of fresh water, they get to the bottom and thrust up their tails to ‘the surface. They can lengthen them at pleasure: to be assured of this, you need only pour in more water. The worms then lengthen their tails proportionably, in order to breathe from the surface: by adding more and more water you will finch they can extend their tails to the length of five inches: an extremely remarkable length for a creature little more than half an inch long. Beyond five inches however they cannot go.. And if you make the water a greater depth, they leave the bottom, and either travel up the. sides of the vessel to a proper height; or else swim in the water,, at the depth of five inches. 16. No species of flies is more remarkable than the larger FIRE-FLY, of Jamaica. It is above an inch long, and proportion-ably broad. Most of its internal parts are luminous; only the thickness of the covers hinders its appearing. But on forcing the rings that cover the body a little asunder, light issues from all the entrails. The head has two spots just behind the eyes, which emit streams of strong light. But though these flow naturally front the insect, yet it has a power of interrupting them at pleasure. And then these spots are as opaque as the surface of the body. A person may read the smallest print by the light of one of these insects, if held between the fingers, and moved along the line, with the luminous spots over the letters. They are seldom seen in the day, but wake with the evening, and move and shine most part of the night. They readily fly toward, each other. Hence the negroes have learned, to hold one between their fingers, and wave it up and down, which others seeing fly direct toward it, and pitch upon the hand. They are so torpid by day, it is hard to make them discover signs of life; and if they do, they presently relapse into the same state of insensibility. As long as they remain awake, they emit light: but they are vigorous only in the night. 17.One more insect of the fly-kind, we cannot pass by unno­ticed: the EPHEMERON, or fly that lives but part of a day. It appears usually about midsummer. It is produced about six in the evening, and dies about eleven. But before it becomes a fly, it exists three years as a worm in a clay case. It never eats front the time of its change to its death, nor has any organs for receiv­ing or digesting foods The business of its life is summed up in a few words. As soon as it has dropt its clay coat, the poor, little animal, being now light and agile, spends the rest of its short, winged state, in frisking over the waters. During this the female, being impregnated, drops. her eggs upon the water. These sink to the bottom, where they are hatched by the heat of the sun into little worms, which make themselves cases in the’ clay, and feed on the same, or on what the waters afford, without any need of’ parental care. Thus they are inhabitants of the water, till the time comes for shaking off their shell, and emerg­ing into air. Of one sort of ephemeron, Mr. Collinson writes thus. “ May 26, 1744: I was first shewn this, by the name of MAY-FLY. it lies all the year, but a few days, at the bottom of the river; then rises to the surface of the water, and splitting open its case, up springs the new animal, with a slender body’, four shining wings, and three long hairs in its tail. It next flies about to find a proper place, where it may wait for its approaching change. This comes in two or three days. I held one on my finger, while it performed this great work. It was surprising to see, how easily its back split, and produced the new birth, which leaves head, body, wings, legs and even its three-haired tail behind, or the cases of them. After it has rested a little, it flies nimbly to seek its mate. The males keep under the trees, remote from the river. Hither the females resorted, and when impregnated, soon left the males, sought the rivers, and kept continually plying up and down on the water. Every time they darted down, they ejected a cluster of eggs. They then sprang up again. Thus they went up and down, till they had exhausted their stock of eggs and spent their strength, being so weak that they can rise no more, but fall a prey to the fish. This is the end of the females. The males never resort to the river, but having done their office, drop down and die. In a life of three or four days they eat nothing. They have no apparatus for that purpose ; yet they have strength to shed their skin, and to perform the ends of their life with great vivacity. But how poor an end, to our apprehension, is answered by the life of tins, and innumerable other animals! 18. The eggs of BUTTERFLIES do not increase in bulk while in the body of the female. As soon as they are impregnated by the male, they are ready to be laid. But this requires some time, both because of their number, and the nicety with which she arranges them. This indeed is the whole business of her life for when they’ are laid, she dies. The female does not deposite them at random, but searches out a sort of plant which the catterpillars can feed on as soon as they are hatched. Neither does she scatter them irregularly and without order, but disposes them with perfect symmetry, and fastens them together by a viscous liquor discharged from her own entrails. And those species whose hinder part is covered with long hairs, gradually throw them all off, and therewith make a nest, wherein the eggs are kept safely, till the time of their hatching. 19. Some CATERPILLARS are hatched in the spring, as soon as the leaves they are to be fed on begin to bud. After thirteen days, they change into aurelia, and having past three weeks in that state, they issue forth winged, with all the beauty of their parents. The wings of butterflies fully distinguish them from flies of every other kind. They are four in number; and though two of them be cut off, the animal can fly with the two remaining. They are in their own subsistence transparent: but owe their opacity to the beautiful dust with which they are covered, and which has been likened, by some, to the feathers of birds: by others, to the scales of fishes. In fact, if we regard the wing of a butterfly with a good microscope, we shall perceive it studded over with a variety of little grains of different dimensions and forums, gene­rally supported on a footstalk, regularly laid upon the whole surface. Nothing can exceed the beautiful and regular arrangement of these little substances. Those of one rank are a little covered by those that follow; they are of many figures; here may be seen a succession of oval studs; there a cluster of studs, each in the form of a heart: in one place they resemble a hand open; and in another, they are long or triangular; while all are interspersed with taller studs that grow between the rest, like mushrooms upon a stalk. The eyes of butterflies have not all the same form, for in some they are large, in others small. In all of them the outward coat has a lustre, in which may be discovered the various colours of the rainbow. When examined closely, it will be found to have the appearance of a, multiplying glass; having a great number of sides or facets, in the manner of a brilliant cut diamond. These animals, therefore, see not only with great clearness, but view every ‘ object multiplied in a surprising manner. Puget adapted the cornea of a fly in such a position, as to see objects through it by means of a microscope; and nothing could exceed the strangeness of its representations: a soldier who was seen through it, appeared like an army of pigmies; for while it multiplied, it also diminished the object. It still, however, remains a doubt, whether ‘the insect sees objects singly, as with one eye; or whether every facet is itself a complete eye, exhibiting its own object distinct from all the rest. The trunk, which few butterflies are without, is placed exactly between the eyes; which, when the animal is not seeking its nourishment, is ‘rolled up like a curl. A butterfly, when it is feeding, flies round some flower, and settles upon it. The trunk is then uncurled, and thrust out, searching the flower to its very bottom. This search being repeated seven or eight times, the butterfly then passes to another; and continues to hover over those agreeable to its taste, like a ‘bird over its prey. This trunk consists of two hollow tubes, nicely joined like the pipes of an organ. Butterflies, as well as moths, employ their short lives in a variety of enjoyments. Their whole time is spent either in quest of food, which every flower offers; or in pursuit of the female, whose approach they often perceive at above two miles distance. Their sagacity in this particular is astonishing; but by what sense they are capable of doing this, is not easy to conceive. It cannot be by sight, since such small objects must be utterly imperceptible at half the distance: it can scarcely be by the sense of smelling, since the animal has no organs for that purpose. Whatever be their powers of perception, certain it is, that time male, after having fluttered, as if carelessly about, for some time, is seen to take wing and go forward, sometimes for two miles together, in a direct line to where the female is perched on a flower. Caterpillars are of no sex, it not being their business to propa­gate, till they commence butterflies. Yet many of them are not so harmless as they seem; for they destroy their fellows when­ever they can. Put twenty caterpillars of the oak together in a box, with a sufficient quantity of leaves, their natural food. Yet their numbers will decrease daily, till one only remains alive. The stronger seizes the weaker by the throat, and gives him a mortal wound. When he is dead, the murderer begins to eat him up, and leaves only the skin with the head and feet. But this is not the case of all. Many species live peaceably and comfortably together. Yet even these are exposed to dangers of a more terrible kind. The worms of several sorts of flies, continually prey upon them some are upon, some under the skin, and both eat up the poor defenceless animal alive. It is surprising to see with what industry these little creatures weave the cases, in which they pass their aurelia state. Some are made of silk, mixt with their own hair, with pieces of bark, leaves, wood, or paper. There is one sort that builds in wood, and gives its case a hard­ness greater than that of the wood itself. This is the catterpillar of the willow, which is one of those that eat their exuviæ. He has sharp teeth, wherewith he cuts the wood into a number of small fragments. These he Unites together into a case, by means of a peculiar silk, which is a viscous juice that hardens as it dries. In order to make this silk enter into the very substance of the fragments, he moistens every one of them, by holding them successively in his mouth for a considerable time. In this firm case he is afterward to be included till he becomes a butterfly. But how can a creature of this helpless kind, which has neither legs to dig, nor teeth to gnaw, get out of so firm and strong a lodgment as that wherein it is hatched Nature has provided for this also. As soon as it is hatched, it discharges a liquor which dissolves the viscous matter that holds the case together, so that the fragments fall in pieces of themselves. And, accordingly, near its mouth, there is always found a bladder of the size of a small pea, full of this liquor. Some caterpillars spin all the way they walk, a thread of silk ‘which marks their journey. Now what end does this serve A little observation will shew. Trace one of them till he chances to fall, and you will see the use of this thread. Being fastened to the leaves and twigs, it stops the creatures fall. Nor is this all. It can also, by means of this thread, reascend to the place from whence it fell. And when it is safe got up again, it continues its motion as before. Another curious artifice is that by which the same species of caterpillars make themselves cases of leaves before they change into aurelia. The nicest hands could not roll these up so regu­larly, as they do without hands or anything like them. They per­form it thus: the caterpillar places itself on the upper side of the leaf, so far from the edge that he can reach it with his head. Turning himself round, he then brings the edge of the leaf to the point just opposite to it. It next draws lines from the edge of this leaf to that point; and doing this all the way along the leaf; its narrowness towards the point makes it form a close case there. It strengthens the first bending of the leaf, by many parallel threads, and then fastening other threads to the back part of the leaf, draws them as tight as it can. The case is then formed. The same method repeated makes the additional cases, five or six over each other. And every one of these is sufficiently strong, so as to make the inner ones useless. He then enters his cell, and undergoes his change. Mean time his covering serves him also for food. For so long as he has need to eat, he may feed upon the walls of his castle: all of which may he eaten away except the outer one of all. Probably every caterpillar makes his case thick enough to serve the necessary calls of his future hunger. Many species of butterflies lay a great number of eggs in the same place. These all hatch very nearly at the same time. And one would naturally suppose, that the young brood of all, would be inclined to continue and live together. But it is not so: the different species have different inclinations. Some keep together from the time they, are hatched, till they change into aurelia. Others separate as soon as able to crawl, and hunt their fortune single.’ And others live in community till a certain time, and then each shifts for itself. Those that live wholly together, begin by forming a line with their little bodies upon a leaf; their heads all standing even, and in this manner they move and eat together. And often there are several ranges of this sort, which make so many phalanxes, and eat into the leaf they stand on, with perfect equality. Many do this while young, who, when they grow large, make one common habitation, surrounded by a web, which is the joint Work of all: within which, each has a nest of its own spinning. When they have made their common lodging, each takes its course over the tree or bush for food. Thus many hundreds of them form a regular republic. The separate cell of each is finally the place where it passes its change into the aurelia and perfect state. But many species do not separate even then; but are found in their aurelia state all huddled together; numbers of their cases making one confused mass. One thing more is highly observable in them. The regularity of their marches. They are exactly obedient to their chief. When they change their quarters, one marches single first; two others follow, and keep their bodies very nicely in the same position with his. After these there follows a large party. These regulate their motions by the former: and so the order is continued through the whole company. When the leader turns to the right or left, the whole body does the same instantly. When he stops, they all immediately stop, and march again the moment he advances. 20. The outward covering of the body, is in many animals changed several times: but in few more frequently than tile caterpillar. Most of these throw it off at least once in ten days. Indeed, in the whole insect class, the most numerous of all animated beings, there is scarce one which does not cast its skin, at least once, before it arrives at its full growth. But the cater­pillar changes more than his skin; even the outward covering of every, the minutest part of its body. And what they throw off has the appearance of a complete insect, presenting us with all the external parts of a living animal. If the caterpillar be of the hairy kind, the skin it throws of is hairy, containing the covering of every hair. And even the claws and other parts, that are not visible without a microscope, are as plain in this .as in the living animal. But what is more amazing is, that the solid Parts of the head, the skull and teeth are distinguishable therein. The throwing off an old skull and teeth, to make way for new ones, is an act beyond all comprehension! A day or two before, the creature refuses to eat, and walks very slowly, or not at all. He turns from side’ to side, and often raises his beak, and gently depresses it again. He frequently raises his head, and strikes it down rudely against any thing he stands upon. Frequently the forepart of the body is raised from the place, and thrust very briskly backward and forward, three or four times together. There are likewise distinct motions within every ring. These are severally inflated and contracted alternately, by which the skin is loosened from them; till by this means, and its remaining without food, the body is quite disengaged from its covering. When this, time approaches, all the colours of the skin grow faint, and loose their beauty, receiving no nourishment from the body. And as the creature continues swelling and shrinking, the skin, being no longer supple, cracks along his back. The crack always begins, ,at the second or third ring from the head. As it opens, the new skin is seen within. This opening he easily enlarges, thrusting his body like a wedge, out of the slit, till he lengthens it through four rings. Then he has room to draw out the whole body. First, the head is by several motions loosened, drawn out of the old skull, and raised through the crack: this is then laid softly on the old skin of the part. By the same motions the tail end is disengaged, drawn out, and laid smoothly on the old skin. It takes the animal several days to prepare for the last operation. But when the crack is once made, the whole remaining work is done in less than a minute. The hairs found on the cast skins of the hairy caterpillars seem at first, like the other part of the exuviæ, to be only the covering of the hairs enclosed. But that is not the case. They are solid things themselves, not barely coverings. In truth, the creature when first hatched has all its skins perfectly formed, one under another, each furnished with its hairs, so that the old ones fall off with the old skins. And probably the erecting these is one great means of forcing off the old skins. Perhaps the same sort of mechanism is used even by those caterpillars which do not appear to be hairy. For they really are so, as the microscope shews. When the upper skin of one just ready to change, is slit longitudinally in the place where the crack would be, the skin may be taken off; and it is easily seen, how the new one lies below. The hairs are disposed in the nicest manner, for lying smooth under the upper skin. They grow in separate tufts, which never lie one upon another, but together form one surface. It is remarkable, that immediately after this change, they appear much larger than they did before. And they really are so. The very head and skull are greatly larger than before the change. The operation of the cray-fish in changing its shell may explain this. This also is found considerably larger, when out of the shell than before. In both cases, the body had grown so much, that it was too big for its covering. However, while it remained in it, the parts were compressed, arid forced to lie in that narrow room. But as soon as that covering is off, every part distends itself to its proper size. - Indeed, so large a skull, being a hard substance in the catter­pillar, could not have been compressed into a smaller. But the fact is, the new skull never hardens till the change approaches, and then imperfectly. At the same time it necessarily takes, from the place it is in, an oblong form. In this shape it is found a few hours before the old skin is cast off; not enclosed within it, but extended under the skin of the first ring of the body. When the old skull is thrown off, the new one soon hardens, and takes its proper figure. We call the creature hatched from the egg of a butterfly, a caterpillar. But it is a real . butterfly all that time. A cater­pillar changes its skin four or five times, and when it throws off one, appears in another of the same form. But when it throws off the last, it is now so perfect, as to need no farther nourish­ment, so there is no farther need of teeth, or any other parts of a caterpillar. It is plain from hence, that the change of a caterpillar into an aurelia, is not the work of a moment, but is carrying on from the very time of its hatching from the egg. But while the butterfly lies in the body of the caterpillar, its wings al-c long and narrow, and wound up into the form of a cord, and the feelers are rolled up on the head. The trunk also is twisted up, and laid on the head, but in a very different manner from what it is in the perfect animal, or indeed in the aurelia. A butterfly, then, in all its parts, is in the caterpillar in all its states. But it is more easily traced, as it comes nearer the time of being changed into an aurelia. The very eggs hereafter to be laid by the butterfly, are to be found not only in the aurelia, but even in the caterpillar, all arranged in their natural, regular order. In the caterpillar indeed they are transparent: but in the aurelia, they have their proper colour. As soon as the limbs of the butterfly are fit to be exposed to the more open air, they are thrown out from the body of the caterpillar, surrounded only with thin membranes. And as soon as they arrive at a proper degree of strength and solidity, they break through these, and appear in their perfect form. The animal then Creeps a little on, and there rests; the wings being quite folded up. But by degrees they expand, and in less than half an hour appear in all their beauty. In the beginning of May, 1737, the cornel trees, near Mona­ghan in Ireland appeared covered with small caterpillars, employed partly in feeding on the leaves, partly in crawling over the bark of the tree. Each as it crawled, left a fine thread sticking to the bark. By the end of May, there was not a leaf on any of the trees, except a few reserved for a curious purpose. But instead of the green, a white clothing covered the whole bark, from the ground to the point of the smallest twigs, and that so glossy, that it shewed, in the sun, as if it was cased in burnished silver. Then they covered with the same all the ash, beech, lime, yea the very weeds that’ grew near them. But how did they travel from tree to tree Many crawled along the ground. But Mary had a quicker way.. They hung by their own threads from the utmost branches of the tree, so that a small breeze wafted them to the next tree, as spiders pass from one bush to another. As they made no use of the threads left behind them, probably they wrought for no other purpose, than to rid themselves of that glutinous matter, out of which it was spun. In the beginning of June, they retired to rest. Their manner of executing this, was very ingenious. Some chose the under side of the branches, just where they spring from the trunk, that they might be defended from the water, which in a shower, running down the bar-k of the tree, is parted by the branches,. and sent off on each side. Here they draw their threads across the angle made by the trunk and branch: and crossing those with other threads, make a strong covering. Within this they place themselves lengthways among the threads, and rolling their bodies round, spin themselves into little hammocks, in the mean time shrinking into half their length. These hammocks, being suspended by the transverse threads, do not press each other. That they may take up the less room, they lie parallel to each other, in the most convenient order possible. Others, still more ingenious, fasten their threads to the edge of the leaves which they had su.ved for that purpose: and with that slender cordage pulling in the extremities of the leaves, draw themselves into a kind of purse, within which they form the same sort of work, and lay themselves up as above. They lay themselves up in great numbers together, both because many were necessary to the ‘work of providing a common covering, and also to keep one another warm, while preparing for the great change Between the worm thus laid up, and the hammock enclosing it, there is a tough, brown shell, probably formed of some glutinous matter, transuding through the pores. In the end of June, they gnaw through the shells and. hammocks, and come forth most beautiful. fly. After its resurrection, it needs no food. Those that came out in a room, lived as long there as the rest did abroad. After awhile several of them discharged a drop of brown liquor, probably containing the egg. But as it was not lodged in a proper receptacle, it produced no worm the next year. As the cornel only supplies this worm with food, so it is the only nurse of its egg. There is not an animal or a vegetable, but yields habitation and food to its peculiar insect. The scheme of life begins in vegetation: and whenever nature produces vege­tables, she obliges them to pay for their nourishment, to certain animals which she billets upon them. Each of these again, is to diet and lodge another set of living creatures. This just community in nature, which suffers nothing to subsist merely for itself, is found not only every where on the earth, but likewise every where in the waters. By microscopes we discover an infinity of little creatures, feeding on the floating vegetables, or on one another. Indeed, as to the sea, we know only what happens near the shores, where we find vegetables of various kinds, which breed and nourish a like variety of insects. These, with a mul­titude of others bred in the mud, are the prey of the smaller kinds of fish, and they again of a greater. That this scheme of nature, found every where else, dives into the depths of the ocean, we may gather from the wonderful kind of fishes, washed up by the storms now and then from the deep waters. Now it is on the cornel alone, that the worms we have spoken of can be propagated and fed. The specific qualities with which its juices are impregnated, are peculiarly suitable to this insect. If these reside in the essential oil of the plant, this, as well as the other insects, subsisting on vegetables, have the skill to extract, nicer than any chemist can do, the essential oil of caclm plant, nothing else therein, being of a nature sufficiently peculiar, either to assist the propagation, or supply the nourishment of the insect. 21. The ANT lays eggs like flies, from which are hatched small worms without legs. These are sharp at one end, and blunt at the other: after a short time they change into a large, white aurelia, vulgarly called ants’ eggs: whereas they are larger than the ants themselves. They move these at their pleasure. When an ant’s nest is disturbed, and the aurelia scattered abroad, the ants are at infinite pains to gather them and make them a nest again. Nay, those of one nest will often do this for the aurelia of another. At the bottom of an ant’s nest, which is built with small pieces of dry earth, there Is always a large quantity of eggs, worms, and aurelia. The aurelia are covered only with a thin skin, and if opened shew the ant in its several stages toward perfection. In every nest, as in every bee-hive, there are three kinds of the insect: males, females, and working ants, or labourers. These last are neither male nor female, nor have any business, but tak­ing care of the young brood. Male ants have four wings and three lucid points on their head, and their eyes are larger than those of the female, or labourers. They are not found in the nests at all seasons, but only at particular times. It seems they are killed, like drone bees, as soon as the season for impregnating the females is over. The body of the female is larger and thicker than that of the male, or labourer; and contains a great number of eggs, placed in regular lines. She has also three lucid points on her head, ‘which seem to be three eyes. The ant, examined by the microscope, appears a very beautiful creature. Its head is adorned with two horns, each having twelve points. Its jaws are indented with seven little teeth, which exactly tally. They open sideways exceeding wide, by which means the ant is often seen grasping and carrying away bodies of three times its own bulk. It is naturally divided into the head, the breast, and the belly, each joined to the other by a slender ligament. From the breast proceed three legs on each side. The whole body is cased over with a sort of armour, so hard as scarce to be pene­trated by a lancet, and thick set with shining, whitish bristles. They bring out not corn, but their young every day, and spread them near their nest, in little heaps, on a kind of dry earth, pro­vided for that purpose. They carry them back at night. But, it is observed, they never bring them out, unless in a day that pro­mises to be fair. In the prognostics of this they shew great saga­city. Where it is dangerous to expose them in the day time, by reason of the birds, they vary their rule, bringing them out in the night, and carrying them back in the morning. They do not eat at all in winter, but sleep like most other insects. There is a straight hole in every ant’s nest, about half an inch deep; after which it goes sloping into their magazine, which is a different place from that where they eat and rest. Over the hole they lay a flat stone or tile, to secure them from their great enemy the rain. In a fair day the hole is open; but when they foresee it will rain, and every night, the cover is drawn over, with great ingenuity as well as labour. Fifty of the strongest of them surround the stone, and draw and shove in concert. The like pains they take every morning to thrust it back again. An ant seldom goes into any nest but her own: if she did, she would be severely punished. And if she returned again after this warning, the others would tear her in pieces. Therefore they never attempt it, but in the last extremity; sometimes they will rather suffer themselves to be taken. Ants do not bite, as is vulgarly supposed. But red ants have a sting, which expresses a corrosive liquor, and raises a slight inflammation. The black ants have no sting. On opening an ant-hill, a great number of eggs is usually found. They look like the scatterings of fine salt, .and are too minute to be seen distinctly by the’ naked eye. Through a micro­scope they appear like the eggs of small birds, and are as clear as the air-bladder of fishes. They lie in clusters under cover of some light earth.’ The ants seem to brood over them, till every granule is hatched into a worm, not much larger than a mite. In a short time these turn yellowish and hairy, and grow to near as big as their parent. They then get a whitish film over them, and are of an oval form. If this cover be opened after some days, all the lineaments of an ant may be traced; though the whole is transparent, except the eyes, which are two dark specks. The care these creatures take of their young is amazing. Whenever a hill is disturbed, all the ants are found busy, in con­sulting the safety, not of themselves, but of their offspring. They carry them out of sight as soon as possible; and will do it over and over, as often as they are disturbed. They carry the eggs and worms together in their haste; but as soon as the danger is over, they carefully separate them, and place each by themselves, under shelter of different kinds, and at Various depths, accord­ing to the different degrees of warmth which their different states require. In the summer they every morning bring up the aurelia near the surface of the earth: and from ten in the morning till about five in the afternoon, they may be found just under the surface. But if you search at eight in the evening they will be found to have carried them all down. And if rainy weather be coming on, they lodge them at least a foot deep. Though ants unite in colonies, in such places as are agreeable to their different natures, yet they often vary their residence. But the several species never intermix, though they will be good neighbours one to another. Their architecture is adjusted with remarkable art. The whole structure is divided into numerous cells, communicating with each other by small subterraneous channels, Which are circular and smooth. They carry on all their works by means of their double saws, and the hooks at the extremity of them. A colony from the latter end of August, to the beginning of June, consists of a female, and various companies of workers: and besides these, in the latter end of June, all July and part of August, of a number of winged ants. The labouring ants, being of no sex, are wholly employed in providing for the young, which the queen deposites in the cells. In whatever apartment she is present, universal joy is shewn. They have a particular way of skipping, leaping, prancing, and standing on their hind legs. Some walk gently over her, others dance round her, all express their loyalty and affection; of all which you may be convinced in a few moments, by placing the queen and her retinue under a glass. The queen lays three different sorts of eggs, male and female in spring, neutral in July and part of August. The common ants then brood over them in little clusters, and remove them to and fro, for a just degree of heat. The young disengage themselves from the membranes that enclose the eggs, just as the silk-worms do. The female eggs, put on the form of worms, some time in February; the male, by the latter end of March, the neutral by September. The first summer they grow little, and less in winter. In the beginning of April, the second year, they visibly increase• every day. By the end of May the male and female attain their full growth, and are ready for another change. This long conti­nuance of ants in the vermicular state, has nothing like it in any other class .of insects. The vermicles in a few days infold them­selves in a soft silken covering, and so commence aurileas, which are commonly mistaken for ants’ eggs. As soon as they tend to life, the workers give them air, by an aperture in the end of the covering. T his they gradually enlarge for a day or two, and then take out their young. There is a larger and a smaller sort, of winged ants, the latter male, the former female. Those females, which escape being devoured by other creatures, become queens, and give birth to new colonies. In all other insects the loss of their wings lessons their beauty; and shortens their lives. But ants gain by that loss: this being the prelude of their ascending the throne. The young are fed by the juices of most sorts of fruits, which the labourers extract, and receive into their own stomach; where they are prepared, and afterwards transfused into the tender vermicles. Perhaps in warm climates, ants do not pass the winter in sleep, as they do with us. if so, they need a store of food, which in our climate is quite needless. Accordingly those who have accurately’ examined their most numerous settlements, could never find out any reservoir of corn or other aliments. And they that have care­fully observed their excursions from, and return to their colonies, could never observe that they returned with any wheat, corn, or any other vegetable seed: though they would eagerly attack a pot of honey, or a jar of sweetmeats. But is it not said, Prov. vi. 8. “She provideth her meat in the summer, and gathereth her food in the harvest “ It is: but this does not necessarily mean any more, than that she collects her food in the proper season. Nor is any thing more declared, ch. xxx. 35. than that ants carry food into their repositories. That they do this against winter, is not said neither is it true in fact. In England, ant-hills are formed with but little apparent regu­larity. In the southern provinces of Europe, they are constructed with wonderful contrivance. They are generally forthed in the neighbourhood of some large tree and a stream of water. The one is the proper place for getting food; the other for supplying the animals with moisture, which they, cannot well dispense with. The shape of the ant-hill is that of a sugar-loaf, about three feet high, composed of various substances; leaves, bits of wood, sand, earth, bits of” gum, and grains of corn. These are all united into a compact body, perforated with galleries down to the bottom, and winding ways within the structure. From this retreat to the water, as well as to the tree, in different directions, there are many paths worn by constant assiduity, and along these the busy insects pass and repass continually ; so that from May or the beginning of June they work continually till the bad weather comes on. The chief employment of working ants is in finding a suffi­ciency of food. They live upon various provisions, as well of the vegetable as the animal kind. Small insects they kill and devour; sweets of all kinds they are particularly fond of. They seldom, however, think of their community till themselves are first satiated. Having found a juicy fruit, they swallow what they can, and then tearing it in pieces, carry home their load. If they meet With an insect above their match, several’ of them will fall upon it at once, and having torn it to pieces, each will carry off a part of the spoil. If they meet with any thing that is too heavy for one to bear, and yet which they are unable to divide, several of them endeavour to force it along, some dragging, others pushing. If any one of them makes a lucky discovery, it immediately gives advice to others, and then, at once, the whole republic put themselves in motion. if in these struggles one of them happens to be killed, some survivor carries him off to a great distance, to prevent the obstructions his body might give to the general spirit of industry. In autumn they prepare for the severity of winter, and bury their wheat as deep in the earth as they can. It is now found that the grains of corn, and other substances with which they furnish their hill, are only meant as fences to keep off the rigour of the weather. They pass four or five months without taking any nou­rishment, and seem to be dead all that time. It would be to no purpose therefore for ants to lay up corn for the winter, since they lie all that time without motion, heaped upon each other, and are so far from eating, that they are utterly unable to stir. Thus what authors have dignified by the name of a magazine, appears to be no more than a cavity, which serves for a common retreat when they return to their lethargic state. But what has been falsely said of the European ant, is true of those of the tropical climates. They do lay up provisions, and as they probably live the whole year, submit to the regula­tions unknown among the ants in Europe. Those of Africa are of three kinds, the red, the green, and the black; the latter are above an inch long, and in every respect, a most formidable insect. They build an ant-hill from six to twelve feet high, made of viscous clay, and in a pyrand form. The cells are so numerous and even, that a honeycomb scarce exceeds them. The inhabitants of this edifice seem to be under’ a very strict regulation. At the slightest warning they sally out upon what­ever disturbs them, and if they arrest their enemy, he is sure to find no mercy. Sheep, hens and even rats are often destroyed by these merciless insects, and their flesh devoured to the bone. No anatomist can strip a skeleton so clean as they. If a frog be put into a box with holes bored therein, and the box laid near a nest of ants, they will entirely dissect him, and make the finest skeleton possible, leaving even the ligaments unhurt. 22. One of the most dreadful enemies of the ants is the formica-leo or ANT-EATER: it is soft as a spider, but has in its form some resemblance of a wood-louse. Its body is composed of several rings: it has six legs, four joined to the breast; and the other two to a long part, which may be termed the neck. Its head is small and flat, and it has two remarkable ‘horns, the sixth of an inch long, as thick as a hair, hard, hollow and hooked at the end. At the origin of each of these horns, it has a clear and bright black eye. He is not able to hunt after prey, nor to destroy large insects. He can only ensnare such as come by his habitation, and of these, few are such as he can manage. All the winged tribe escape by flight, and those that have hard shells are of no use to him. The smallness of the ant, and its want of wings, make it his destined prey. The manner wherein he proceeds is this.. He usually encamps under an old wall for shelter, and always chooses a place where the soil is composed of a light, dry sand. In this he makes a pit in the shape of a funnel, which he does in the following manner If he intends the pit to be but small, he thrusts his hinder parts into the sand, and by degrees works himself into it. When he is deep enough, he tosses out with his head the loose sand which is run down, artfully throwing it off, beyond the edges of the pit. Then he lies at the bottom of the small hollow, which comes sloping down to his body. But if he is to make a larger pit, he first traces a larger -circle in the sand. Then he buries himself in it, arid carefully throws off the sand, beyond the circle. Thus he continues running down backward, in a spiral line, and throwing off the sand above him all the way, till he comes to the point of the hollow cone, which he has formed by his passage. The length of his neck, and the flatness of his head, enable him to use the whole as a spade. And his strength is so great, that he can throw a quantity of sand, to six inches distance. He likewise throws away the remains of the animals he has devoured, that they may riot fright other creatures of the same species. Where the sand is unmixed, he makes and repairs his pit with great ease. But it is not so where other substances are mixed with it. If when he has half formed his pit, he comes to a stone not too large, he goes on leaving that to the last. When the pit is finished, he creeps up backwards to the stone, and getting his backside under it, takes great pains to get it on a true poise, and then creeps backward with it, to the top of the pit. We may .often see one thus labouring at a Stone four times as big as its own body. And as it can only move backward, and the poise is hard to keep, especially up a slope of crumbly sand, the stone frequently slips when near the verge, and rolls down to the bottom. In this case he attacks it again, and .is not discouraged by five or six miscarriages; but attempts it again, till at length he gets it over the verge of his place. Yet he does not leave it there, lest it should roll in again, but always removes it to a convenient distance. When his pit is finished, lie buries himself ‘at the bottom of it in the sand, leaving no part above it, but the tips of his horns, which he extends to the two sides of the pit. Thus he waits for his prey. If an ant walk on the edge of his pit, it throws down a little of the sand. This gives notice, to toss up the sand from his head, on the ant; of which he throws more and more, till he brings him down to the bottom, between his horns. These he then plunges into the ant, and having sucked all the blood, throws out the skin as far as possible. This done, he mounts up the edges of his pit, and if they have suffered any injury, repairs it carefully, lie then immediately buries himself again in the centre, to wait for another meal. This creature has no mouth, but it is through its horns that it receives all its nourishment. And as they are so necessary for its life, nature has provided for the restoring them, in case of accidents: so that if they are cut off, they soon grow again. When he has lived his stated time, he leaves his pit, and is only seen drawing traces on the sand. After this he buries himself under it, and encloses himself in a case. This is made of a sort of silk with grains of sand cemented together by a glutinous humour which he emits. But this would be too harsh for his body: so it serves only for the outward covering. He spins within it one of pure, fine, pearl-coloured silk, which covers his whole body. When he has lain some time in this case, he throws off his outer skin, with the eyes, the horns, and and all other exterior parts, and becomes an oblong worm, in which may be traced the form of the future fly. Through its transparent skin may be seen new eyes, new horns, and all other parts of the perfect animal. This worm makes its way about half out of the case, and so remains, without farther life or motion, till the perfect fly makes its way out of a slit in the back. It much resembles the dragon-fly. The male then couples with the female and dies, 23. The sagacity of BEES, in making their combs, cannot be too much admired, The labour is distributed regularly among them. The same bees, Sometimes carry the wax in their jaws, and moisten it with a liquor which they distil upon it, and some­times build the walls of their cells. But they that form the cells, never- polish them. Others make the angles exact, and smooth the surface. The bits of wax which are scraped off in doing this, others pick up, that none’ may be lost. Those that polish, work longer than those that build the walls; polishing not being so laborious a work as building. They begin the comb at the top of the hive, fastening it to the most solid part thereof. Hence they continue it from top to bottom, and from side to side. The cells are always six sided: a figure which, beside the advantage it has in common with the square, of leaving no vacancies between the cells, has this, peculiar tõ itself, that it includes a greater space within the same surface than any other figure. It is a grand question “is there any part of a plant without iron “ It is certain honey is not. And if.. so delicate an extract from the finest part of flowers, and that farther elaborated in the bowels of the insect: if this be not without iron we may despair of seeing any part so. The trunk of a working bee is not formed in the manner of a tube by which the fluid is to be sucked up; but like a besom to sweep, or a tongue to lick it away. The animal is furnished also with teeth, which serve in making wax. This substance is gathered from flowers like honey: it consists of that dust or farina which contributes to the formation of plants. Every bee when it collects this, enters into the cup of the Rower, particularly such as have the greatest quantities of this yellow farina. As the animal’s body is covered over with hair, it rolls itself within the flower, and is soon covered over with dust, which it brushes off with its two hind legs, and kneads into two little balls. The habitation of bees ought to be very close; and what their’ hives want from the negligence or unskilfulness of man, they supply by their own industry: so that it is their principal care, when first hived, to stop up all the crannies. For this purpose they make use of a resinous gum, which is more tenacious than wax. When they begin to work with it, it is soft, but it acquires a firmer consistence every day. The bees carry it on their hinder legs, and plaster the inside of their hives therewith. Their teeth are the instruments by which they model and fashion their various buildings, and give them such symmetry. Several of them work at a time at the cells, which have two faces. If they are stinted. in time, they give the new cells but half the depth which they ought to have; leaving them imperfect, till they have sketched out the cells necessary for the present occasion. The construction of their combs, costs them a great deal of labour: they are made by insensible additions, and not cast at once into a mould as some are apt to imagine. There seems no end of their shaping, finishing and turning them neatly up. The cells for their young are most carefully formed; those designed for drones, are larger than the rest, and that for the queen bee, the largest of all. Honey is not the Only food on which they subsist. The meal of flowers is one of their favorite repasts. This is a diet which they live upon during the summer, and of which they lay up a large winter provision.. The wax is no more than this meal digested and wrought into a paste. When the flowers are not fully blown, and this meal is not offered in sufficient quantities, the bees pinch the tops of the stamina in which it is contained, with their teeth; and thus anticipate the progress of vegetation. Ira April and May the bees are busy from morning to evening, in gathering this meal: but when the weather becomes too hot, they work only in the morning. The bee is furnished with a stomach for its wax, as well as for its honey. In the former their powder is altered, digested and concocted into wax; and is then ejected by the same passage by which it was swallowed. Beside, the wax thus digested, there is a large portion of the powder kneaded up for food in every hive, and kept in separate cells for winter provision. This is called by the country people bee-bread; and contributes to the health and strength of the bee during the winter. We may rob them of their honey, and feed them during the winter with treacle, but no proper substitute has yet been found for the bee-bread; without it the animal becomes consump­tive and dies. Honey is extracted from that part of the flowers called the nectareum. From the mouth is passes into the first stomach, or honey-bag, which when filled, appears like an oblong bladder. When a bee has filled its first stomach, it returns back to the hive, where it disgorges the honey into one of the cells. It often happens that the bee delivers its store to some other at the mouth of the hive, and flies off for a fresh supply. Some honey­combs are left open for common use, many others are stopped up, till there is a necessity of opening them. Each of these are covered carefully with wax, so close that the cover seems to be made at the very instant the fluid is deposited within them. It was formerly thought that bees did not collect honey in the form we see it, but lodged it in their stomachs, till its nature was changed. But we now know that they merely collect it. Many flowers afford it; but beside this, there are two kinds of honey­dews. The one does not fall, but is a mild sweet juice, which having circulated in the vessels of plants, is separated by proper strainers, and excludes on the leaves, though sometimes it is deposited on the pith, or in the sugar-canes. So the leaves of the holm-oak are frequently covered with thousands of small drops, which point out the several pores from which they proceeded, and are no other than pure honey. But it is found only on the old leaves, which are strong and firm, not on the tender ones, which are newly come forth: although the old are covered by the new ones, and so sheltered from any thing that could fall from above, Mean time the leaves of the neigh­bouring trees, have no moisture upon them: whereas, if it falls as a dew, it would necessarily wet all the leaves without distinction. The other kind of honey-dew, springs from a small insect called a VINE-FRETTER: the excrement of which, is the most delicate honey in nature. They settle on branches of trees that are a year old; the juice of which, however harsh at first, becomes in the bowels of the insect equal in sweetness to any honey whatever. There are two species of these flies, the smaller is green; the other, twice as large, is blackish. Hearing many bees buzzing in a tuft of a holm-oak, upon observing, I found the tuft of leaves and branches covered with drops which the bees collected. Each of the drops was not round, but of a longish oval. I soon per­ceived from whence they proceeded. The leaves covered with them, were just beneath a swarm of the larger vine-fretters; which from time to time raised their bellies, and ejected small drops of ah amber colour. I catched some of them on my hand, and found they had the very same flavour with what had before fallen on the leaves. I afterwards saw the smaller vine-fretters eject their drops in the same manner. This is the only honey­dew that falls: and this never falls from a greater height than a branch, where a cluster of these insects can fix themselves. Ants are as fond of this honey as bees. The large black ants follow the insect which lives on oak and chesnut trees: the lesser attend those on the elder. But as ants cannot suck up fluids like bees, they wait just under the vine-fretters, in order to suck the drop just as it falls. The vine-fretters afford more honey about midsummer, as the trees are then fullest of juice. The trees, nevertheless, though pierced to the sap in a thousand places, do not seem to be hurt at all. The sting of a bee or wasp is a curious piece of workmanship. It is a hollow tube, within which, as in a sheath, are two sharp bearded spears. A wasp’s sting has eight beards on the side of each spear, somewhat like the beards of fish-hooks. These spears in the sheath, lie one with its point a little before that of the other. One is first darted into the flesh, which being fixed, by means of its foremost beard, the other strikes in too, and so they alternately pierce deeper, the beards taking more and more hold in the flesh: afterward the sheath follows, to convey the poison into the wound. When the beards are lodged deep in the flesh, bees often leave their stings behind, if they are disturbed before they have time to withdraw their spears into the scabbard. The queen bee is somewhat larger, considerably longer, and of a brighter red than others. Her office is, to direct and lead the swarm, and to raise a new breed. Sire brings forth ten, fifteen, or twenty thousand young ones in a ‘year: so that she may literally be said to be the mother of her people. In a hive of eight or ten thousand, there ‘is usually but one queen bee. Drones, or males, have no stings, and are larger and darker coloured than the working bees. The eggs for them are placed in a larger sort of cells. They are also nurses to the young brood. It is certain bees foresee rain, though we know not how. Hence no bee is ever caught in a sudden shower, unless it be far distant from the hive, or hurt, or sickly. Thus much may be seen on the outside of the hive. But when we look within, how is the wonder increased! to see so many thousands all busily at work, and with such admirable regularity! Nor is there less wonder in observing the clusters of them, when they take some rest. Their method then is, to get together and hang one to another in vast numbers. When these clusters are large, they are only shapeless heaps; when smaller, they are a sort of festoon or garland, each end being fastened to ‘the branch, and the middle dropping from it. The manner in which they hang is this: each, with one ‘or both of his fore legs, lays hold of one or both of the hinder legs of the bee that is next above it. Through a glass hive we see, that as the combs are carried down from the top to the bottom of the hive, each is placed parallel to the former, but not touching it, there being a space between for the bees to walk. These are the public streets, and by means of these they can make use of every cell. There are likewise alleys cut from street to street, through the substance of the several combs. All the cells are used in common. Some of them contain only honey, and are covered with a lid of wax. These are never touched by any bee. But other cells are open, and a bee is often seen so lodged in one of these, that only its hinder part appears. The meaning hereof is, each of these open cells contain at the bottom a bee worm. Certain bees daily visit these, plunging their heads into the several cells, one after another. The fruitfulness of the female is the less strange, when we consider the ‘number of the males. In any hive there are, at the season, several hundreds: in some two or three thousand. These are the joint fathers of the numerous offspring, and when they have done their work, are all killed. The wings of the female reach only to the third ring of’. her body; whereas those of all other bees cover the whole body. But though she is thus easy to be distinguished, yet few have ever seen a queen bee: as she is always close ‘covered in ‘the’ hive. ‘ Mr. Reaumur, desiring to try how far the accounts ‘given of the homage paid by the others to the queen bee was true, ‘caused a swarm of bees to be swept down into a glass hive. Among these there was one female. She. was soon distinguished by her shape, and the shortness of her wings. «For. awhile she walked alone, at the bottom. of the hive; the rest seeming to regard nothing but their own safety. The female, after going twice or thrice up the side of the, hive, to the top of it, where they were hung, at last going in. among the cluster, brought down a. dozen with her. Attended with these, she walked along slowly at the bottom of the hive. But the rest continuing at the top, she went again an& again, till they all came down. and formed a circle about her, leaving her a free passage wherever she turned to walk, and feeding her with the honey they had gathered for themselves. The hive was large enough for more that their number. How ever, the female seemed to find it would not be large. enough for the family she was to produce. So gathering them all about her, she went out and flew to a neighbouring tree. All followed her, arid formed a cluster about her, in the common way. The bees follow their queen wherever she goes.. And if she be tied by one of the legs to a stick, all the swarm will gather in a cluster about her, and by removing the stick may be carried anywhere. Nature seems to have informed the common bees that they are to bring up the offspring of this female, therefore they serve her in every thing. If by any means ;she is dirtied, all the rest try who shall clean her. And in cold weather they cluster together about her to keep her warm. Nor do they shew this respect to one female only. Mr. Reaumur, at several times, put. several females marked with different colours, into the same swarm’. And all these were, for a time, received as well as the proper female. ‘The swarm which leaves an old hive, has often three or more females. These have their several followers. And each with her’ followers, were the number sufficient, would form a distinct swarm. As it is not, they all go into the same hive. But all, except one, are soon destroyed. The reason is the working bees of a hive have’ enough to do to prepare cells, for lodging the eggs of one female, and it would be impossible for them to prepare twice or thrice that number. Sometimes in two parts of a swarm, there are ‘mare ‘than two female bees. In this case too, as soon as they are lodged in the hive, all are killed but one. Nature designs but one female for. each swarm. But as many things may destroy the egg or worm of this single female, it was needful, that provision should be made for accidents. So that there are often twenty females which live to maturity with the bees of one swarm. But one only is then spared, whether they go out with the swarm, or remain within. As soon as the swarm is gone out,, the first work of the re­maining bees, is to destroy the young females. These are all immediately killed arid carried out of the hive: and it is common, the morning after the going out of a swarm, to see six, eight or more female bees lying dead at some distance from the hive. What determines the bees in favour of one, is her having eggs ready to be hatched. Accordingly, if new made cells be’ examined, she will be found the very next day, to have laid eggs in many, if not all. Whereas if the bodies of the rejected females be examined, there will be found either no eggs at all, or eggs so extremely minute, that it must have been a long time before any could have been laid. It is not at all times, however, that the bees are thus cruel to the supernumerary females; but only at the time when they are newly established in their habitation, and in want of all things. At other- times they are as kind to strange females as to their own. Mr. Reaumur tried the experiment, by putting a strange female into a hive, where the combs were perfect, and filled with honey. And the bees shewed the same respect to her, as to their proper sovereign. The bee that comes loaded to any cell, soon discharges his ho­ney into it. No sooner is he gone, than another comes, and so on, till the whole cell is filled. But that which lies uppermost is al­ways of a different appearance from the rest of the honey. It is a kind of cream, which both keeps the honey moist, and prevents its running out by accident. This crust or cream was not, as one would think, voided last, but was gathering from the first. For the bee which comes loaded to the cell, does not at once discharge his honey, but en­tering into it as deep as may be, thrusts out his fore legs, and pierces a hole through the crust. Keeping this open with his feet, he disgorges the honey in large drops from his mouth. He then closes the hole, and this is regularly done by every bee that contributes to the common store. But every bee that comes loaded to the hive, does not deposite his honey in the cell. They often dispose of it by the way in­stead of going to the cell, they often go to those that are at work, and call them to feed upon the honey they have brought, that they may not be obliged to intermit their work, on the account of hunger. These feed on the store of the friendly bee, by putting their trunk into her mouth, exactly in the same manner as they do in to the bottom of flowers. Some cells in every hive contain honey for immediate consumption. as in case of bad weather. And these are always open at the top. Others contain provision for the winter. These are all closed down with a strong lid, not easily to be removed. Such is the wisdom which the great Author of nature has impart­ed to some of the most inconsiderable of his creatures! 24. The kind of sea-shrubs, as they were formerly accounted, usually termed CORALLINES, are in reality no other than cases for various species of insects. A French gentlemen was the first who discovered this. Observing a great number of insects lodged in several parts of these marine productions, he soon inferred, that these were only cases made by these creatures for their habita­tions : and many of them have since been found to be the covers of marine polypi: a strange kind of animal, so nearly partaking the nature of some vegetables, that new, perfect polypi, perpetually grow like branches from the trunk of the parent. Yea, if a polypus be cut in pieces, every piece will grow into a perfect polypus. A late writer informs us. “At the isle of Sheppey, I had the op­portunity of seeing several branched corallines alive in sea water, by the help of a commodious microscope, and was fully assured, that these apparent plants were real animals, in their proper cases, which were fixt to the shells of oysters and other small shell-fish. And at Brighthelmstone, I saw those corallines in motion, whose polypi are contained in cups supported by a long stem that appears full of rings, or twisted in form of a. screw, In the middle of the transparent stems or cases, I could easily discern the thread like a tender part of the animals. On several parts of these corallines there are little bodies, which through the microscope appear as so many bladders. To the use of these I was quite a stranger before: but I now discovered, they are habitations of young polypes,. which ‘are produced here and there on the sides of the parent, as in the fresh-water polypus: only in the marine ones they are protected by this vesicular covering. These vesicles appear at a certain season of the year, according to the different species of corallines, and fall off, like the blossoms of plants, as soon as the polypi arrive at maturity.” But corrallines are cases, not of polypus only, but of various sorts of animals: which occasion their ‘being made of various materials, and in great variety of forms. Some are united closely and compactly together, forming irregular branches, like trees. Others rise in tufts, like the tubular sort of plants, distinct from one another. Some Maltese corallines are of a peculiar kind. The animals enclosed in these, resemble the many-legged spiders, usually known by the name of scolopendra. Their outside coats are formed of an ash-coloured earthly matter, and closely united to an inner coat, which is tough, horny, transparent and extremely smooth. The cavity of the tube is quite round, though the animal is of a long figure, like a leech extended. It can turn itself in this tube, and move up and down the better to attack and secure its prey. It has two remarkable arms. The left much larger than the right. These are doubly feathered. The number of its feet on each side of the body exceeds a hundred and fifty. As barnacles seem to be a medium between birds and fishes, although they more properly belong to the former; so is a polypus (although it is doubtless an animal), between animals and plants. In a polypus, life is preserved after it is cut into several pieces, so that one animal is by section immediately divided into two, three, or more complete animals, each enjoying life and continuing to perform the proper offices of its species. The common operations, both of the animal and vegetable world, are all in themselves astonishing. Nothing but daily ex­perience makes us see without amazement, an animal bring forth young, or a tree bear leaves and fruit. The same experience makes it familiar to us, that Vegetables are propagated, not only from the seed, but from cuttings. So the willow-twig cut off, and only stuck in the ground, presently takes root, arid is as perfect a tree as that whence it is taken. This is common in the vegeta­ble kingdom, and we have a rare example of it in the animal. One sort of polypus is an aquatic animal, to be found in ditch water. It is very slender, and has on the forepart several horns, which serve it for legs and arms. Between these is the mouth; it opens into the stomach, which takes up the whole length of the body: indeed the whole body is but one pipe, a sort of gut which opens at both ends. The common polypus is about three quarters of an inch long; but there are many species of them: some of which can extend themselves to the length of six or seven inches. Even in the same species, the number of legs and arms is not always the same: but they have seldom fewer than six. Both the body and arms may be inflated all manner of ways, and hence it is, that they put themselves into so great a variety of figures. They do not swim, but crawl on the ground, on any body they meet within the waters. They usually fix their posterior end to something, and stretch their bodies and arms into the water. With their arms they catch numberless insects, which are swim­ming up and down. A polypus, having seized its prey, uses one or more arms to bring it to his mouth. He can master a worm thrice as long as himself, which he swallows whole: and having drawn all that is nutritive from it, then throws out the skin. “I have cut a polypus in two, between seven and eight in the morning, and before three in the afternoon each part was a com­plete animal, able to eat a worm as long as itself. If a polypus he cut lengthways, beginning at the head, but not quite to the tail, there is, a polypus with two heads, two bodies, and one tail. Some of these beads and bodies may soon be cut lengthways again Thus I have produced a polypus, with seven heads, seven bodies, and one tail. I cut off the heads of this new hydra, seven others grew up, and each of these cut off became a polypus. “I cut a polypus cross-ways into two parts; put them together again, and they reunited. I put the posterior part of one, to the anterior of another, they soon united into one polypus, which ate the next day, and soon put forth young ones, from each part. “As the body of a polypus is but one gut, I have turned it inside out. The inside soon after became the outside, and it fed and multiplied as before. They do not copulate at all; but each polypus has the faculty of multiplying itself: yea, before it is severed from its parent, I have seen a polypus while growing out of the side of its parent, bring forth young ones: nay, and those young ones themselves have also brought forth others.” Cut a polypus across, and the same day the anterior end lengthens itself, creeps and eats. The lower part which has no head, gets one, forms itself a mouth, and puts forth arms. It is all one, in whatever part the body is cut; cut it into three or four parts, and each becomes a complete polypus. Cut one lengthways, slitting it quite in two, so as to form two half pipes. It is not long before the two sides of them close; they begin at the posterior part, and close upward, till each half pipe becomes a whole one. All this is done in less than an hour, and the polypus produced from each of those halves, differs nothing from the first, only it has fewer arms. But these too are soon supplied. But, as strange animals as all polypi are, the clustering polypi are more strange than the rest. One species of these are of a bell-like form. Their anterior part, in which is their mouth, is hollowed inward, and resembles the open end of a bell. Their other extremity ends in a point, to which is fixt a stalk or pedicle. The polypus when it is ready to divide, first draws in its lips into the cavity: it then by degrees grows round, and presently after divides itself into two other round bodies. These in a few moments open, loose their spherical form, and put on that of a bell, or complete polypus. This is the manner in which clustering polypi are multiplied. The whole operation is performed in three quarters of an hour. The cluster which they form, rests upon a stem, which is fixt to some other body at its lower extremity, and from it arise other branches: other branches again shoot out from these in different places; from these last other new ones, and so on. At the extremity of each branch, is a polypus. The assem­blage of all these branches, with the polypi at their extremities, form a cluster much resembling a tuft of flowers. The stem which carries all the cluster, is capable of a remarkable motion, each branch contracts, when it is touched: each can contract itself alone, though this seldom happens, for in contracting it commonly touches another, which then immediately contracts with it. When the main stem which bears the whole cluster contracts, all the branches contract together, and the whole becomes entirely closed. A moment after the branches and the stem again extend themselves, and the whole cluster recovers its ordinary figure. A cluster is formed thus: a single polypus detaching from the cluster, swims about in the water, till it meets with some proper body, to fix itself upon. It then has a pedicle, but which is no longer than the polypus itself: but it becomes eight or nine times as long in four and twenty hours, and is to be the main stem of the new cluster. In a day after it is fixt, it divides itself into two, each of which in a few hours divide into two more. These soon after put out branches, and all this is reiterated several times. Thus a principal branch is formed, provided with several lateral ones, which afterwards become principal ones, with regard to others that spring from them. When a cluster is nearly stript of its polypi, the branches are no longer able to contract. When but a few polypi remain, none can contract but those to which they are fixed. Hence it appears, that this motion in the stem and branches of a cluster, is entirely derived from the polyp1. Indeed at first sight one would imagine, that the polypi fixed to the branches of a cluster, spring from them, in the same manner as the leaves, the flowers and the fruit of a vegetable spring from it. On the contrary, the branches composing the clusters of polypi, spring from the polypi, which are their extremities, and these polypi, which at first appear to be fruits, may rather be termed the roots of them. The nature of corallines, and the mechanism of their polypi, says Dr. Peyssonel, made me conjecture, that it was the same with respect to sponges; that animals nested in the intestines of their fibres, and gave them their origin and growth: but I had not yet seen the insects. Sponges appeared to me only as skeletons, and I at length discovered the worms which form them. They are of four species. 1. The tube-like sponge. 2. The cord-like sponge. 3. The fingered sponge. 4. The honeycomb sponge. These four kinds only differ in form; they have the same qualities, and are made by the same kinds of worm; they are all composed of hard, firm, dirty fibres, sometimes brittle, separated one from another, having large hollow tubes dispersed through their substance: these tubes are smooth within. These fibres, which consist of the twisted doubles of the sponge, form as it were a labyrinth filled with worms, which are easily crushed: but having carefully torn the sponges, and their gross fibres, I discovered the living worms. These species of sponge commonly grow upon sandy bottoms. At their origins we perceive a nodule of sand, or other matter, almost petrified, round which the worms begin to work, and round which they retire, as to their last refuge, where I had the pleasure of seeing them play, exercise themselves, and retire, by examining them with the microscope. The worms are about one third of a line thick, and two or three lines in length. They are so transparent that one may discern their viscera through their substance, and the blood may be seen to circulate. They have a small, black head, furnished with two pincers; the other extremity is almost square, and much larger than the head. Upon the back may be seen two white streaks, as if they contained the chyle: these two canals are parallel to each other from the head to the other extremity, where they come together. In the middle, where the belly and viscera ought to be placed, a blackish matter is perceivable, which has a kind of circulation; sometimes it fills all the body of the worm, sometimes it gathers towards the head, or at the other end, and sometimes it follows the motion of the animal. This vermicular motion begins at the posterior extremity, and ends at the head. They have no particular lodge, they walk indifferently into the tubular labyrinth. These sponges are attached to some solid body in the sea. Some kinds are fixed to rocks, others to heaps of sand, or to pieces of petrified matter: and the sea putting in motion the sand, and the little parcels of broken shells, forces them into the holes of the sponge. So far the doctor. But still I doubt, whether the worms form the sponge, or only lodge therein, though I think, the former more probable. The same doubt I have with regard to what follows: “the belemnites is a fossile, a kind of stony shell, which has hitherto perplexed the naturalists of all countries. Strait ones are common in Sweden, Livonia and Germany, those that are curved are more common in France and England. The nucleus of it seems to be a strait concamerated shell, which is surrounded by a huge solid substance. Now how was this formed And how is it that some have a nucleus, others not Again, how is it that in some, the cavities containing it are very small, in others not visible In order to understand this, we may consider, that many bodies which we always took for vegetable, are really animal. So the several coral line substances, hitherto reputed marine plants, are now generally believed, to be the shells of polypi. Is it not then highly probable, that the testaceous tribe in general are generated like flies, the latter from a maggot, the former from a polypus It must be so with many: and as corals in general seem to be constructed by polypi, are they not the primary state of all, or most of the testaceous tribe If so, it is almost beyond a con­jecture, that the body called a belemnites, (which on being put into acids, is found to ferment in like manner as corals) is formed likewise by a polypus, from which the nucleus seems to be the last state. And does not this concamerated body, of which the belemnites is only the habitation, lead us into the connection and manner of generation, perhaps particular to the testaceous tribe, by remaining within its nidus all its’ life, whereas the generality quit their nidi as soon as they are able to shift for themselves. The POLYPUS is an animal of the vermicular kind: the bodies of some are long and slender, like a fine fibre, extremely tender, and from the head proceed a variety of claws or arms, with which it catches its food, and prepares its habitation. They are of various shapes and textures; according to the species of the animal that is to proceed from them, and very wonderful it is, how so small an animal should form so Large a body as the belemnites Some animals in the terrestrial parts of the creation, naturally associate together, others seek solitude. The same dispositions we find in the aquatic, then why not among polypi Is not this evidently seen from the variety of coral bodies It seems in some as if thousands acted in concert together; in others each acts for itself; of which latter is the belemnites. ‘F he shape of the belemnites is generally conic, terminating in a point, and of various colours, according to the juices of the stratum in which it lay; it has usually a seam running down the whole length of it. Its interior constitution seems composed of several crusts, which when broken transversely proceed on rays from the seam to the centre. This seam I take to have been the habitation of the animal in its polypus state, and in which the body was affixed. The animals of the testaceous tribe in general, as they increase in age,’ increase their shell in thickness, until they have lived their stated time, and that is done by adding a new crust to it, as several, if not all the tubuli, the oysters, and the nautili, witness. By length of time they grow inactive and dead, the effect of extreme old age suffering other marine bodies, as worms and oysters, to affix themselves to their outer coat. The like appearance we frequently meet with on belemnitæ, when the animal within was either waxed old, or dead. One might enlarge on the analogies which may. be found, between the origin of these minute animals, the origin of plants, and that of those other animals, which we are more acquainted with. But we shall be better able to judge of those analogies, when we come to know more both of plants and animals. The surprising facts which the study of natural history lays before us day by day, may convince us, that the nature of plants and animals, is as yet but very imperfectly known: indeed much more imperfectly, than many have been apt to imagine. All we know, is very little in comparison of what remains unknown. And this consideration, as it should prompt us, still more dili­gently to inquire after truth, so it should make us exceeding cautious how we judge of the nature of things from so few principles as we are at present masters of. 25. One circumstance more is worthy our observation, with regard not only to insects, but in some measure to the whole animal creation ; namely, the various transformations they undergo. Those kinds of animals which are viviparous, which produce their young alive, undergo the slightest alteration; yet even these have some. Growth itself is the lowest step of this ladder: and this is common to all animals. Man himself, lordly as he is, at his perfect growth, is not only the most helpless at his birth, but continues so, longer than any other member of the animal world. However, except that of growth, he undergoes no considerable alteration in this life. Quadrupeds undergo a greater change yearly, by the loss and renovation of their outward covering. This change however is gradual, and almost insensible, the latter being of the same sub­stance, and even colour as the former. But there is an exception to this, in those which undergo this change twice in the year, as do the bears, hares and foxes in Greenland, and other extremely cold countries: and the ermins, which are frequent in Yorkshire, and several other parts of England, their hair changes white at the approach of winter, and in spring resumes its former colour. One class however of viviparous animals undergo a more sudden alteration, namely, the serpent kind. These having no hair or fur to loose gradually, cast their whole covering at once, and are so dexterous therein, though they have neither feet nor claws, that their whole skins are frequently found entire, without even the cornea or outward case of the eyes, which accompanies the other exuviæ, being broken. Next to these are oviparous animals. These make their first appearance in a state of entire inaction, but being gradually ripened by natural or artificial heat, burst out, some in their complete’ state, as lizards, spiders and fish in general: and others, as birds, requiring, like viviparous animals, the addition of the extrementitious parts. Almost all the species of these, which we know, need the same further change with the viviparous. All birds moult their feathers, and many in cold countries change the colour of them in winter. Lizards drop their skins like snakes; one kind of them, water newts, every two or three weeks. Spiders, crabs, and all whose outward covering is crustaceous, and therefore incapable of distension, cast their shells once a year, at which time nature provides them with such supplemen­tary juices, by a kind of exudation from their pores, as form a new shell beneath. Proceed we to those animals, whose transformations are more complete, which being fully possest of life in one figure, after­wards assume another, or being first in one, afterwards inhabit a quite different element. . To give an instance of each, the egg of a frog being laid in the water, produces a lively animal which we call a tadpole. He has a thin slimy tail, which steers him in the Water, in which he wholly resides. But after awhile, legs and feet burst through the skin, the tail drops off, and he is a perfect quadruped. He leaps upon the earth, and ranges over that ground, on which some time since it would have been death to him to be cast. The beetle class is an instance of the other change, and par­ticularly the cock-chaffer. The female deposites her egg below ‘the surface of the earth, which hatches into a grub, with two or three pair of’ strong forceps, whereby it is enabled to force its way through the mould where it was lodged, and to cut and tear in pieces for its nourishment any small roots which come in its way. After staying here two whole years, a shelly covering forms over its soft body, a pair of fine wings grow on its back, to secure which from danger, when not used, a pair of strong cases are provided. And now forcing his way out of the ground, he becomes a lively inhabitant of the air. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 20: PART 02 - CHAPTER 6 - GENERAL OBSERVATIONS AND REFLECTIONS ======================================================================== Chapter 6 - General Observations and Reflections 1. As to the number of animals, the species of beasts, including also serpents, are not very numerous. Such as are certainly known and clearly described, are not above a hundred and fifty. And yet probably not many, that are of any considerable bigness, have escaped the notice of the curious. The species of birds, known and described, are near five hundred, and the species of fishes, secluding shell-fish, as many: but if the shell fish are taken in, above six times the number. How many of each genus remain undiscovered, we cannot very nearly conjecture. But we may suppose, the whole sum of beasts and birds to exceed by a third part, and fishes by one half, those that are known. The insects, taking in the exanguious, both terrestrial and aquatic, may for number vie even with plants themselves. The exanguious alone, by what Dr. Lister has observed and delineated, we may conjecture cannot be less, if not many more, than three thousand species. Indeed this computation seems to be much too low: for if there are a thousand species in this island and the sea near it; and if the same proportion hold between the insects native of England, and those of the rest of the world, (about a tenth.) the species of insects on the whole globe, will amount to ten thousand. Now if the number of creatures even in this lower world, be so exceeding great: how great, how immense must be the power and wisdom of Him that formed them all! For as- it argues far more’ skill in an artificer, ‘to be able to frame both clocks and watches, and pumps, and many other sorts of machines, than ho could display in making but one of these sort of engines, so the Almighty declares more of his wisdom, in forming such a multi-tilde of different sorts of creatures, and all with admirable and unreprovable art, than if he had created but a few. 2.Again, the same superiority of knowledge would be displayed, by contriving engines for the same purposes after different fashions, as the moving clocks or other engines by springs instead of weights: and he infinitely wise Creator, has shewn by many instances, that he is not confined to one only instrument, for the working one effect, but can perform the same thing by divers means. So, though most flying creatures have feathers, yet hath he enabled several to fly without them, as the bat, one sort of lizard, two sorts of fishes, and numberless sorts of insects. In like manner, although the air bladder in fishes seems necessary for swimming, yet are many so formed as to swim without it: as first, the cartilaginous kind, which nevertheless ascend and descend at pleasure, although by what means we cannot tell. Secondly, the cetaceous kind: the air which they receive into their lungs, in come measure answering the same end. Yet again, though God has tempered the blood and bodies of most fished to their cold element, yet to shew he can preserve a creature as hot as beasts themselves in the coldest water, he has placed a variety of these cetaceous fishes in the northernmost seas. And the copious fat wherewith their bodies are enclosed, by reflecting the internal heat, and keeping off the external cold, keeps them warm even in the neighbourhood of the pole. Another proof that God can by different means produce the same effect, is the various ways of extracting the nutritious juice out of the aliment, in various creatures. in man and beasts, the food first chewed is received into the stomach, where it is concocted and reduced into chyle, and so evacuated into the intestines, where, being mixed with the choler and pancreatic juice, it is farther subtalized, and rendered so fluid, that its finer parts easily enter the mouth of the lacteal veins. In birds there is no chewing: but in such as are not carnivorous, it is immediately swallowed into the crop, or anti-stomach, which is observed in many, especially piscivorous birds, where it is moistened by some proper juice, and then transferred to the gizzard, by the working of whose muscles, assisted by small pebbles, which they swallow for that purpose, it is ground small, and so transmitted to the intestines. -In oviparous reptiles, and all kind of serpents, there is neither chewing nor comminution in the stomach, but as they swallow animals whole, so they void the skins unbroken, having extracted the nutritious juices. Here, by the bye, we may observe the wonderful dilatability- of the throats and gullets of serpents. Two entire adult mice have been taken out of the stomach of an adder whose neck was no bigger than one’s little finger. Fishes, which neither chew, nor grind their meat, do, by means of a corrosive juice- in their stomach, reduce skin, bones and all into chyle. And yet this juice shews no acidity to the taste. But how mild soever it tastes, it corrodes all animal substances, as aqua fortis does iron. 3.Several eminent men have been of opinion, that all brutes are mere machines. This many be agreeable enough to the pride of man; but it is not agreeable to daily observation. Do we not continually observe in the brutes which are round about us, a degree of reason Many of their actions cannot be accounted for without it: as that commonly noted of dogs, that running before their masters, they will stop at the parting of the road, till they see which way their masters take. And when they have gotten what they fear will be taken from them, they run away and hide it. Nay, what account can be given, why a dog being to leap on a table, which he sees he cannot reach at once, if a stool or chair stands near it, first mounts that, and thence proceeds to the table If he ‘were mere clock work, and his motion caused by a material spring, that spring being once set to work, would carry the machine in a right line, towards the object that put it in motion. Were it true, that brutes were mere machines, they could have no perception of pleasure or pain. But how contrary is this, to the doleful significations they give, when beaten or tormented How contrary to the common sense of mankind -For do we not all naturally pity them, apprehending them to feel pain just as we do Whereas no man is troubled to see a plant torn, or cut, or mangled how you please. And how contrary to scripture “ A righteous man regardeth the life of his beast: but the tender mercies of the wicked are cruel.” Prov. xii. 10. The former clause is usually rendered, a good man is merciful to his beast. And this is the true rendering, as appears by the opposite clause, that the wicked is cruel. Cruelty then may be exercised toward beasts. But this could not be, were they mere machines. 4.The natural instinct of all creatures, and the special provision made for some of the most helpless, do in a particular manner demonstrate the great Creator’s care. First, what an admirable principle is the natural affection of all creatures toward their young By means of this, with what care do they nurse them up, thinking no pains too great to be taken for them, no danger too great to. be ventured, upon, for their guard and security—-! How will they caress them with- their affectionate notes, put food into their mouths, suckle them, cherish and keep them warm, teach them to pick and eat, and gather food for themselves: and, in a word,- perform -the whole part of So many nurses, deputed by the sovereign Lord of the world, to help- such young and shiftless creatures till they are able to shift for themselves! Other animals, insects, in particular, whose offspring is. too numerous for the parent’s provision, are so generated, as to need none of their care-. For they arrive immediately at their perfect state, and so are able to shift for themselves. Yet thus far the paternal instinct, equal to the most rational foresight, extends, that they do not drop their eggs any where, but in commodious places, suitable to their species.- And- some include in their nests, sufficient and agreeable. food, to serve their young till they come to maturity. And for the young themselves. As the parent is not able to carry them about, to clothe them and dandle them, as man doth: how admirably is it contrived., that they can soon walk about, and begin to shift for themselves! How naturally do they hunt for their teat, suck, pick and take in their proper food! On the other hand, the young of mane (as their parent’s reason is sufficient, to help, to nurse, feed and clothe them) are born utterly helpless, and are more absolutely than any creature, cast upon their parent’s care. Secondly, what admirable- provision is made for some of the most helpless creatures, at a time when they must otherwise utterly perish! The winter is an improper season to afford food-to insects and many other animals. When the fields, trees, and plants are naked,. and the air is chilled with frost; what would become of such animals, whose tender bodies are impatient of cold, and who are nourished only by the produce of the spring or summer To prevent their total destruction, the wise- Preserver of the world has so ordered, that in the first place, those which are impatient of cold, should have such a peculiar structure of body, as during that season, not to suffer any waste, nor consequently need any recruit. Hence many sorts of birds, and almost all insects, pass the whole winter without any food. And most of them without any respiration. It seems all motion of the animal juices is extinct. For though cut’ in pieces they do not awake, nor does any fluid ooze out at the wound. This sleep therefore is little less- than death, and their waking, than a resurrection: when the returning sun revives them and their food together. The next provision is for such creatures as can bear the cold, but would want food. This is provided against in some, by- a long patience of hunger; in others, by their wonderful instinct, in laying up food before hand, against the approaching winter., By some of these, their little treasuries are at the proper-season well stock-ed with- provisions. Yea, whole fields are here -and there bespread with the fruits- of the neighbouring trees laid carefully up in the earth, and covered safe by provident little animals. 5. And what a prodigious act is it of the Creator a indulgence to the poor, shiftless irrationals, that they are already furnished with such clothing, as is proper to their place and business! With hair, with feathers, with shells, or with firm armature, all nicely accommodated, as well to the element wherein they live, as to their several occasions there. To beasts, hair is a commodious clothing; which together with the apt texture of their skin, fit them in all weathers to lie on the ground, and to do their service to-man. The thick and warm fleeces of others, are a good defence against the cold and wet, and also a soft bed: yea, and to many a comfortable covering for their tender young. All the animals near Hudson’s Bay, are clothed wit-h a close, soft, warm fur. flut what is still more surprising, and what draws all attentive minds to admire the wisdom and goodness of Providence, is, that the very dogs and cats which are brought thither from England, on the approach of winter change their appearance, and acquire a much longer, softer and thicker coat of hair than they originally had. And as hair is a commodious dress for beasts, so are feathers for birds. They are not only a good guard against wet and cold, but nicely placed every where on the body, to give them an easy passage through the air, and to waft them through that thin medium. How curious is their texture for lightness, and withal close and firm for strength! And where it is necessary they should be filled, what a light, medullary substance are they filled with So that even the strongest parts, far from being a load to the body, rather help to make it light and buoyant. And how curiously are the vanes of the feathers wrought, with capillary filaments, neatly interwoven together, whereby they are sufficiently close and strong, both to guard the body against the injuries of the weather, and to empower the wings, like so many sails, to make strong impulses on the air in their flight. No less curious is the clothing of reptiles. How well adapted are the rings of some, and the contortions of the skin of others, not only to fence the body sufficiently, but to enable them to creep, to perforate the earth, and to perform all the offices of their state, better than any other covering Observe, for instance, the tegument of the earth-worms, made in the completest manner, for making their passage through the earth, wherever their occasions lead them. Their body is made throughout- of small rings, which have a curious apparatus of muscles, that enable them with great strength to dilate, extend, or contract their whole body. Each ring is likewise armed with stiff, sharp prickles, which they can open at pleasure, or shut close to their body. Lastly, under- their skin there is a slimy juice, which they emit as-occasion requires, to lubricate the body, and facilitate their passage into the earth. By all these means they are enabled, with ease and speed, to work themselves into the earth, which they could not do, were they covered- with hair, feathers, sea-lea, or such clothing, like any of the other creatures. How wisely, likewise, are the inhabitants of the waters clothed! The shells of some fishes, are. a strong guard to their tender bodies, and consistent enough with their slow motion: while the scales and fins of others afford them an easy and swift passage through the waters. 6. Admirable, likewise, is the sagacity of brute animals in the conveniency -and method of their habitations. Their architectural skill herein, exceeds all the skill of man. With what inimitable art do some of these poor, untaught creatures, lay a parcel of rude, ugly sticks or straws together! with what curiosity do they line them within, yea, wind and place every hair, feather, or lock of wool, to guard and keep warm the tender bodies, both of themselves and their young ! And with what art do they thatch over and coat their nests without, to- deceive the eye of the spectators, as well as to guard and fence them against the injuries of the weather. Even insects, those little, weak, tender creatures, what artists are they in building their habitations! How does the bee gather its comb from various flowers, the wasp from solid timber With what accuracy do other insects perforate the earth, wood, yea, stone itself! Farther yet, with what care and neatness do most of them line their houses within, and seal them up and fence them without! How artificially do others fold up the leaves of trees; others glue light bodies together, and make floating houses, to transport themselves, to and fro, as their various occasions require 7. Another instance of the wisdom of Him that made and governs the world, we have in the balance of creatures. The whole surface of the terraqueous globe, can afford room and support, to no more than a determinate number of all sorts of creatures. And if they should increase to double or treble the number, they must starve or devour one another. To keep the balance even, the Author of nature has determined the life of all creatures to such a length, and their increase to such a number, proportioned to their use in the world. The life indeed of some hurtful creatures is long; of the lion in particular. But then their increase is exceeding small: and by that means they do not overstock the world. On the other hand, where the—increase is great, the lives of those creatures are generally short. And beside this, they are of great use to man, either for food or on other occasions. This indeed should be particularly observed, as a signal instance of Divine Providence, that useful creatures are produced in great plenty: others in smaller numbers. The prodigious increase of insects, both in and out of the waters may exemplify the former observation. For innumerable creatures feed upon them, and would perish, were it not for this supply. And the latter is confirmed by what many have- remarked: that creatures of little use, or by their voraciousness pernicious, either seldom bring forth, or have but one or two at a birth. 8. How remarkable is the destruction and reparation of the whole animal creation! The surface of the earth is the inexhaustible source whence both man and beast derive their subsistance. Whatever lives, lives on what vegetates, and vegetables in their turn, live, on whatever has lived or vegetated: it is impossible for any thing to live, without destroying something else. It is thus only that animal can subsist themselves, and propagate their species. God, in creating the first individual of each species, animal or vegetable, not only gave a form to the dust of the earth, but a principle of life, enclosing in each, a greater or smaller quantity of original particles, indestructible and common to all organized beings. These pass from body to body, supporting the life, and ministering to the nutrition and growth of each. And when any body is reduced to ashes, these original particles, on which death hath no power, survive and pass into other beings, bringing with them nourishment and life. Thus every production, every renovation, every increase by generation or nutrition, supposes a preceding destruction, a conversion of substance, an accession of these organical particles, which ever subsisting in an equal number, render nature always equally full of life. The -total quantity of life in the universe is therefore perpetually the same. And whatever death seems to destroy, it destroys no part of that primitive life, which is diffused through all organized beings. Instead of injuring nature, it only causes it to shine with the greater lustre. If death is permitted to cut down individuals, it is only, in order to make of the universe, by the reproduction of beings, a theatre ever crowded, a spectacle ever new. But it is never permitted to destroy the most inconsiderable species. That beings may succeed each other, it is necessary that there be a destruction among them. Yet, like a provident mother, nature in the midst of her inexhaustible abundance, has prevented any waste, by the few species of carnivorous animals, and the few individuals of each species; multiplying at the same time both the species and individuals of those that feed on herbage. In vegetables she seems to be profuse, both with regard to the number and fertility of the species. In the sea, indeed, all the species are carnivorous. -But though they ate perpetually preying upon, they never destroy each other, because their fruitfulness iš equal to their depredations. “Thus, through successive ages stands, Firm fix’d thy Providential care! Pleas’d with the works of thine own hands Thou dost the wastes of the repair.” 9. I add a-few more reflections on the world in general. The same wise Being, who was pleased to make man, prepared for him also an habitation so advantageously placed, that the heavens and the rest of the universe might serve it both as an ornament and a covering. He constructed likewise the air which man- was to breathe, and the fire which was to sustain his life. He prepared also metals, salts, and all terrestrial elements to renew, and maintain throughout all ages, whatever might be on any account necessary for the inhabitants of the earth. The same Divine Ruler is manifest in all the objects that compose the universe. It is he that caused the dry land- to appear, above the surface of the ocean, that gauged the capacity of that. amazing reservoir,’ and proportioned it to the fluid it contains. He collects the rising vapours, and causes them to distil in gentle showers. At his command the sun darts his enlivening rays, and the winds scatter the noxious effluvia, which if they were collected together might destroy the human race. He formed those hills and lofty mountains which receive and retain the water within their bowels, in order to distribute it with economy to the inhabitants of the plains, and to give it such an impulse, as might enable it to overcome the unevenness of the lands, and convey it to the remotest habitations. He spread under the plains, beds of clay, or compact earths, there to stop the waters, which after a great rain, make their way through innumerable little passages. These sheets -of water frequently remain in a level with the neighbouring rivers, and fill our wells with their redundancy, or as those subside, flow into them again. He proportioned the variety of plants in each country, to the exigencies of the inhabitants, and adapted the variety of the soils, to the nature of those plants. He endued numerous animals with mild dispositions, to make them the domestics of man: and taught the other animals to govern themselves, with an aversion to dependence, in rder to continue their species without loading man with too many cares. If we more nearly survey the animal and vegetable world, we find all animals and plants have a certain and determined form, which is invariably the same. So that if a monster ever appear, it cannot propagate its kind, and introduce a new species into the universe. Great indeed is the variety of organized bodies. But their number is limited. Nor i-s it possible to add a new genus either of plants or animals, to those of which God has created the germina, and determined the form. The same Almighty power has created a precise number of simple elements, essentially different form each other, and invariably the same. By these he varies the scene of the Universe and at the same time prevents its destruction, by the very immutability. of the nature and number of these elements. So that the whole is for ever changed, and yet eternally the same. Yet if we would account for the origin of these elements, we are involved in endless uncertainty. We can only say, he who has appointed their different uses in all ages, has rendered those uses infallible, by the impossibility of either destroying or increasing them. Herein we read the characters of his power, which is invariably obeyed; of his wisdom, which has abundantly provided for every thing; and of his tender kindness toward man, for whom he has provided services equally various and infallible. It is an additional proof of his continual care of his creatures, that though every thing be composed of simple elements, all placed within our reach, yet no power is able to destroy the least particle of them. Nothing but- the same cause which was able to give them birth, can annihilate them, or change their nature. In truth, the design and will of the- Creator, is the only physical cause of the general economy of the world: the only physical cause of every organized body, every germen that flourishes in it; the only physical cause of every minute, elementary particle, which enters into the composition of all. We must not then expect ever to have a clear and full concept tion of effects, natures, and causes. For where is the thing which we can fully conceive We can no more comprehend either what body in general is, or any particular body, suppose a mass of clay, or a ball of lead, than what a spirit, or what God is. If we turn our eyes to the minutest parts of animal life, we shall be lost in astonishment! And though every thing is alike easy to the Almighty, yet to us it is matter of the highest wonder, that in those specks of life, we -find a greater number of members to be put in motion, more wheels and pullies to be kept going, and a greater variety of machinery, more elegance and workmanship (so to speak) in the composition, more beauty and ornament in the finishing, than are seen in the enormous bulk of the crocodile, the elephant, or the whale. Yea, they seem to be the effects of an art, as much more exquisite as the- movements of a watch are, than those of a coach or waggon. Hence, we learn, that an atom, to God, is as a world;’ and a world but as an atom: just’ as to him one day is a thousand years; and a thousand years but as one day. Every species likewise of these animalcula may serve to correct our pride, and shew how inadequate our notions are, to the real nature of -things.- How extremely little can we possibly know, either of the largest or smallest part of the creation We are furnished with -organs capable of discerning, to a certain degree, of great or little only. All beyond is-as far beyond the reach of our conceptions, as if it had never existed. Proofs of a wise, a good and powerful Being are indeed deducible from every thing around’ us: but the extremely great, and the extremely small, seem to furnish us with those that are most Convincing. And, perhaps, if duly considered, the fabric of a world, and the fabric of a mite, nay be found equally striking and’ conclusive. Glasses discover to us numberless kinds of living creatures, quite indiscernable to the naked eye. And how many thousand kinds may there be, gradually decreasing in size, which we -cannot see by any help whatever Yet to all these we must believe God has not only appointed the most wise means for preservation and propagation, but has adorned them with beauty equal at least to any thing our eyes have seen. In short, the world around us is the mighty volume wherein God hath declared himself. Human languages and characters are different in different nations. And those of one nation are not understood by the rest. But the book of nature is written in an universal character, which every man may read in his own language. It Consists not of words, but things which picture out the Divine perfections. The firmament every where expanded, with all its stary host, declares the immensity and magnificence, the power and wisdom of its Creator. Thunder, lightning, storms, earthquakes and volcanos, shew the terror of his wrath. Seasonable rains, sunshine and harvest, denote his bounty and goodness, and demonstrate how he opens his hand, and fills all living things with plenteousness. The constantly succeeding generations of plants and animals, imply the eternity of their first cause. Life subsisting in millions of different forms, shews the vast diffusion of this animating power, and death the infinite disproportion between him and every living thing. Even the actions of animals are an eloquent and a pathetic language. Those that want the help of man, have a thousand engaging ways, which, like the voice of God speaking to his heart, command him to preserve and cherish them. In the mean time, the motions or looks of those-which might do him harm, strike him with, terror, and warn him, either to fly from or arm himself against them. Thus it is, that every part of nature directs us to nature’s God. 10. The reader will easily excuse my concluding this chapter, also, with an extract from Mr. Hervey. In all the animal world, we find no tribe, no - individual, neglected by its Creator, -Even the ignoble creatures are most wisely circumstanced, and most liberally accommodated. They all generate in that particular season, which supplies them with a stock of provisions, sufficient not only for them selves, but for their increasing families. The sheep can, when there is herbage to fill their uciders, and create milk for their lambs. The birds batch their young, when new-born insects swarm on every side. So that the caterer, whether it be male or female parent, needs only to alight on the ground, or make a little excursion into the air, and find a feast ready dressed- for the mouths at home. Their love to their offspring, while they are helpless, is invincibly strong: whereas the moment they are able to shift for themselves, it vanishes as though it had never been. The hen that marches at the head of her little brood, would fly at a xnastiff in their- defence. Yet, within a few weeks, she -leaves them to the wide world, and does not even know them any more. If the God of Israel inspired Bezaleel and Aholiah “ with wisdom and knowledge in all manner of workmanship,” the God of nature has not been wanting, in his instructions to the fowls of the air. The skill with which they erect their houses, and adjust their apartments is inimitable. The caution with which they hide their abodes from the searching eye, or intruding hand, is admirable. No general, though fruitful in expedients, could build so commodious a lodgement. Give the most celebrated artificer the same materials, which these weak and unexperienced creatures use; let a Jones or a Demoivre have only some rude stones or ugly sticks, a few bits of dirt or scraps of hair, a lock of wool, or a coarse sprig of moss; and what works could they produce We extol the commander, who knows how to take advantage of the ground; who by every circumstance embarrasses the forces of his enemy, and advances the success of his own. Does not this praise belong to the feathered leaders, who fix their pensile camp, on the-dangerous branches that wave aloft in the air, or dance over the stream By this means the vernal gales rock their cradle, and the murmuring waters lull the young, while both concur to terrify their enemies, and keep them at a distance. Some hide their little household from view, andst the shelter of entangled furze. Others remove it from discovery, in the centre of a thorny thicket. And by one stratagem or anotimer they are generally as secure as if they intrenched themselves in the earth. If the swan has large sweeping wings, and a copious stock of feathers, to spread over his callow young, the wren makes up by contrivance what is wanting in her bulk, Small as she is, she will be obliged to nurse up a very numerous issue. Therefore with surprising judgment she designs, and with-wonderful diligence finishes her nest, It is a neat oval, bottomed and vaulted over with a regular concave: within made soft with down, without thatched with moss, only small aperture left for hem’entrance, By this means the enlivening heat of bet body is greatly increased during the time of incubation. And her young no sooner burst the shell, than they find themselves screened from the annoyance of the weather, and comfortably reposed, till they gather strength in warmth of a bagnio. Perhaps we have been accustomed to look upon insects, as so. many rude scraps of creation. But if we examine them with attention they will appear some of the most polished pieces of divine workmanship. Many of them are decked with the richest finery. Their eyes are an assemblage of microscopes; the common fly, for instance, who surrounded with enemies, has neither strength to resist; nor a place to retreat to secure herself. For this reason she has need to be very vigilant, and always upon her guard. But her head is so fixed that it cannot turn to, see what passes, either behind or around her Piovidence, therefore, has given her, not barely a retinue, but more than a legion of eyes, insomuch that a single fly is supposed to be the mistress of no less than eight thousand. By the help of this truly amazing apparatus, she sees on every side, with the utmost ease and speed, though without any motion of the eye, or flexion of the neck. The dress of insects is a vesture of resplendant colours, set with an arrangement of the brightest gems. Their wings are the finest expansion imaginable, compared to -which,- lawn is as coarse as sackcloth. The cases which enclose their wings, glitter with the finest varnish, are scooped into ornamental flutings, are studded with radiant spots, or pinked with elegant holes. Not one but is endued with weapons to seize their prey, and dexterity to escape their foe, to dispatch the business of their station, and enjoy the pleasure of their condition. What if the elephant is distinguished by his huge proboscis The use of this is answered in these his meaner- relations, by the curious feelers, remarkable, if not for their enormous size, yet for their ready flexion and quick sensibility. By these they explore their way in the darkest road: by these they discover and avoid whatever might defile their neat apparel, or endanger their tender lives. Every one admires the majestic horse. With what rapid career doe.s lie bound along the plain! Yet the grasshopper springs forward with a bound abundantly more impetuous. The ant tpo, in proportion to its size, excels him both in swiftness and strength: and will climb precipices, which the most courageous courser dares not attempt to scale. If the snail moves more slowly, she has, however,, no need to go the same way twice over: because, whenever she departs, wherever she removes, she is always at home. The eagle, it is true, is priviledged with pinions that outstrip the wind. Yet neither is that poor outcast, the groveling mole, disregarded by divine Providence. Because she is to dig her cell in the earth, her paws serve for a pick-axe and spade. Her eye is sunk- deep into its socket, that it may not be hurt by her rugged situation. And as it needs very little light, she has no reason to complain of her dark abode. So that her subterranean habitation, which some might call a dungeon, yields her all the safety of a fortified castle, and-all the delights of a decorated grot. Even -the spider, though abhorred by man, is the care of all sustaining Heaven. She is to support herself by trepanning the wandering fly. Suitably to her employ, she has bags of glutinous moisture. From this she spins a clammy thread, and weaves it into a tenaceous net. This she spreads in the most opportune place. But knowing her appearance would deter him. from approaching, she then retires out of sight. Yet she’ constantly keeps within distance; so as to receive immediate intelligence when any thing falls into her toils, ready to spring out in the very instant. And it is observable, when winter chills the air, and no more insects rove through it, knowing her labour would be in vain, she leaves her stand, and discontinues her work. I must not forget the inhabitants of the hive. The bees subsist as a regular community. And their indulgent Creator has given them all implements necessary either for building their combs, or composing their honey. They have each a portable vessel, in which they bring home their collected sweets: and they have the,, most commodious store-houses, wherein they deposite them. They readily distinguish every plant, which affords materials for their business; and- are complete practitioners in the arts of separation and refinement. They are aware that the vernal bloom and summer sun continue but for a season. Therefore, they improve to the utmost every shining hour, and lay up a stock sufficient to supply the whole state, till their flowery harvest returns. If the master of this lower creation is ennobled’ with the powers of reason, the meanest classes of sensitive beings, are endued with the faculty of instinct: a sagacity which is neither derived from observation, nor waits the finishing of experience: which without a tutor teaches them all necessary skill, and enables them without a pattern to perform every needful operation. And what is more remarkable, it never misleads them, either into erroneous principles, or pernicious practices: nor ever fails them- in the most nice and difficult of their undertakings. Let us step into another element, and just visit the watery world. There is not one among the innumerable myriads, that swim the boundless ocean, but is watched over by the Sovereign eye, and is supported by his Almighty hand. He has condescended even to beautify them. He has given the most exact proportion to their shape, the gayest colours to their skin, and a polished surface to their scales. The eyes of some are surrounded with a scarlet circle: the back of others diversified with crimson stains. View them when they glance along the stream, or when they are fresh from their, native brine, the silver is not more bright, nor the rainbow more glowing than their vivid, glossy hues. But as they have neither hands nor feet, how can they help themselves, or escape their enemies By the beneficial, as well as ornamental furniture of fins. These, when expanded, like masts above, and ballast below, poise their floating bodies, and keep them steadily upright. They are likewise greatly assisted by the flexibility and vigorous activity of their tails; with which they shoot through the paths of the sea, swifter than a vessel with all its sails. But we are lost in wonder at the exquisite contrivance and delicate formation of their gills: by which they are accommodated, even in that dense medium, with the benefits of respiration! A piece. of mechanism this, indulged to the meanest of the fry: yet infinitely surpassing, in the fineness of its structure and operation, whatever is curious in the works of art, or commodious in the palaces of princes. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 21: PART 03 - CHAPTER 1 - OF PLANTS ======================================================================== Chapter 1 - Of Plants 1. What we mean by plants 13. Of the increase of grain and seeds 2. Their liquid parts 14. Of male and female plants 3. Their solid parts 15. Of the sleep of plants 4. Of the bark and animals 16. Of the agreement between plants 5. The wood 17. Of the generation of plants 6. The pith 18. Of their flowers 7. The root and branches 19. Their seeds 8. The leaves 20. Their fruits 9. The nutrition of plants 21. Of the perspiration of plants 10. Water not the nutriment of plants 22. Trees inverted will grow 11. The motion of the nutritive juice 23. Of the propagation of several plants 12. The descent and ascent of the sap 24. Of grain planted in various substances I.BY plants we mean organized bodies, destitute of sense and motion, fixed in the earth, and drawing their nourishment from it by their roots. Touching these, we may consider, first, the structure of their parts, and then their nutrition and gene­ration. 2.The parts of which they are composed are either liquid or solid. The liquid are usually divided into juices and tears. The juice is to the plant, what blood isto an animal, and is various in the various kinds of plants. Tears are liquors which are emitted from them, whether they sweat out of them naturally, or are drawn out of them, either by art, or by the heat of the sun. Some of these remain liquid; others grow, by degrees into a firm consistence. 3. Plants consist of three dissimular, solid parts, the root, the trunk and the branches. In each of these we may observe three similar parts, the bark, the wood, and the pith. 4. To begin with the TRUNK. Here we may first observe the BARK; whose surface consists of little bladders, which surround the trunk like a ring. These, which are commonly filled with some kind of juice, being removed, there occur various ranks of woody fibres, curiously wrought in a kind of network, one row above another. The intervals also between those fibres, are all filled with little vessels. The use of the bark seems to be, not only, like skin, to cover the wood and pith, but also to concoct the: nutritive juice, and forward the growth of the plant. And as to the nutrition of the plant, it is probable the juice ascends from the root, through the fibres, and is sustained by the unevenness therein, till it is lodged in the vessels. In these the new juice being mixed, with that they contained before, is fermented, and rarified to such a degree, as is needful for its nourishment. It has been a common opinion, that trees only live by the ascent of the sap in the bark, or between the bark and the wood. But this evidently appears to be a vulgar error, from the instance of a large, old elm, in Magdalen College Grove at Oxford, which was quite disbarked all round, at most places two feet, at some four feet from the ground. Notwithstanding this, it grew and flour­ished many years, as well as any tree in the grove. What is more, it was likewise without all pith, being hollow within as a drum. Add to this, that the plane and cork-trees, divest them­selves every year of all their old bark (as snakes do of their skins), and acquire a new one. Now during the change from one to the other, it is clear they are not nourished by the bark. Therefore there must be other vessels, besides those of the bark, capable of conveying the sap. It is probable, the bark may ordinarily do this; but that when the ordinary conveyance fails, some of the woody parts, which were all sap vessels once, resume their ancient office: so far, at least, as to keep the tree alive, though not to increase its bulk. Perhaps this is the use of the sap-vessels in the wood, different from that of those in the bark. These are designed for the continuation of a tree; those in the bark for its augmentation. It seems the bark in fruit trees is principally designed for the augmentation of the tree itself, while the finer vessels of the woody part, strain and prepare the juices for the fruit. A gen­tleman near Cork, observing that his peachtree grew exceedingly, but bore no fruit, cut off the bark almost quite round, for the breadth of two fingers. The next year the tree hardly grew at all, but bore abundance of fruit. Again. As animals are furnished with the cellular membrane, which invests and covers all the fleshy parts, and screens them from external cold; so plants are encompassed with a bark, complete with fleshy juices, by means whereof even the winter cold is kept off, and hindered from freezing the juices in the vessels. And those sort of trees, whose bark abounds with oil, remain green all the year round. 5.In the WOOD, likewise, there are observed concave fibres, woven as it were, of various vesicles, and stretching all the length of the wood, as do the fibres of the bark. These have intervals between them, in which are transverse vesicles, reaching to the very pith. There are other fibres, which run obliquely, and are far larger, but not so numerous as the former. In some trees there are also several rows of tubes, which emit a thick milky liquor. 6.The PITR is the middle of the wood. It consists of various rows of hollow globules, covered with a fine membrane. In some trees it contains a peculiar juice, which sometimes hardens, or grows black. In tender shoots the pith (which is frequently hexagonal) is not exactly in the middle; but is nearer the bark on the south side, than on the north side of the plant. It is a constant observation, that the pith lessens as the tree grows. Some have imagined it to be the heart of the plant; but this cannot be. For some trees will flourish and bear fruit after the pith is taken out. Besides this, there is in some trees a BLEA, a white and tender substance, between the bark and the wood. 7.The ROOT has nearly the same vessels as the trunk. Through it the juice passes that nourishes the plant. The roots of some plants are full of hollow threads, which transmit nourishment to the upper parts. This in other plants insinuates itself through the pores that are in the bark of the root. The branches of a plant agree with the trunk, in all the essential parts of its struc­ture. If no moisture comes to the roots of trees they cannot grow; but if it comes only to the points of the root, though all the rest remain dry, they grow well: for the root shoots out yearly a sharp pointed tender part, somewhat like the Shari) bud on the end of a sprig, by which it not only enlarges itself in breadth, as the branches do above, but also receives its nourishment. And that tender part moves toward the soft and moist earth. So that to loosen the earth at the points of the roots, grealty helps the growth of all plants. 8.On the smallest part of the branches grow the LEAVES: of these we may observe, 1. The fibres of the leaf stand not on the stalk in an even line, but always in an angular or circular posture: and their vascular fibres or threads, are three, five or seven. The reason of this position is, for the more erect growth, and for the greater strength of the leaf: as also for the security of its sap. 2. The accurate position of these fibres, which often take in the eighth part of a circle, as in mallows: in some plants a tenth; but in most a twelfth. 3. The art of folding up the leaves before the eruption, is incomparable both for elegance and security. They take up the least room their form will bear: and are so Conveniently couched, as to be capable of receiving protection from other parts, and of giving it to each other. Leaves consist of fibres continued from the trunk of the tree. They are clothed with an extremely thin pellicle, ‚which is covered with the finest down. Their skin or coat is only that of the branches extended, as gold is by beating. In the bud they are folded up, almost in the manner of a fan, sometimes in two, sometimes in several plaits. But if they are too thick to plait commodiously in two, and to be ranged against each other, or if they are too small a number, or their fibres too delicate; instead of being plaited, they are rolled up, and form either a single roll, or two rolls, which begin at each extremity of the leaf, and meet in the middle. There are also some plants, as fern in particular, which form three rolls. The chief use of leaves seem to be, 1. To catch the dew and rain, and so convey more nourishment to the plant, than the root alone could do. 2. To take in air; (of which more hereafter;) and, 3. To minister to a kind of insensible perspiration, by which redundancies may be thrown off. 9. The nutrition of plants seems to be performed thus. As the earth abounds with particles of every sort, those which suit each plant, being dissolved by moisture and agitated by heat, enter the root through its threads or pores, ascend through the woody fibres, and being in the vesicles of the plant mixed with its native juice, and subtilized by fermentation, insinuate them­selves into all parts of it. Part of this nourishes the plant and forms the fruit; the residue transpires. But as all particles are not equally fit to enter the pores of every plant, neither can all be fermented into a juice proper to nourish it: the reason is plain, why every plant will not flourish in every soil. It is remarkable, that trees of very different kinds, draw their whole sustenance from the moisture they find in the same piece of ground, and from the ambient air and dews. Hence we may infer, that the very contexture of their bodies form the first seed, are the natural limbers, where the common water and air are digested into so many different leaves and fruits. We see also, that a handful of moss, sometimes above a span long, grows out of a small oyster-shell, without any earth, as do trees out of bare rocks. Hence we easily learn, that the seeds first, and then the roots, stems and leaves of trees, are the strainers which secrete and generate their peculiar saps and juices. These are at first little else than pure air and water, till they are concreted in peculiar salts, by more curious strainers, and inure subtle boilers than art has ever advised. 10. The ancients generally supposed the earth to produce vegetables: many of the moderns ascribe it to water alone. But it is a doubt whether the experiment was made with the nicety that is requisite. And it proves nothing, unless that water be quite pure from any’ terrestrial mixture; for if it be not, the plant may owe its whole growth to that terrestrial matter. Who can find any water, newly taken out of the spring, which does not exhibit even to the naked eye, great numbers of small terrestrial particles, dispersed through every part of it These are of two general kinds. Some are of a mine ral nature, others of a vegetable. Of the latter some are fit to nourish one plant, or one part of it, and some another. All water is much charged with vegetable matter, which is fine, light and easily moveable. Spring water contains less of it than river water, river water more than rain water. To which of these waters, or matter sustained therein, do vege­tables owe their growth In order to decide this, the following experiments were made. Several phials of the same shape and size, were filled with equal quantities of water. Over each was tied a piece of parchment, with a hole in it just large enough for the stem, of the plant, to prevent the water from evaporating, or ascending any way but through the plant. Several plants being exactly weighed, were then placed in these phials, and as they imbibed the water, more was added from time to time. Each glass was marked with a different letter, and all set in the same ‘window, from July 20, till October 1. Then they were taken out, the water in each phial weighed, and the plant with the leaves that had fallen off. It then appeared how much each plant had gained, and how much water had been expended upon it. Weight of plant put in Weight whell taken out Weight gained in 77 days Expanse of the water Proportion of the increase to the expense of water. A. Spear-mint set in springwater 27 42 15 2558 1 to 170 B. Spear-mint set in rain water 28 45 17 3004 1 to 171 C. Spear-mint in Thames’ water 28 54 26 2493 1 to 95 D. Night shade in spring water 49 106 57 3708 1 to 65 The water ascends through the vessels of plants, as through a filtre, And a larger filtre draws more water than a smaller. Therefore, plants that have more or larger vessels, draw more than those that have fewer and smaller. But the greatest part of the water imbibed by plants, passes through their pores into the atmosphere. Hence the least pro portion of water expended is to the increase of the plant, as 46 or 50 to one. In some it is 100, 200, nay, in one 700 times as much as the increase of the plant. Nor does this water pass off alone, but bears with it many particles of the plant. The grosser, indeed, are not so easily borne up into the atmosphere, but are usually deposited on the surface of the flowers, leaves or other parts of the plant. Hence our honey-dews, and other gummous exudations. But the finer easily ascend into the atmosphere, and are conveyed to our organs for smell. Great part of the terrestrial matter mixed with the water, ascends into the plants. After the experiment, there was much more of it in the glasses which had no plants in them, than in those that had. Indeed, this matter being so fine and light, attends water in all its motions: so that filtre it ever so often, some will remain. The plant increases more or less, as the water it stands in, contains more or less of this matter. So the mint in the glass C. was of much the same bulk and ‚weight with those in A. and B. But standing in river-water, which contained more terrestrial matter than the spring or rain-water wherein they stood, it increased almost double to either of them, yea, and with less expense of water. But all vegetable matter is not proper for the nourishment of every plant. Although some parts in all may owe their supply to the same common matter, yet others require a peculiar sort of matter, and cannot be formed without it. Yea, different ingre­dients go to the composition of one and the same plant. If therefore, the soil wherein a plant is set, contains all, or most of those ingredients, it will grow there, otherwise not. If there be not as many sorts of particles, as are requisite for the essen­tial parts, it will not grow at all. If they be there, but not enough of them, it will not grow to its natural stature. If the less essential particles be wanting, it will be defective in smell, taste or some other way. But though some land may not contain matter proper for some plants, yet it may for others. All this shews, that plants owe their increase, not to water only, but to a particular terrestrial matter: else there would be no need of manure, or of transplanting them from place to place. The rain falls on all places alike: on this field and that, this garden or orchard and another. Vegetables, therefore, are not formed of water. One plant drew up 2501 grains of this: yet increased only three grains and a half. The mint in B. took thirty-nine grains of water a day, which was much more than the whole weight of the original plant; and yet it gained not one fourth of a grain, in a day and night. Water, then, is only a vehicle to the terrestrial matter, which forms vegetables. Where this is wanting, the plant does not increase, though ever so much water ascend into it. This is only the agent which conveys that matter to them, and distributes it to their several parts for their nourishment. It is fitted for (his office, by the figure of its parts, which are exactly spherical; therefore easily susceptible of motion, and consequently capable of conveying other matter that is not so voluble. Beside, the constituent particles of water are absolutely solid, and do not yield to the greatest external force: therefore their intervals are always. alike. By this quality water is disposed to receive matter into it: by the former, to tear it along with it. It is farther qualified to be a vehicle of this matter, by the fineness of its particles. We scarce know a fluid in nature, except fire, whose constituent parts are so exceeding small. They pass pores which air itself cannot pass. This enables them to enter the finest vessels of plants, and to introduce the terres­trial matter to all parts of them; each of which, by means of peculiar organs, assumes the particles suitable to its own nature, letting the rest pass on through the common ducts. 11.As to the motion of the nutritive juice, some think it ascends by the wood, and descends by the bark. But it is not easy to shew, by what particular tubes it either ascends or descends. Neither after all our researches does it appear, what is the principle of this motion Whether there be any such thing as an attractive force in the plant itself; or whether it be performed on the mere principles of mechanism, by the expan­sion of the air contained in the juice, which moves and propels the particles of it into every part of the plant However, that the sap in plants does circulate is made proba­ble by an easy experiment. On a branch of plain jessamine, whose stem spreads into two or three’ branches, inoculate in autumn, a bud of the yellow striped jessamine. When the tree shoots the next summer, some of the leaves will be striped with yellow, even on the branches not inoculated. And by degrees, the whole tree will be striped, yea, the very wood of the young branches. It is probable the circulation is performed thus. The wood of plants consists of fine, capillary tubes, which run parallel with each other from the root, and may be looked upon as arteries. On the outside of these, between the wood and the inner bark, are larger tubes, which may do the office of veins. Now the root having imbibed juice from the earth, this is put into motion by the heat. Hereby it is rarefied and caused to ascend in the form of a steam or vapour; till meeting the mouths of the arterial vessels, it passes through them to the top, and to the extreme parts of the tree with a force answerable to the heat whereby it is moved. When it arrives there, meeting with the cold of the external air, it condenses into a liquor, and in that form returns by its own weight, to the root of the venal vessels. 12.That the sap does circulate, appears farther from hence, that the graft will either corrupt or heal the stock. Nay, it changes the very way of the growing of the root, which it could not do, but by sending down its sap thither. Crab-stocks grafted with fruit, which the soil does not like, will canker, not only in the graft, but the stock also. But graft them again with fruit it does like, and it will quickly heal. Farther: graft twenty young pear-stocks with one, sort of pear, and twenty with another. The roots of one sort will grow all alike, and so will those of the other. Yet ever-green grafted on trees which drop their leaves, as the ever-green oak of Virginia upon the common English oak, hold their leaves all the winter. Does not this shew, that the juices circulate in winter, as well as summer, even in the plants which drop their leaves Otherwise those grafted on them must soon die. It seems that the sap does not rise by the pith: because some large trees are without that part, and yet continue to put forth branches. Indeed no pith is found in those branches of a tree, which exceed two or three years growth. And the pith which is in a branch of this year, is distributed into those boughs which are formed the next season. Many believe, the tree does not receive its nourishment by the bark; because trees that have lost that part, continue to grow. But they suppose a tree has but one bark; whereas every branch has four distinct coverings. The two outermost of these may be taken from a tree without much damage. But if the two others be taken off, it will infallibly kill the tree. Some affirm, that the sap neither rises nor falls in the woody part of the tree, because when a branch is cut, they cannot discern any sap issue out of it. Certainly they cannot; because those tubes are not large enough, to receive any thing more gross than vapour. The root receives chiefly in autumn its proper juices, which the warmth in spring raises into a vapour, that gradually ascends through those fine tubes, and by that means causes vegetation. 13. Some have objected to our Lord’s speaking of corn increas­ing a hundred fold, that this is impossible. So far from it, that a grain of barley, has been known to produce two hundred and forty-nine stalks, containing about eighteen thousand grains. A still more curious experiment was made with turnip seed, at Sutton-coldfield, in Warwickshire. In less than three days after it was sown, the turnips were above ground. In three weeks the roots were as big as walnuts; in less than five weeks, as large as apples. August 12th, one of them weighed two pounds fourteen ounces. At the same time was weighed an ounce of the seed, which had been sown, and it was found to Contain fourteen thous­and six hundred single grains. This being multiplied by forty-six (the ounces that the turnip weighed) produces six hundred and seventy-one thousand six hundred, viz, the number of single grains required to equal the weight of the turnip. Hence it follows, that (supposing the increase was uniform) the grain when it was sown, weighing but of an ounce, increased in the following proportions: 1n six weeks — 671600] A week — 111933] A day — 15990}Times its own weight-. Anhour — — 660] Aminute— 11] In June 1766, Mr. Miller sowed some grains of common red wheat. On August 8, a plant was taken up and divided into eighteen parts. Each of these was placed separately. ‘These plants having shot out several side shoots, by the middle of September, they were taken up and divided again. This second division produced sixty-seven plants. These remained through the winter. Another division of them made in the spring, pro­duced 500 plants. They were then divided no farther. The whole number of ears, which by the process were produced from one grain, was 21109, and from calculation made by count­ing the whole number of grains in one ounce, might be about 576840. 14. Some plants are male and some female. Mr. Miller separated the male-plants of spinach, from the female. The seed swelled as usual, but did not grow when he sowed it. Yet it might have been impregnated another way, as appeared from another experiment. He set twelve tulips about six yards from any other. and as soon as they flowered, carefully took out the stamina. Two days after he saw bees working on other tulips, and coming out loaded with the dust. They flew into the first tulips, and left therein dust enough to impregnate them, which accordingly bore good seed. Thus we see the farina may be carried by insects, and lodged on flowers, which it is fit to impregnate. Afterwards he bought and sowed some savoy seed, and planted out the plants, but was surprised at the production. For he had some red cabbage, sonic white, some savoys with red ribs, and a mixture of all together in one plant. The gardener assured him, he had carefully saved the seed. Being asked, where he had set the plants for seed, he shewed him, and said, he planted first a dozen white cabbages, next a dozen savoys, and then a dozen red cabbages. Is it not plain that here the effluvia of one sort impreg­nated the other For did each grain of the farina impregnate only its one kind, this mongrel sort could never be produced. An instance of the same kind has been observed with regard to Indian corn: this is of several colours, as white and red and yellow. If each of these be planted by themselves, they produce their own colour. But if von plant the blue corn in one row, and white or yellow in the next, they will interchange colours: some of the ears in the blue corn-rows, are white or yellow, and some in the white or yellow rows, are blue. That this is caused by the effluvia of one impregnating the other, is manifest from hence: Place a close, high fence, between the corn of different colours, and there, is no change of colour in any of them. The HOLLY is described by all naturalists, as bearing herma­phrodite flowers. But by late observations it has appeared, that some trees bear-male, some female flowers. Yet there is a vast variety. In Chelsea garden, some hollies bear female, some her­maphrodite flowers. But some trees bear only male flowers; some only female, some only hermaphrodite. Others bear both male and female, both male and hermaphrodite, or female and hermaphrodite. And others bear male, female and hermaphrodite, all at the same time. 15. That the leaves of certain plants assume at night a disposition different from that of the day, is well known. This has been usually termed, the SLEEP. But to what is this owing Not to the variation of heat or cold, moisture or dryness. For how­ever these are varied, the same timing happens with equal regula­rity. It is LIGHT alone that occasions this change, which by the smallness of its particles, is capable of entering bodies, and by its activity, of producing great changes in them. It changes the position of the leaves of plants, by a motion it excites among the fibres. The natural position of the lobes in these leaves is droop­ing. This is their posture of repose. But vegetation is very imperfectly performed, while they remain in it. It is light which alters that position, by its quick vibrations. In the evening, August 7, (in order to make a full experiment) Dr. Hill placed a plant of abrus, in a room where it had moderate day-light, without the sun shining upon it. The lobes of the leaves were then fallen perpendicularly from the middle rib, and closed together by their under sides. Thus they continued all night. Half an hour after day break, they began to separate, and a quarter of an hour after sun-rise, were perfectly expanded. Long before sun-set they began to droop again, and towards evening were closed as at first. Next day the plant was set where there was less light. The lobes were raised in the morning, but not so much. And they drooped earlier at evening. The third clay it was set in a south window, open to the full sun. Early in the morning the leaves had attained their horizontal situation: by nine o’clock they were raised above it, and con­tinued so till evening. Then fell to the horizontal situation, and thence gradually to the usual state of rest. The fourth day the plant stood in the same place, but the sun did not appear. The lobes early attained their horizontal situation, but did not rise beyond it, and in the evening closed as usual. These experiments, prove, that the whole change is occasioned by light only. To put this beyond dispute, in the evening of the sixth day, the plant was set in a book-case, on which the morning sun shone, the doors standing open. 1 he next day was bright. The lobes which had closed in the evening, began to open early in the morning, and by nine o’clock, they were raised in the usual manner. I then shut the doors of the book-case: on opening them an hour after, the lobes were all closed as at midnight. On opening the doors they opened again, and in twenty minutes they were fully expanded. This has since been many times repeated, and always with the same success. We can, therefore, by admitting or excluding the light, make the plant put on all its changes. Hence, we are certain, that what is called the sleep of plants, is caused by the absence of light alone, and that their various inter­mediate states are owing to its different degrees. It has been supposed that the daily motions of the sensitive plant, were likewise owing to light and darkness; because it expands itself in the morning, and closes again in the evening. From the main branches of this plant spring several smaller ones; and from these others still less, which support the leaves ranged on each side, in pairs over against one another. Several other plants are of the same form, and all these close their leaves in the evening, and open them in the morning, which therefore is not peculiar to the sensitive plant. But this closes them at any time of the day, if touched, and soon after opens them again. You can scarce touch the leaf of a vigorous sensitive plant so lightly, as not to make it close. The large rib which runs along its middle, is as an hinge on which the two halves of the leaf move, when they turn upon being touched, till they stand erect, and by that means meet one another. The slightest touch gives this motion to one leaf; if a little harder, it gives the same, motion to the leaf opposite. If the touch be still rougher, the whole arrangement of leaves on the same rib close in the same manner. If it be stronger still, the rib itself moves upward toward the branch on which it grows. And if the touch be yet more rough, the very branches shrink up toward the main stem. The motion which has the greatest effect of all others upon ‘it, is the shaking one. Winds and heavy rain also cause this plant to close its leaves; but not gentle showers: the contraction being caused by the agitation of the wind, and the strokes given by the large drops. The natural shutting and opening of its leaves at night and morning, are not so fixed, as not to be variable by many circum­stances. In August, a sensitive plant was carried in a pot into a dark cave; the shaking in the carriage shut up its leaves, so that they did not open for four and twenty hours, and when they did open, they closed no more for three days and nights. Being then brought again into open air, they recovered their natural motions, shutting at night and opening in the morning, as regularly as ever. While in the cave, it was as much affected by the touch as in the open air. By this and many experiments it appears, that it is not the light that opens these plants, nor the darkness which shuts them. Neither is it owing to the increase of heat or cold. Indeed, great heat will effect them a little, but not in any considerable degree. Concerning the real cause, we may form many conjectures: but nothing certain can be known. Nearly related to the sleep of plants, is that which Linnæus called the awaking of flowers. The flowers of most plants, after they. are once opened, continue so night and day, until they drop off, or die away. Others, which shut in the night time, open in the morning, sooner or later, according to their situation in the sun or shade, or as they are influenced by the manifest changes of the atmosphere. There are another class of flowers, which make the subject of these observations, that observe a more uniform law in this particular. These open and shut constantly at certain hours, exclusive of any manifest changes in the atmosphere; and this with so little variation in point of time, as to render the phenomenon worth observation. Linnæus’s observation extends to near fifty species which are subject to this law. We will enumerate some of these, and mention the time when the flowers open and shut. The little blue convolvulus, or bindweed, opens its flowers between five and six in time morning, and shuts them in the after noon. The flowers of the day-lilly open about five in the morning, and shut at seven or eight in the evening. The lesser water-plantain, during its flowering-time, only opens its flowers each day about noon. The flowers of the proliferous pink, expand about eight in the morn­ing, and close again about one in the afternoon. Purple spurrey, expands between nine and ten in the morning, and closes between two and three in the afternoon. This little plant is common among the corn in sandy soils and flowers in June. Common purslain, opens its flowers about nine or ten in the morning, and closes them again in about an hour’s time. The white water-lilly grows in rivers, ponds and ditches, and the flowers lie upon the surface of the water. At their time of expansion, which is about seven in the morning, the stalk is erected, and the flower more elevated above the surface. In this situation it continues till about four in the afternoon, when the flower sinks to the surface of the water, and closes again. Yellow goats-beard, or go-to-bed-at-noon, (the latter of these names was given to this plant long since, on account of this remarkable property) opens its flowers in general about three or four o’clock, and closes again about nine or ten in the morning. These flowers will perform their vigiliæ, if set in phial of water, within doors, for several mornings successively. Sometimes they are quite closed, from their utmost state of expansion, in less than a quarter of an hour. 16. From what has been said it plainly appears, that there is a considerable agreement between plants and animals, as well with regard to their nutrition, as to the structure of their parts. Some extend this farther, arid think there is something in answerable to respiration in animals. They suppose the spiral fibres to be in the place of lungs, and to serve this very Purpose: that in each of these there is a spiral lamina, which is extended or contracted, as it is impelled this way or that, by the elastic air it includes: that these fibres ascending strait through the trunk, are dispersed through all the branches, and thence into the leaves, where they are woven together in a kind of net work. By this means the more subtle parts of the air are strained through those spiral fibres, to keep the juices of the plant fluid, and perhaps to supply them with nitre or æther, to assist their fermentation. The air enters vegetables various ways, by the trunk, leaves, roots and branches. For the reception as well as expulsion of it, the pores are very large in some plants. So one sort of walking canes seem full of large pin-holes, resembling the pores of the skin in the ends of our fingers. In the leaves of the pine, if viewed through a glass, they make an elegant show, standing as it were, in rank and file, throughout the length of the leaves. Air vessels are found in the leaves of all plants, and in many are visible to the naked eye; for on breaking the chief fibres of the leaf, the likeness of a fine woolly substance, or rather of curious small cobwebs, may be seen to hang at both the broken ends. Now these are the fibres of the air vessels, loosed front their spiral position, and drawn out in length. The pores in the leaves of plants are almost innumerable. Mr. Lewenhock found above a hundred and seventy-two thousand on one side of a leaf or box. The leaves of rue are as full of holes as a honeycomb. Those of St. John’s wort likewise appear full of pin-holes to the naked eye. But the places where those holes seem to be, are really covered with a thin and white membrane. Through a microscope the back aside of the herb mercury, looks as if rough with silver; and all the ribs are full of white, round, transparent balls, fastened by slender stalks, like so many grapes. A sage leaf appears ‘like a rug or shag, full of tufts of silver thrums, and embellished with round crystal beads, fastened by tender foot stalks. The prickles of a nettle are formed for acting just as the sting of animals. Every one of them is hollow, and terminates in a fine point, with an opening near its end. At the bottom of each prickle lies a pellucid bag, containing a clear liquor, which, upon the least touching the prickles, is ejected at the little outlet, and if it enters the skin, causes pain and inflammation by the pungency of its salts. The leaves of plants are of great consequence to their lifer At these the air passes in, and goes through the whole plant, and out again at the roots. If the leaves have no air, the plant will die, as is easily proved by the air-pump: whereas if the leaves be left on the outside of tire receiver, parted by a hole cemented by wax, while these have air, the plant will thrive and grow, though its roots and-stalks are kept in vacuo. The leaves like­wise chiefly perform the necessary work, (but who can explain the manner !) of altering the water received at the root, into the nature of the juices of the plant. And hence it is, that the life of plants depends so immediately upon their leaves. The hus­bandman often suffers for the want of this knowledge. A crop of saint-foin is valuable; and its roots being perennial, will yield an increase for many years. But it is often destroyed at first, by suffering it to be fed upon by sheep. For if they eat up all the leaves, the root cannot be supplied with air, and so the whole perishes. Leaves being so necessary to all perennial plants, a reversionary stock of them is provided. The leaves of these plants are always formed in autumn, though not unfolded till the following spring. They then open and increase in proportion to the motion of the sap, and the quantity of nourishment the plant receives. These leaves also, though not yet appearing out of the bud, may suffice for’ the extremely small motion, which the sap of those perennial plants, that drop their leaves, has in winter. But besides these autumnal leaves, there is another set formed in spring and expanding till midsummer. These are of infinite service to many sort of trees, particularly to the mulberry, as they save its life, when the first set of leaves have been all eaten by the silk-worms. The analogy between the parts of plants and those of animals may now more fully appear. The parts of plants are, 1. The root, composed of absorbent vessels, analogous to the lacteals in. animals: indeed performing the office of all those parts of the abdomen, that minister to nutrition: 2. The wood composed of capillary tubes running parallel from the roots, although the apertures of them are commonly too minute to be seen. Through these, which are analogous to arteries, the sap ascends from the root to the top: 3. Those larger Vessels, which are analogous to veins; through these it descends from the top to the root. 4. The bark, which communicates with the pith by little strings, passing between the arteries. 5. The pith, consisting of trans parent globules, like the bubbles that compose froth. The sap enters the plant in the form of pure water, and the nearer the root, the more it retains of that nature. The farther it goes, the more it partakes of the nature of the plant. In the trunk and branches it remains acid. In the buds it is more con­cocted. It is farther prepared in the leaves, as blood in the lungs, which being exposed to the alternate action of heat by day, and cold by night, are alternately dilated and Contracted. Is not then the motion of the sap in plants, like that of the blood in animals, produced chiefly by the action of the air All plants have the two orders of vessels: 1. Those which Convey the nutritious juices. 2. Air vessels, hollow tubes, within which all other vessels are contained. Now the least heat rarifies the air in these air vessels, thereby dilating them, and so causing a per­petual spring, which promotes the circulation of the juices. For, by the expansion of the air Vessels, the sap vessels are pressed, and the ‘sap continually propelled. By the same propulsion it is comminuted more and more, and so fitted to enter finer and finer vessels: while the thicker part is deposited in the lateral cells of the bark, to defend the plant from cold and other injuries. Thus is every plant acted on by heat in the day time, especially in summer; the sap protruded, then evacuated, and then exhaust­ed. In the night the air vessels being contracted by the cold, the sap vessels are relaxed, and disposed to receive fresh food. for the next day’s digestion. And thus plants do, as it were, eat and drink, during the night season. The vessels themselves consist of mere earth, cemented by oil and water: which being exhausted by fire, air or age, the plant returns to its earth. Thus in plants, burnt by the ‘fiercest fire, the matter of the vessels is left entire: which consequently is neither water, air, salt, nor sulphur, but earth alone. The sap consists of some saline parts: others derived from air, rain and putrified plants or animals. Consequently in plants are contained, salts, oils, water, earth: and probably all metals too. In fact, the ‘ashes of all vegetables yield something which the loadstone attracts. There is a considerable difference as to the time when different plants revive after the winter. No sooner does tire sun begin to warm the earth, than time vernal flowers appear, and the trees, one after another, open their buds, and clothe themselves with leaves. But why do many wood plants, as colts-foot, pile-wort, violets; and many garden plants, as snow-drops, assara-bacca, crocus, flower in the very beginning of spring, when we cannot by any pains or care, bring them to flower after the summer solstice Nay, these very plants, which are so patient of cold in spring, are in the autumn so very weak and tender, that they die on the first touch of frost, Why, on the ‘contrary, do thistles and many other plants, never flower’ before the summer solstice In the same manner, trees observe fixed laws, and a certain order in their leafing. Does the cause lie in the different depth of their roots If so, shrubs would have leaves before trees of the same kind. But they have not. We can only say, the fact we know; but the reason of it we know not. The order of the leafing of several trees and shrubs, observed in Norfolk, in 1755, was as follows: 1. Honey suckle, - - January15. 2. Goosberry,currant, elder, - - March 11. 3. Birch, weeping-willow, - April1. 4. Rasberry,bramble, - 3. 5. Briar, - 6. Plumb, apricot, peach, - 6. 7. Filbert, sallow, alder, - - - 7. 8. Sycamore, - - - - - 9. Elm, quince, - - - - - 10. 10. Marsh-elder, - - - - 11. 11. Wych-elm, - - - 12. 12. Horn-beam, - - - 13. 13. Apple-tree, - - - 14. 14. Abel, chesnut, - - - - 16. 15. Willow, - - - - -‚ 17. 16. Oak, lime, - - - - 18. 17. Maple, - - - - - - 19. 18. Walnut, plane, black poplar, beech, - 21. 19. Ash, Carolina poplar, - - - 22. Indeed the leafing of several of these varies much, as the spring ‘is earlier or later. But others of them, be the winter ever so mild, do not put out before their time. This also depends on some secret properties, which man is not able to explain. 17. As to the GENERATION of plants, first the tree produces buds, which afterwards expand into leaves, flowers or branches. In the buds, entire plants are contained. A small stalk, consisting of woody and spiral fibres, springs out of the middle of the plant, wherein the bud inheres. It is involved in a thin bark, which may be divided into various leaves, lying one upon another like scales. 18. Buds are followed by leaves and flowers. In FLOWERS we may consider, 1. The calix or outer cup, designed to be a security to the other parts of the flower. Those whose leaves are firm and strong, as tulips, have no calix at all. Carnations, whose leaves are strong but slender, have a calix of one piece. Others have it consisting of several pieces, and in divers rounds. 2. The foliation or petala, the flower-leaves, which are properly the flower itself. In these, not only the admirable beauty and luxuriant colours are observable; but also their curious folding in the calix, before they are expanded. It is remarkable, that many, if not most vegetables, especially those of a tender kind, expand their flowers, or down, every day, if it be warm, sun-shiny weather. But they close them as the evening approaches: and some, at the approach of rain. This is particularly done at the beginning of flowering, while the seed is young and tender: as is easily seen in the down of dandelion, and eminently in the flower of pimpernel. These serve as a weather glass to the countryman: by the opening or shutting of these, he can tell without any danger of being deceived whether the weather will be foul the next day. The flower is as it were the womb, which contains the eggs or seeds of plants, and in due time brings them forth. It is near the bud, and lies hid with it during the winter, till it is brought out by the heat of the summer. The most simple plants bear a bud, which contains a seed of an oval figure. We may easily distin­guish from the flower itself, the leaves of the covering which. involves the bud. From these arise the leaves of the flower, serving for the last concoction of the sap; in which are both woody and spiral fibres, with various rows of utricles. In the middle of flowers, filaments and little pillars arise, whose extre­mities’ are covered with a kind of dust. These pillars are hollow, and have vesicles full of liquor, and the rudiments of seeds, which gradually grow and harden. That dust is of two kinds, male and female. The male dust is formed in the top of the filaments, where, when it is ripe, it bursts its case, and is split on the heads of the pillars, and thence conveyed to the utricle or matrix thereof, to impregnate the female dust contained therein. Thus dust in any one plant being viewed with a microscope, every particle is of the same size and figure. But in different plants, the colour, size, and figure are widely different. In some it is clear and transparent as crystal; in others white and opake: in some blue, purple or red, and in others, flesh-coloured. And its colour varies in the same species, suppose tulips, accord­ing to the colour of the flower. The most general figure is the oval, more or less sharp at the ends, with one or more furrows running lengthways. But the seeds of melilot are cylinders. Those of the pansy are prisms, with four irregular sides. Others represent two crystal globules fastened together. Those of the jonquille are in the form of a kidney. But indeed varieties are not possible to be numbered. The office of the blossom is partly to protect, partly to draw nourishment to the embryo, fruit or seed. The gourd, pumpkin, melon, cucumber, and most bearing trees, have both male and female blossoms on the same plant. Male-blossoms, (usually called cat-skins) may be distinguished from female, by having no pistil or rudiment of fruit about, them; but only a large thrum, covered with dust in their middle. The female blossoms have always a pistil within the flower leaves; and the rudiments of the fruit are always apparent, at the bottom of the flower before it opens. But there is a species of willow, which appears to change its sex every year. One year it produces male blossoms, and female blossoms the next. 19. The when it is ripe, is enclosed in a peculiar covering In some plants it so increases, as to become a fruit. And in these also we find fibres and utricles dispersed with endless’ variety. Various are the methods which the wisdom of God takes for sowing seeds of various kinds. Those of arum and poppy are heavy enough to fall directly to the ground. Others that are light, have hooks to stop them from straying too far from their proper place. So have agrimony and goose-grass, the one wanting a warm bank, the other a hedge for its support. On the other hand many seeds have wings, that the wind may carry them off the plant, and may scatter them asunder; that they may not fall together, and come up too thick. The kernels of pines have very short Wings, just enabling them to flutter on the ground. But some seeds have many long feathers, by which they are wafted about every where. Others are lodged in elastic cases, which dart out the seed to the convenient distances. Thus wood-sorrel, having a running root, needs to have its seed sown distant from each other. And this is done, by means of a tendinous cover, which when it begins to dry, bursts open on one side in an instant, and is violently turned inside out. The seed of imarts-tongue ‘is dispersed in a different manner. It has a spring wound round its case; when it is ripe, this suddenly breaks the case in two halves, and so throws out the seed. Equally remarkable is the way wherein fern-seed is scat­tered. If a quantity of this be laid on a paper, the seminal vesicles burst, and are seen by a microscope projecting the seeds to a considerable distance. The seeds of the several species of fern, were wholly unknown to the ancients. But it is now well known, that in the female fern, the whole surface of the leaf on the under-side is covered with a congeries of seeds, so that they guard one another, and need no other covering. And in the common male fern, there are found at the proper seasons several brown spots placed in a very regular manner. These are a fungous matter, round which the small seed vessels are inserted. The fruitfulness of plants, in producing seeds, transcends all imagination. An elm living a hundred years, ordinarily pro­duces thirty-three millions of seeds. Add, that if its head be cut off, it puts forth as many branches within half an inch of the place where it was cut as it had before. And at whatever height it is cut off, the effect will be the same. Hence it appears, that the whole trunk, from the ground to the rise of the branches, is full of embryo-branches, each of which will actually spring forth, if the head be lopped off just over it. Now if these had sprung out they would have borne an equal number of seeds with those that did. These seeds therefore are already contained in them: and if so, the tree really contains 15840000000 seeds, wherewith to multiply itself as many times. But what shall we say, if each seed contains another tree, containing the same number of seed and if we can never come, either at a seed which does not contain trees, or a tree which does not contain seed Timber trees of any kind, might certainly be planted to more advantage than they generally are There is a forest two miles from St. toe, in Normandy, planted chiefly with oaks, many of which are but of a moderate height, though of a large circumference. But near its entrance from St. Loc, there is a plantation, about twenty-five years old, wherein none of the oaks are under seventy, and some a hundred feet high. They are set so close, that they almost seem to touch one another, and are no more than four or five inches in diameter. This timber is of great use, both for making charcoal, and many other purposes. And the owners may reap four crops of them in a hundred years. This forest belongs to the king of France, who ordered the ‘plantation to be made by way of trial. And his ministers have caused several of these trees, a hundred feet high, to be trans­planted, to leave standing proofs of the wonderful effects o the experiment. As to sowing, the perfection of agriculture consists in setting plants at due distances, and giving a sufficient depth to the roots, that they may spread and receive due nourishment. Yet this is little regarded; but all sorts of grain are sown by handfuls east at random. By this means four parts in five of the seed is utterly lost. To remedy this, a Spanish gentleman contrived an engine (described in the philosophical transactions, under the name of the Spanish sembrador) which being fastened to the plough, the whole business of ploughing, sowing and harrowing, is performed at once; and the grain is spread at equal distances and equally deep in the furrow. An experiment being made, land which usually produced five fold, by this means produced sixty fold. One stalk is all that springs immediately from one grain: but on the sides of this, near, if not within the ground, issue several lateral stalks. And some of these send forth roots, whence one or several other stalks spring, if they are early formed, the soil good, and the weather favourable. By this means one grain of wheat planted in a garden has produced ninety, yea, a hundred ears. If then each ear, taking one with another, contains fifty grains, a single grain may produce five thousand. Nay, a gentleman in Yorkshire, who made the experiment in his garden, some years ago, counted upwards of eight thousand grains which sprung from a single one. After all that has been’ said and wrote for so many centuries, on the generation or propagation of plants and animals, a late author, to whom the French naturalists in general subscribe, totally denies the whole, and censures all who pretend to discover any animalcula in the semen of animals. He will by no means allow, that every animal or plant, proceeds from an egg lodged in the parent plant or animal. On the contrary, he supposes, “there are in matter certain organical parts, disposed for the formation of animal and vegetable substances, which by coalition constitute the first stamina of all animal and vegetable bodies. These are simple, uniform, common to all, and consequently to be found more or less in every portion of the nutritive juice. From thence they are digested, and when the subject becomes adult, secreted for the formation of the seed of every plant and animal. These organical parts, moving when disengaged, and thence imagined to be alive, are extremely simple in their compo­sition, being perhaps, only elastic springs, more or less com­pressed, more or less diversified in the direction of their force. All microscopic animals, so called, are indeed no other than such organical particles. Seeds maccrated in water, first disunite into small particles, which soon after move and seem alive, though they are not so. The same may be observed of the juices of animals, as mutton gravy and the like. And as to the common imagination, that the male semen, while in the vessels, contains millions of animalcula like tadpoles, it is certain, they are pro­duced, after the evacuation of the fluid, and rise from principles contained therein, by a real vegetation, and a subsequent change from the vegetable to the animal life. “ Semen immediately evacuated is an homogenuous fluid. In a few minutes it begins to separate, and after this a kind of vegeta­ble filaments grow in it, and shoot out ramifications on every side. These open and divide into moving globules, which trail after them, something like long tails; which are in truth only strings of the viscid matter, from among which the globules were sepa­rated. By degrees the globuics get rid of them, and then move at case. “This vegetable power of shooting into filaments, is in all animal and vegetable substances, down to the least microscopic point. And to this is really owing, all that is called animal life, in the fluids produced from vegetables. “In all our observations on these substances, the whole quan­tity of matter, after a separation of some volatile and saline parts, always divides into filaments, and vegetates into numberless zoo­phytes, which afterwards yield all the species of microscopic animals. After this, those supposed animals themselves subside to the bottom of the liquor, become motionless, resolve into a gelatinous fliamentous substance, and then afford new zoophytes, or animals of.a smaller kind. “Hence we may observe, that every animal or vegetable sub­stance, advances as fast as it can, to resolve into one common principle, which is the source of all: a kind of universal semen, from which each atom may again ascend to a new life. These animalcula then in the semen of animals, and in the infusions and juices of animal and vegetable substances, are not of the nature of any other beings, nor to be ranked with them. They constitute a class apart from all others, the characteristic of which is, that they neither are generated, nor subsist by nutriment, like other plants or animals, nor do they generate in the ordinary way.” What then becomes of this whole boasted branch of modern philosophy If this be so, most of our micfoscopic discoveries vanish: into air. Blue flowered gentianella requires wet weather to be sown in. As socn as any rain touches the seed-vessels, they burst open and throw the seed on each side. Cardamines burst their pods and dart out their seed on a light touch of the hand: nay, the carda­mine impatiens does so, even by the approach of the hand. Other seeds by their agreeable taste or smell, invite birds to feed upon them, who drop them again, fertilized by passing through their body. So mistletoe is usually sown. The berries of mistletoe have within their viscid pulp, a kernel covered with a thin, whitish skin. One placed these berries within the bark of oak, ash, beech, pear, and apple trees, by making several cuts in the sides of the trees, but the whole berries would not stay in any of them. And when he broke them, the seed always slipt out ofthe edge of the cut, and there stuck to the bark by its viscous covering. He stuck one seed to the bark without cutting at all, which succeeded best, and yielded two plants. The viscous matter drying away, drew the seeds close to the bark, and on these, with two more on an appletree and one on a pear-tree, there began in spring to shoot out at the end of the seed next the eye of the berry, a small deepgrecn shoot, like a little clasper of a vine. At first it rose upwards, then turning again, swelled out somewhat bigger round the end: yet leaving the tip quite flat, forming as it were a foot to stand upon. This foot in June came to the bark, and fixed itself thereon. Being thus fastened at both ends, it formed a little arch, whose diameter was as long as the seed. Thus it remained till March following. Then the other end let go its hold, and raising itself upward, became the head of the plant, while the end which sprung out first, became the root, It is not uncommon for the seeds of ever­greens to be two years before they spring out of the ground. But this was surprising, the change of the ends, first one shooting out, and then the other. Yet we find nature is uniform, and even in this strange plant, acts as in other vegetables, first carrying the sap to form the root, then turning the course of it back again, to send out the upper part of the plant. The strange St circumstance is, that the rooting end should first shoot into the air, and then turn down to find a place to fix on. This it is, which has kept the world so long in ignorance about the growing of this seed. For by requiring a new, smooth part of the bark whereon to fix the rooting part, it has frustrated all attempts of sowing it as we do other seeds. In strawberries and rasberries the hairs which grow on the ripe fruit, are so many tubes leading to the several seeds. And therefore we may observe, that in the first opening of the flower, the whole inward area is like a little wood of these hairs: and when they have received and conveyed their globules, the seeds swell and rise in a fleshy pulp. The manner wherein mosses in general seed, is exceedingly little understood. But in one species at least, it may be clearly explained, from a number of observations. The head of this moss appears to the naked eye, smooth and of a pale, brown colour. The top of this is bounded by an orange coloured ring, which is a calix, containing sixteen pyrandal stamina, loaded with a white farina These bend toward each other, and when the head is nearly ripe, almost meet in a point at their tops. Immediately under the arch formed by these stamina, is placed a slender, hollow pistil, through which the farina makes its way, and is dispersed among the seeds in the head. The external membrane of the head, is a continuation of the outward covering of the stalk. A section of the head shews, that this membrane includes a seed vessel so large as to fill it every way. This is filled with perfect and beau­tiful seeds. They are round and transparent when unripe, but afterwards they are opake, and of a beautiful green. The number of seeds in one of these heads, is not less than 13,800. The seed vessels of mahogany trees are of a curious form. They consist of a large cone, which splitting into five parts, dis­close their winged seeds. None would think, that so tall and so large trees could grow on solid rocks. They are four feet and upwards in diameter. The manner of their growth is as follows. The seeds fly along the surface of the ground, and some falling into the chinks of the rocks, strike root, then creep out upon the surface, and seek another chink. In this they swell to such a size and strength, that the rock splits and makes way for the root to sink deeper. And with this little nourishment the tree in a few years grows to that stupendous size. The progress of germination was accurately observed by Mal pighi, in the seed of a gourd. The day after it was committed to the ground, he found the outer coat a little swelled: and in its tip a small cleft appeared, through which the sperm was seen. The second day the outward coat was much softer, the inner torn and corrupted, the germ somewhat longer and more swelled, and the beginning of the root appeared. The third day the root had made itself a passage through the coat, near the former cleft. The germe and seethleaves also were now grown much bigger. On the sixth more of the seed-leaves had broken through, and were found thicker and harder. The root had shot out many fibres, and the stem grown a finger’s length. About the twenty first day the plant seemed complete, from Which time the seed­leaves began to droop, till they died away. 20. The parts of different FRUITS are different: but in all the essential parts of the fruit, are only continuations of the fibres, observed in the other parts of the tree. And there is a direct communication between the fruit and the remotest part of the tree. Thus an apple cut cross-ways appears to consist of four parts. 1. The skin, derived from the outer bark of the tree. 2. The pulp, which is an expansion of the inner bark. 3. Ramifi­cations of the woody part of the tree, dispersed throughout the pulp. To these are fastened the coats of the kernels; and these being at first extended to the flower, part of them directly and part obliquely, furnish it with its nourishment. But the fruit increasing intercepts the aliment; and then the flower is starved and falls off.’ 4. The core which is a production of the pith of the plant, strengthened by fibres of the wood intermixed. This is ‘a case for the kernels, filtrates the juice of the pulp, and conveys it to them. Fruit serve not only for the food of animals, but to guard and nourish the seed enclosed; to filtrate the coarser part of the nutritious juice, and transmit only the purest for the support and growth of the plantule. In every sort of grain, wheat, barley or any other, there are three particulars observable: 1. The outer coat, which contains all the rest. This in the same species’ of grain, is of a very different thickness in different years, as also in different soils. 2.The germe or bud. This is always hid in the grain, and is the plant in miniature. And, 3. The meal, which is enclosed in the skin that surrounds the germe, and gives it nourishment, when first put into the earth, before it is capable of drawing it from the earth itself. The whole structure of the plant which produces these grains is equally admirable. The chaffy husk is well adapted to defend the grain, as long as that is necessary, and then to let it fall. The stalk, hollow and round, is at once light and strong, capable of sustaining the ear, without absorbing too much of the juices destined for its nourishment. And the beards are a defence against the birds, that would otherwise destroy the grain before it ripened. The covering of the grain is formed of fibres, which meet in a line and form a kind of furrow. This is the place at which the seed, when moistened, is to burst open. Were not these means prepared for the germe’s coming out, the toughness of the outer coat, would have kept in both the meal and the germe, till they had rotted together. Nor is this the only use of this place of opening. The grain is designed not only for feed, but for food also. Men have art enough to erect machines for reducing it. to powder. But the birds eat it as it is, and it would pass them whole without doing them any good, were it not, that when it is moistened, it bursts open at the furrow and yields them nourishment The meal is composed of an infinite number of round, white, transparent bodies. These enclose the young plant, and by their figure, being easily put in motion, as soon as affected by the heat and moisture of the earth, they insinuate into the vessels of the plant, and give it increase, till it is in a condition to feed on the Juices of the earth. The same process of nature is observable, when grains of corn grow out of time, on being thrown carelessly together, in a moist place. 21. Plants do likewise perspire. To find the quantity imbibed and perspired by plants, Dr. Hale took a pot with a large sun­flower planted in it, and, by various experiments, found the greatest perspiration, in a very warm day, to be one pound fourteen ounces; the middle perspiration one pound four ounces. It perspired three ounces in a warm night, when there was no dew. If small dew fell, it perspired nothing; if a large dew it gained two or three ounces. The weight of the flower was three pounds: the weight of a well sized man is one hundred and sixty. The flower perspires twenty-two ounces in twenty-four hours: the man about twenty­five: beside six ounces, which are carried off by respiration from the lungs. A middling man eats and drinks in twenty-four hours, about four pounds ten ounces. The plant imbibed and perspired in the same time twenty-two ounces. But taking bulk for bulk, the plant imbibes seventeen times more food than the man. For, deducting five ounces for fæces, there will remain but four pounds five ounces, which enter the veins, and pass off in twenty-four hours. And since taken bulk for bulk, the plant imbibes so much more food than the man, it was necessary by giving it an extensive surface, to provide for a plentiful perspiration, since it has no other way of discharging superfluities as a man has. It was necessary likewise, that the plant should imbibe a larger quantity of fresh fluid than the man, because the fluid filtrated through its roots does not contain so many nutritive particles, as the chyle which enters ,our veins. But there is a latitude of perspiration both in men and plants. In this flower it varied from sixteen to eighteen ounces during twelve hours day, as it was watered less or more: in a healthy man it varies from a pound and a half to three pounds. Evergreens perspire far less than other plants. In proportion, they need less nourishment: hereby they are better able to bear the winter: like insects, which as they perspire little, live the whole winter without food. In order to try whether any sap rose in winter, he made various experiments: from all which it appeared, it does rise then also, but in small quantities. And hence we see why an evergreen grafted on an oak, will remain verdant, when the oak leaves drop. Perspiring less, it needs less nourishment than the oak, and so is sufficiently fed by the sap that rises even in winter. In summer, when hot sunshine follows a shower, the vines in the middle of a hop-ground are often scorched up, almost from one end of a large ground to the other: at the same time the vapours ascend plentifully. The scorching of the vines seems to be caused by these scorching vapours, which ascend most in the middle of the ground, the air there being more dense, and consequently hotter than on the outsides. The white clouds likewise which appear in summer time, occasion a vehement heat, by reflecting many of the solar rays, which otherwise would not touch the earth. And if the sun be on one side, and the clouds on the other, they are perfect burning-glasses. Sometimes there is a kind of hollow clouds, full of hail or. snow. During the continuance of these, the heat is extreme, since by such condensation they reflect more strongly. By these likewise, those blasts may be produced, as well as by the reflec­tion of dense vapours. The sunflower being tender, if the sun rises clear, faces to the east. The sun continuing to shine, at noon it faces to the south, and at six in the evening to the west. The cause is, that side of the stem which is next the sun, perspires the most, and thereby shrinks. What degree of heat will plants bear The common tempe­rate point in the thermometer is , eighteen degrees. The external heat of a human body, will raise it to fifty-four degrees. Very hot sunshine will raise it to eighty-eight. Plants endure a consider­ably greater heat than this, near the line, for some hours a day. But the hanging of the leaves of many of them shews, they could not long subsist under it. The winter heat is from the freezing point to ten degrees; the vernal and autumnal, from ten to twenty. The May and June heat is from seventeen to thirty, in which the generality of plants flourish best. The heat of July is, in the shade, about thirty-eight degrees; in the sunshine, at noon, about fifty. The heat of a hotbed, when too hot for’ plants, is eighty-five or more: and near this is the heat of the blood in high fevers. The due heat of a hotbed is fifty-six degrees; and the same heat hatches eggs. A continual steam is ascending during the summer; the sun­beamsgiving the moisture of the earth, at two feet depth, a brisk, undulating motion, which rarified by heat, ascends in the form of vapours And the vigour of warm and confined vapour, such as that is which is two or three feet deep in the earth, must be great, and penetrate the roots with some vigour; as we may reasonably suppose, from the vast force of confined vapour in the engine for raising water by fire. Though vegetables have not, like animals, an engine which, by its alternate dilatations and contractions, drives their juices through them, yet has nature contrived other means, powerfully to raise the’ sap and keep it in motion. And their. root- are covered with a very fine thick strainer, that nothing may enter but what can be readily carried off by perspiration. That there is a lateral communication of the sap-vessels in plants, as of the blood-vessels in animals, plainly appears from. the experiment of ina.rching trees. For when three wall-trees are thus incorporated, the root of the middlemost may be dug up, and the tree will grow, still, as receiving nourishment from the trees with which it is Connected.. And hence elders, willows, vines and most shrubs, will grow ‘with their tops downward in the earth. For the same reason, if you frequently, in an evening, ‘wash the bodies of new planted trees, they will grow quicker and better than any others of the same plantation. 22. If the top of a VIBURNUM is planted in the ground, it becomes roots, and the roots turned up become branches; and the plant grows exactly as well as it did in its natural position, whether the vessels which fed the branches have changed their course, or whether the juices go up and down the same vessels. 23. I cannot better conclude this chapter, than by ti-acing the analogy between the propagation of animals and that of vege­tables. The roes of fishes, the eggs of insects, birds, and all other animals nearly resemble each other. They are compact bodies of such forms as best suit their natures. They all have integuments, nobly contrived for their preservation, with firm coverings to secure them from outward injuries. Those to be kept in the body have coverings also; but soft and membranous. Every kind contains its peculiar substance, differing from that of every other kind. And all these characters belong also to seeds of every kind. They have their coverings, more or less compact, according to their’ necessities. Their forms are convenient. The substances they contain are specifically different from each other: and their offspring proceeds from them in the same manner, as animals proceed from their eggs. But beside the substances peculiar to each seed, there is a peculiar organization treasured up in each, which is the rudi­ment of the future plant, capable of being propagated into such a plant as it sprung from, and no other. So in every one of the nut-kind, there is a visible organization, peculiar to each species. And if such an organization appear in every seed, which is large enough to be viewed clearly, we cannot reasonably doubt of their existence, even in those which are so small as to escape our sight. There are multitudes of seeds, which produce large plants, and yet appear only like dust, and a vast number, which we cannot see, but by the microscope. And yet these doubtless have all their peculiar forms, and their organizations as well as the larger. But from what are these organizations produced Row does’ every plant or animal bring forth a fresh one after its kind A little of this we may understand, if we trace a tree and arm animal through every stage from the egg to their utmost growth. See a young tree pushing out its leaves and flowers, till it has extruded an entire set of boughs and branches. One part regularly opens after another from the first shoot till it comes to per­fection. Then, and not before, it produces seeds, containing the rudiments of the trees ‘like itself. The fibres of its general organization grow into little knots, some to form leaves, some the calix; some the petals, some the pistil and utricle, some again the little seeds, each growing from its own pedicle. For the male parts, other fibres are formed into stamina, and from these terminate into apices: and again from these others termi­nate into the minute grains, commonly called the farina fæcun­dans; each grain growing on its own pedicle, just as the leaves or fruits of trees. See an animal, exactly in the same manner, unfolding itself by degrees, till its parts are explicated entirely, and it is complete in every organ. Then, and not before, each female is capable of producing eggs, each being a continuation of the general organ­ization, and growing upon its own pedicle Each male, likewise, when at its state of perfection, is capable of producing from itself the fecundating matter, necessary for the propagation of the species. Let us again view a full grown tree or plant, putting forth its parts for fructification. Observe the apices on the stamina, loaded with the globules of the farina fæcundans, the pulp of each globule containing an exalted, fluid, and conveying it to one of the papillæ of the pistil. The utricle is now filled with green, soft seeds, ready to be impregnated by the globule, and con­taining a fluid, which afterward becomes a hard covering to each. And within this the little organization gradually increases. As then a refined fluid from the seminal matter of the male, impregnates the organization in the egg of a female animal, mingles with the subtle fluids contained therein, and promotes its growth and progress: so the refined part of the pulpy fluid contained in the globule, impregnates the organization in the seed of a plant, mixes with its juices, and gradually promotes its growth into a perfect plant. And doubtless both the impregnating effluvia of animals and vegetables, and the innate juices of the organization, have qualities peculiar to themselves. Hence the offspring of a black and a white parent, is of a colour between both. And thus if the farina of one sort of flower impregnate the egg of another, the colour of the flower produced thereby is variegated proportionably. The juices imbibed by a plant, being composed of innumerable various substances, after every part has attracted its kindred particles, the superfluous ones are carried off by perspiration: chiefly by the leaves, which are the emunctories, that throw off those juices which have no kindred particles in the plant. Accordingly, when the warm sun begins to rarify the fluids, which during the winter were condensed and inactive, the new leaves then begin to put forth, from their several organizations. When winter comes, as no more fluids ascend in trees, so there is no perspiration. Consequently most of them need leaves no longer, which therefore fall off. Nor are they succeeded by others, till the vegetable begins to receive fresh nourishment, and has occasion therefore for excretory vessels to carry off superfluities. Just so the superfluous juices, in animals, are con­tinually carried off by perspiration: an obstruction of which is equally pernicious to animals and vegetables. But is there any thing in the vegetable kingdom analogous to that strange animal the polypus, which multiplies by being cut in pieces There is. View, for instance a young willow. This is an organized body, capable of growing, till it comes to its perfect growth by means of the vegetative principle. The polypus is an organized body, capable of being extended till it comes to its perfect growth, and of feeding and loco-motion, by its animating principle. The willow as it grows, is gradually sending off new branches, which are its foetuses, proceeding from the organizations lodged in every part. The polypus, in like manner, gradually sends off new foetuses, from organizations placed in every part of it. If the willow be cut in pieces and planted, each piece will be explicated into a tree, and then send forth new foetuses, like its parent. And if the polypus be cut in pieces, each piece will be explicated into a polypus, and then extrude new foetuses: so that cutting it in pieces, is but antici­pating the propagation of those organizations in the pieces, which would, if let alone for awhile, themselves issue from the sides of the parent. If we observe the extreme tenderness of this animal, liable to be wounded, nay torn in pieces, by any hard body, which is carried down the streams, or moved in the ponds, wherein they dwell: we see the Providential reason, for this contrivance to propagate them: as perhaps no other animal is of so tender a texture, and so easily destroyed, having neither sagacity to avoid danger, nor strength to bear the least violence. Other trees have been propagated by a still more surprising way. One having caused some ashen pipes, that had brought water to his fountain twelve years, to be taken up, they were left in the yard, where they rotted almost entirely. But in their’ room there shot up a young forest of ashes, which are now about four feet high. There is no ash-tree within a great distance of the yard..’ Where then were the seeds from which they sprung 24. Mr. Bonet, of Geneva, was inclined to try whether plants would grow, when planted in moss instead of earth, So he filled several garden-pots with moss, and compressed it more or less, as lie judged the several plants might require a closer or a looser soil. He then sowed therein wheat, barley, oats, and peas. And he found, 1. That all the grains thus sown, came to maturity later than those of the same sorts, which had been sown in mould. 2. That the stems from the seeds sown in moss, were generally taller than those sown in earth. 3. That there came more blades from the . grains sown in moss, than from those sown in the ground. 4. The grains sown in moss produced more’ plentifully than the others. 5. The grains gathered from the corn which grew in the moss, having been sown again, partly in moss and partly in earth, succeeded well in both. He also planted in’ moss, pinks, daisies, tulips, jonquilles, and several other sorts of flowers. And all these succeeded full as well, as those of the same sort which he planted in mould. He also placed in moss, cuttings and layers of vines, all which grew up into vines. And these in awhile were larger than those which came from cuttings and layers planted at the same time in the ground. Mr. Kraft sowed oats and hemp-seed in rich earth, in sand thoroughly dried, in shreds of paper, in pieces of woollen cloth, in chopt hay. He afterwards watered them daily, and they grew nearly as well in one substance as in another. The husbandry of figs, as it.is still practised in many parts, is one of the greatest curiosities in nature. There are two sorts of fig trees, the wild and the garden fig tree. The wild bear three kinds of fruit, fornites, cratitires, and orni: and all these are necessary to ripen the garden fig. The fornites appear in August, and hold to November without ripening. Herein breed small worms, which turn to a kind of gnats, no where to be seen but about these trees. In November these gnats make a puncture in the cratitires, which do not appear till towards the end of Sep­tember, and the fornites gradually fall off, after the gnats have left them. The cratitires remain on the tree till May, and enclose the eggs deposited in them. In May the orni appear, which, after they grow to a certain size are pricked by the gnat issuing from the cratitires. None of these are good to eat, but only to ripen the fruit of the garden fig tree in the following manner: In June and July, the peasants take the orni, when their gnats are just ready to break out, and carry them to the garden fig tree. If they do not mind the time exactly, the orni drop, and the garden fruit not ripening, for want of its proper puncture, will likewise fall soon after. Therefore they carefully inspect the orni every morning and transfer such of them as are proper. By this means the gar­den figs become ripe, in about six weeks after they have received the puncture of the insect. When they have dried them in the sun, they put them into ovens, to destroy the eggs of the gnats laid in them, from whence otherwise worms would be produced, which would consume the fruit. What an expense of time and pains is here! Who can but admire the patience of the Greeks, busied above two months in carrying these prickers from one tree to another! But how do. these contribute to the ripening of the garden figs Perhaps by causing the nutricious juice to extravasate, whose vessels they tear asunder in depositing their eggs. Perhaps too they leave with their eggs some kind of liquor, proper to ferment with the milk of the fig, and make it tender. Figs in Paris ripen sooner, for having their buds pricked with straw dipped in oil. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 22: PART 03 - CHAPTER 2 - OF SOME PARTICULAR PLANTS ======================================================================== Chapter 2 - Of Some Particular Plants 1. Of some particular plants 5. Of ambergris 2. Sugar not unwholesome 6. Of the corruption of plants and animals 3. Maple sugar 7. General reflections 4. Molasses from apples 8. Essay on the production of plants and animals 1.It remains to give a short account of some remarkable productions of the vegetable kind. The grass of the submarine meadows is not a span long, and is of a green approaching to a yellow colour. The tortoises seem to live wholly on this: but they bite much more of it than they swallow. Hence the sea is covered with this grass, wherever they feed at the bottom. About once in half an hour they come up, fetch one breath like a sigh, and sink again. They breathe somewhat oftener when on shore; if you hurt them, the tears will trickle from their eyes. They will live out of water twenty days and be fat, if they have twice a clay half a pint of salt-water. - A submarine sensitive plant has been observed on the Irish coast. It consists of a long slender tube about as thick as the barrel of a goose quill, growing about six or eight inches out of the crevices of the rocks, especially in such hollows as the saltwater remains in, after the tide ebbs away. In the middle of the tube springs up a slender stalk. The top of which is a reddish, round vesicle. If you point a finger to this, as soon as you are near touching it, the stalk withdraws to the very bottom of the tube, and the tube itself bends and becomes flaccid. The plant has no branches, nor can the root be separated from the rock without breaking it. On the Cornish shores, there grows a kind of a sensitive fucus. Bring this so near the fire as just to warm, and its edges shrink up. In this state, move a finger toward them, and they shrink from it, but if the finger is removed, recover their former situation.. Placed on a warm hand, it moves perpetually to and from the hand like an animal struggling for life. It seems this odd effect is owing to the structure of these plants. They are so extremely thin that they yield to the perspiration of the hand; the effluvia being of force sufficient to repel the leaves when they are near. The vines of hops wind about the poles with the sun, those of kidney-beans against the sun, and that, so obstinately, that although the one or the other be over-night wound the opposite way, yet in the morning it will be found to be got back again to its natural bent. The herb of Paraguay, as it is called, is the leaf of a tree, of the size of a middling apple-tree. It is sent to Peru and Spain, in great quantities, well dried and almost reduced to powder, being ‘used by the miners and many others, as we use wine, and the Turks opium, to raise the spirits. Indeed the Spaniards believe it to be a preservation from, and remedy for all their disorders. It is opening and diuretic, and what is surprising, produces very different effects at different times. It purges some, and nourishes others : it gives sleep to the restless and spirits to the drowsy. Those who are accustomed to the use of this herb, can scarce ever leave it off, or even take it moderately; though when used to excess, it brings on most of those disorders that attend the too free use of strong liquors. They prepare it nearly as we do tea; but seldom use any sugar with it. Sometimes they take it by way of a vomit: then they drink it lukewarm. The caa-tree (that is its proper name) thrives best in the marshy bottoms between the mountains of Maracayu, east of Paraguay, in about twenty-five degrees twenty-five minutes south latitude, They sometimes send to Peru alone, in a year, a hundred thousand arobes, (an arobe is 28 pounds,) and each arobe is worth seven French crowns. By the whole account, this appears to be a species of tea, little differing from some of those which grow in China. The leaf is a third part less, than that of bohea-tea, but much hardier: for it bears the English frost, which that will not. Bohea-tea has a smaller and a darker leaf than green; which is as large and as bright as a bay-leaf, and endures all weathers. All these appear to be of a laurel kind, and I doubt, if laurel, or bay-leaves properly cured, would not equal any of them. The coco-tree grows straight, without any branches, thirty or forty feet high. Near the top it bears twelve leaves, each ten feet long, and half a foot broad. . These are used in making mats, covering houses, and for many other purposes. Above the leaves grows a large excrescence, in the form of a cabbage. But the taking it off kills the tree. Between the leaves and the top grow several shoots, as thick as a man’s arm, which when cut, yield a ‘white, sweet, agreeable liquor, serving as wine, and equally intoxicating. Yet at the end of four-and-twenty hours, it becomes a Strong vinegar. As long as this liquor distils, the tree bears no fruit; but when these shoots are suffered to grow, it puts forth a large bunch, wherein the coco-nuts are to the number of ten or twelve. In each there is about half a pint of clear cooling water. In a little while this becomes a white, soft pulp, which afterwards condenses into a nut. The tree yields fruit thrice a year. Some of the nuts are as large as a man’s head. The cacao-tree is of a middling size: the wood is porous, the bark is smooth, and of a cinnamon colour. The flower grows in bunches between the stalks and the wood, of the form of roses, but without scent. The fruit containing the cacao is a sort o pod, of the size and shape of a cucumber. Within this is a pleasant, acid pulp, which fills up the interstices of the nuts till they are ripe. Then they lie close together, in a regular and elegant order. They have a tough shell; within which is the oily substance, whereof the chocolate is made. This fruit grows differently from our European fruits, which always hang upon the small branches: whereas this grows along the body of the great ones, principally at the joints. None are found on the small; a manner of vegetation strange here; but which prevails in several other plants within the tropics. The tallow-tree, which grows plentifully in China, is about the height of a cherry-tree. Its bark is very-smooth, and its leaves of a deep shining red. Its fruit grows in a pod, like ,a chesnut, consisting of thi’ee white grains: each of which is about the size, and of the form of a small nut. In each is a little stone, surrounded with a white pulp, in consistence, colour, and even smell, like tallow. And this it is, of which the Chinese in general make their candles. The horse-chesnut contains a saponaceous juice, useful not only in bleaching, but also in washing linens and stuffs: Peel and grind them; then the meal of twenty nuts, is sufficient for ten or twenty quarts of water. Either linen or woollen may be washed in the infusion, without any other soap. It takes out spots of all kinds, rinsing the clothes afterwards in spring water. If you grind the nut, steep the meal in hot water, and then mix it with an equal quantity of bran, both hogs and poultry will eat it. Both horses and cows will eat the nut itself, mixt with otherwood. The sago-tree is between twenty and thirty feet high, and about five or six round; it grows in the Molucca islands. Its outward bark is about an inch thick: under this are ligneous fibres, which cover a mass of a kind of gummy meal , When this is ripe, a whitish dust transpires through the leaves. The Malais then cut down the tree, scoop out the mealy substance, dilate it with water, and strain it through a fine cloth. It afterwards gradually dries and hardens, and will keep good for many years. Palm-trees are male and female. In March or April, when the sheaths that enclose the young clusters of the flowers and. fruit begin to open, at which time the dates are formed, they take a sprig of the male cluster, and insert it into the sheath of the female; or else take a whole cluster of the male tree, and sprinkle the farina of it over several clusters of the female. Where they use the former method, one male suffices to impregnate four or five hundred females. The palm-tree is in its greatest vigour about thirty years after transplantation, and for seventy years longer bears, yearly, fifteen or twenty clusters of dates, each of fifteen or twenty pounds weight. Afterward they gradually pine away, and usually fall about the latter end of their second century. To procure the honey of the palm-tree, they cut off its head, and scoop the top of the trunk into the shape of a bason. The sap ascending lodges in this cavity, for the first ten or twelve days, three quarts or a gallon a day. Then it gradually diminishes, till in six or eight weeks, the juices are consumed, and the tree is fit only for firewood. This liquor is a thin syrrup, of a more luscious sweetness than honey. Hence our poet mentions, “Fruit of palm-tree, pleasant to our thirst And hunger both.” Though one would imagine, a liquor of that kind, would not be very proper to quench thirst. I find, of the number of Sicilian plants, says a late writer, the cinnamon, sarsaparilla, sassafras, rhubarb, and many others commonly thought not to be natives of Europe. The palma Christi too, that plant so much celebrated of late, from the seed of which the castor oil is made, grows in many places of Sicily in the greatest abundance. Our botanists have called it ricinus Americ canus, supposing it only to be produced in that part of the world. But the most uncommon of all the vegetable productions of Sicily, are some of the trees that grow on the sides of Mount Etna. Three of these are nearly of one size; but one is rather taller than the other two. It rises from one solid stem to a considerable height; after which it branches out. I measured it about two feet from the ground, and found it seventy-six feet round. All these grow on a thick, rich soil, formed originally of ashes thrown out by the mountain. The balsam-tree grows on rocks, and frequently on the limbs or trunks of other trees. This is occasioned by birds scattering or voiding the seeds, which being glutinous, like those of mistletoe, take root and grow: but not finding sufficient nourishment, the roots spread on the bark till they find a decayed hole wherein is some soil. Into this they enter and become a tree. But the nourishment of this second spot being exhausted, one or two of the roots pass out of the hole, and fall directly to the ground, though at forty feet distance. Here again they take root, and become a much larger tree than before. They flourish on the Bahama islands, and many other of the hot parts of America. In Italy are many coppice woods, of what our gardeners call the flowering ash. Manna is procured by piercing the bark, and catching the sap, as we do that of birch trees, to make birch wine. It begins to run in the beginning of August, and in a dry season, runs for five or six weeks. But we have no need to be beholden to the king of Naples; for the tree grows as well in England as in Italy. What stupidity is it then, to import, at a large expense, what we may nave at our own doors! The leaves of this tree are the proper senna, and better than any brought from Apulia. Peruvian bark comes from a tree, about the bigness of a plumb tree. Its leaves are like ivy, and are always green. It is gathered in autumn, the rind is taken off all round, both from the boughs and the tree, and grows again in four months. It bears a fruit, not unlike a chesnut, except its outward shell. This shell is properly called China-China, and is esteemed by the natives, far above the bark, which is taken from the trunk or boughs. And it seems this only was in use, till the demand for it so increased. The tree which produces cotton, is common in several parts both of the East and West Indies. The fruit is oval, about the size of a nut. As it ripens, the outside grows black, till opening in several places by the heat of the sun, it discovers the cotton, of an admirable whiteness. But as fine cotton is now made in Ireland from flax, as ever grew on the cotton tree. Pepper grows on a shrub in several parts of the East Indies, which, is of the reptile-kind; and for that reason is usually planted at the foot of some larger tree. It grows in clusters, which at first are green. As the grains ripen, they grow reddish; and after being exposed awhile to the sun, become black. To make white pepper, they moisten it with sea water, and then exposing it to the sun, divest the grains of the outer bark, which of consequence leaves them white. The tree that bears Jamaica pepper, is about thirty feet high, and covered with a gray, smooth, shining bark. It shoots out abundance of branches, which bears large leaves, like those of the bay tree. At the very end of the twigs ‘grow bunches of flowers, each stalk bearing a flower which bends hack. To these succeeds a bunch of berries, larger when ripe than juniper berries. They are then black, smooth and shining; but they are taken from the tree when unripe, and dried in the sun. They have a mixed flavour of many kinds of spice, and hence they are called all-spice. The plant which affords ginger, resembles our reed, both if its stem and leaves. The root spreads itself near the surface of the ground, in form not unlike a man’s hand. When it is ripe they dig it up, and dry it. either in the sun, or in an oven. Nutmegs are. enclosed in four different covers: the first, thick and fleshy, like that of our walnuts: the second is a thin, reddish coat, of an agreeable smell, called mace. The third is a hard blackish shell. The fourth is a greenish film. In this the nutmeg is found, which is properly the kernel of the fruit. The WILD PINES as it is called, is a wonderful instance of the wise providence of God. The leaves of it are channelled, to catch and convey water into their reservoirs. These reservoirs are so made, as to contain much water. And they close at the top when they are full, to hinder its evaporation. These plants grow on the arms of the trees in the woods, as also on the bark of their trunks. Another contrivance of nature in this vegetable is very admirable. The seed has many long and fine threads, that it may be carried every where by the wind, and that by these, when driven through the boughs, it may be held fast, and stick to the arms or trunks of trees. As soon as it sprouts, although it be on the under part of a bough, its leaves and stalk rise perpendicular, because if it had any other position, the cistern made of hollow leaves could not hold water. In scarcity of water, this reservoir is not only necessary and sufficient for the plant itself, but likewise useful to men, birds and insects. Hither they then come in troops, and, seldom go away ‘without refreshment. These leaves will hold a pint and a half, or a quart of rainwater. .“ When we find these pines,” says captain Dampier, “we stick our knives into the leaves, just above the root; and that lets out the water, which we catch in our hats, to our great relief.” The same Providential design is answered by the WATERWITHY of Jamaica. This, which is a kind of vine, grows on dry hills in the woods, where no water is to be found. Its trunk, if cut into pieces, two or three yards long, and held by either end to the mouth, affords a limpid, innocent and refreshing sap, as clear, as water: and that in so great abundance, as gives new life to the weary and thirsty traveller. An admirable instance of the same good Providence we have in the FOUNTAIN tree, which grows on Hierro, one of the Canary islands. In the rocky cliff which surrounds the island, is a narrow gutter, which begins at the sea and continues to the summit of the cliff, where it falls into a valley which is bounded by the steep front of a rock. On the top of this grows a tree, which has continued many years.. Its leaves constantly distil as much water as is sufficient for the drink of every living creature on the island. It stands by itself a league and a half from the pea, and no one knows of what species it is. Its trunk is about nine feet round, in diameter about three. It is thirty feet high; the circumference of all the branches together is about ninety. The branches are thick, the lowest of them is about an ell from the ground. Its fruit resembles an acorn, its leaves resemble those. of the laurel, but are longer and broader, They come forth in perpetual succession, so that the tree is always green. On the north side of it are two cisterns of rough stone, each fifteen feet square, and twelve deep; one of which contains water for the drink of the inhabitants; the other, for their cattle and all other purposes. Every morning, near’ part of the island, a mist rises from the sea. This the south easterly winds drive against the forementioned cliff, which it gradually ascends, and thence advances to the end of the valley. Being stopt there by the front of the rock, it rests upon the leaves and branches of the tree, whence it distils the remainder of the day. But trees yielding water are not peculiar to the island of Hierro. One of the same kind grows on the island of St. Thomas, in the gulf of Guinea. And of. the same nature is that near the mountains of Vera Pogz, whereof we have the following account in Cockburne’s Voyages. In the morning of the fourth day, we came out on a large plain, in the midst of which stood a tree of an unusual size. Its trunk was above five fathoms round; the soil it grew on was very stony. And on the nicest inquiry we could afterwards makes both of the Spaniards and the natives, we could not learn, that any other such tree had been known in all New Spain. “Perceiving the ground under it wet, we were surprised, knowing that according to the certain course of the season in that latitude, there had no rain fallen for six months, and that it could not be owing to the dew, for this the sun entirely dried up, in few minutes after its rising. At last, to our great amazement, as well as joy, we perceived water dropping from the end of every leaf; after we had been labouring four days through extreme heat, and were almost expiring for thirst, we could not look upon this, but as liquor sent from Heaven, to relieve us in our extremity. We catched it in our hands, and drank so plentifully, that we could scarce tell when to give over.” The MANCHINEEL APPLE is most beautiful to the eye, agreeable to the smell, and pleasant to the taste, but the whole tree is so poisonous, that the wood of it, while green, if rubbed against the hand, will raise blisters. The wood is ‘good for tables, cabinets, and all other curious work. But the virulent nature of the sap, calls for great caution in felling the tree. I was cutting down one of them, Says Mr. Catesby, when some of the milky, juice, spurting in my eyes, I was two days totally blind, my eyes and face being much swelled For four-and-twenty hours,.. I felt a violent pricking pain, which then gradually abated. Indeed, it is reported, and generally believed, of this tree, ‘that the wound of an arrow dipped in its juice is mortal; that the rain which washes the leaves, will raise blisters on. the skin; and that even. its shadow is so ‘noxious, that the bodies of those that sleep under it swell. Yet a pregnant woman ate three of the apples ‘without any inconvenience: and a robust man of about forty-five years of age, ate more than two dozen without being disordered more than twenty-four hours. About an hour after he had eaten them, his belly swelled, and he complained of a burning heat in his bowels. He could not keep his body in an erect posture; his lips, were ulcerated, and, he was seized with cold sweats; but he was relieved from all these symptoms by a decoction of the leaves of ricinus, the avellana fzurgatrix, in water, which being drank plentifully, produced a violent vomiting-and purging, for four hours; after this he was made to walk about, and some rice gruel perfected the cure. The negroes in Africa se a poison of an extraordinary nature. The dose is very small, and hath no ill taste. The symptoms are various, according as the dose is. It kills sometimes in a few hours, sometimes in months; at others, in some years. If a great quantity is given, death follows in six or seven hours. (The negroes turn white:) If the dose is but small, the sick loses his appetite, feels pain in his head, arms, and limbs, a weariness all over, soreness in his breast, difficulty in breathing, and at last dies languishing. Probably it is the same poison which is used in Spain and Italy. This hath but one specific antidote, the knowledge of which a famous negro-poisoner, was at length persuaded to impart. The antidote is the root of the sensitive plant. Take none of the root but what is in the ground; wash it well, and split it in two. Take a good handful of these split roots; steep them in three quarts of fair water, in an earthen glazed pot, having a cover. Use but a moderate fire, that it may boil gently. The decoction has no ill taste : you may add sugar, as you think best. Give the patient a good glass of this decoction as warm as he can drink it; an hour after give another, and so for some time, till you make a perfect cure. There is no danger of giving too much, it can do no harm at all. In the valley of the Lancy, which runs between the mountains of Juria, grows a plant like the dorinicum, near the roots whereof is found pure quicksilver, running in small grains like pearls One would not imagine the plant had any influence on this, but for the following experiment. Express the juice expose it to the air ma clear night, and there will be found as much mercury as there is lost of juice. But of all productions of the vegetable kind, there is none more remarkable than the aloe. It grows exceeding slowly. But the slowness of its growth is afterwards compensated by the bulk to which it arrives, the velocity with which it shoots, and the prodigious number of flowers it produces, which ordinarily amount to several thousands. It usually takes up three months,. May, June, and July, from the first budding of the stem, to the finishing of the flowers. There are however exceptions to this rule. The aloe in the garden of cardinal Farnese at Rome, shot up in the space of one month, to the height of twenty-three feet. Another at Madrid grew ten feet in one night, and twenty-five more in the night following. The progress of the Venetian aloe, in the garden of signior Papatava, was as follows. It began to shoot its stem on the 20th of May, which by the 19th of June, was risen four Paduan feet and an inch. On the 24th it had gained ten inches more, and on the 29th eight more, on which day it began to emit branches. On the 6th of July it had gained one foot one inch; on the 17th one foot eight inches more; on the 7th of August one foot and a half. From that day to the 30th, it grew very slowly, but continued emitting branches and flowers. The trunk was at the bottom a foot thick; the branches were twenty-three in number. On the top of each was a knot or collection of flowers. On each of the first branches there were and hundred and twelve: on others a hundred and ten, and on others a hundred. They yielded little smell: but what was of it was agreeable. When the tree has once flowered, it quickly dies, being quite exhausted by so copious a birth. They seldom flower till they are of a considerable age, when they are of a large size and a great height. As soon as the flower stem begins to shoot from the middle of the plant, it draws all the nourishment from the leaves, so that as that advances, these decay. And when the flowers are fully blown, scarce any of the leaves remain alive. But whenever this happens, the old root scuds forth a numerous quantity of offsets for increase. Perhaps there is scarce any plant in the creation which is of so general use. The wood of it is firm, and serves for fences, and for the use of the carpenter. The leaves make coverings for houses: the strings and fibres serve, in the room of hemp, flax and cotton. Of the prickles are made nails and awls, as also pins and needles. And from a large aloe, when rightly tapped, may be drawn three or four hundred gallons of juice, which by destillation grows sweeter and thicker till it becomes sugar. If there be a more beautiful flower than that of the aloe, it grows on a species of CEREUS (or prickly pear, as they call it in America), which grows well in our stoves: about the middle of July the flower is grown to its bigness. Till then it appears like a bit of wool on a dead stem. It usually begins to open about five in the evening, is full blown about eight, and Continues so till about four the next morning. It then gradually closes, and is shut up about six o’clock, covered with a cold moisture. The calyx or empalement is a foot in diameter, divided into sixty segments; the outside of a fine gold colour, the inside of a splendid yellow, spreading like the rays of a star. The petals are about thirty, in form of a of a pure white. There is one style surrounded by great number of stamina. It sends forth a very fragrant perfume, like the gum Benjamin while in blossom; the empalement and petals open one by one with great elasticity. There is not in nature any flower of greater beauty, or that makes a more magnificent appearance.. What pity, that it is only an ephemeron ! Literally the creature of a day! It has been before observed, that as all animals are from eggs, so all vegetables are from seeds. But many have supposed there is one sort of vegetable, which is an exception to this; namely mushroOms, the seeds whereof have been long šought in vain. And it is certain, if you only range in April, balls of horse dung, as big as one’s fist, in lines three feet distant from each other, and one foot under ground, covering them all over with mould, and that again with horse dung, in the beginning of August the upper pieces of dung will begin to grow white: being covered with fine white threads, woven about the straws whereof the dung is compošed. By degrees the extremities of these threads grow round into a kind of a button: which enlarging itself by little and little, at length forms itself into a mushroom. At the foot of each, when at its full growth, is an infinity of little ones. The white threads of the dung preserve themselves a long time without rotting, if kept dry. And if they are laid again in the ground, they will produce new mushrooms. “ Are these then any thing else than the mouldiness or putrefaction of horse dung “ Yes, certainly. Indeed all mouldiness, so called, is a congeries of very small plants. And these in particular, like other plants, have their origin from seeds. But before the seeds can vegetate, there are required, certain juices,. proper to penetrate their coats, to excite a fermentation in them, and to nourish the minute parts thereof. Hence arises that vast diversity of places, wherein different sorts of this plant are produced. Some will only grow on other particular plants, whose trunk or roots have the juices proper for them. Nay, there is one sort which grows only on the fillets and bandages of the patients, in the hospital at Paris. It is not therefore at all surprising that horse dung should be a fit soil for common mushrooms. It is probable the seeds of these are spread in numberless ‘places, well nigh throughout the whole earth.. And the same may be said concerning the seeds of many plants, as well as the eggs of many insects: more especially of those which are so minute, that we can scarce discern them even with glasses: seeing the smaller they are, the more easily may the least wind convey them hither and thither. So that in truth the earth is full of an inconceivable number both of animals and vegetables, perfectly formed mall their parts, and designed as it were in miniature; only waiting for certain favourable circumstances to enable them to make their appearance at large. How rich then must that hand be, which hath sown them with so much ‘profusion! It may not be improper, before concluding this head, to describe one more species of sea-plants. Coral grows chiefly in grottoes, which open to the south, and whose concave arch is nearly parrallel to the surface of the earth. It will not grow at all, but where the Sea is quiet as, a pond. It vegetates the contrary way to all other plants; its root adhering to the top of the grotto, and its branches shooting downward. The root takes the exact form of the solid it grows to, and covers it, as far as it goes, like a plate; and this is a probable proof, that its substance was originally fluid. Accordingly corals sometimes line the inside of a shell, which they could not have entered but in a fluid form. All its organism, with regard to vegetation, seems to consist in its rind, in the little tubes whereof the juice runs to the extremities of the branches. And this juice petrifying, both in the cells that encompass the coralline substance, and in those at the extremity of the branches, whose substance is not yet formed, by this means enlarges the plant to its full dimensions, both in height and bulk. It is vulgarly believed, that coral is soft while in the water. But experiment proves the contrary. It is observable that all sea-plants, (except the alga) are with-out roots. Nor have they any longitudinal, capillary sap-vessels, through which rooted plants draw nourishment to every part But the whole substance of sea-plants is composed of vesicles, which receive their nourishment immediately from the surrounding water. Consequently they can have no circulation of the Salt, having no vessels to convey it from one end of the plant to the other. 2 Many physicians affirm, that sugar is unwholesomes and most, that it destroys the teeth. But how will this agree with the following account “My grandfather,” says Dr. Slare,.” took as much sugar as his butter spread upon bread would receive for his daily breakfast. He put sugar into all his ale and beer, and into all the sauces he used to his meat. At eighty years old he had all his teeth strong and firm (having never had the tooth-ache) and never refused the hardest crust. In his 82d year one of his teeth came out, and in two or three years all the rest. But others filled up their room, and in a. short time he had a new set quite round. His hair alšo from very white became dark. He continued in health and strength, and died without any disease, in his ninety-ninth or hundredth. year.” 3. It is not only from the canes that sugar is extracted. in New-England much of it is made from the ‘juice of the upland maple. They first make a hole in the tree, within a foot of the ground, shelving inward, so as to hold about a pint. Then they tap this hole, and by a reed draw off the liquor into a vessel. A. large tree will yield, between the beginning of February and the end of April, twenty gallons of juice. A gallon, in boiling sixteen hours, is reduced to three pints, and yields more than two pounds of sugar, which our physicians prefer to all other for medicinal uses. 4. Molasses likewise may be procured without sugar-canes. This was discovered a few years ago, by Mr. Chandler, of Wood-stock, in New-England, an inland .town, where the common molasses is scarce and dear. Ever since both he and his neighbours supply themselves with it, out of their own orchards. The apple that produces it, is a summer sweeting,. of a middling size, and full of juice. They grind and press the apple and then gently boil the juice for about six hours. In that time it comes to the sweetness and consistency, and answers all the purposes, of other molasses. 5. There is one sea production, if it may be so termed, that is not commonly understood. Some have maintained, that ambergris was a substance naturally bred in one species of whales, in a bag three or four feet long. But this bag is in truth only the bladder of the whales, and the supposed ambergris is only a calculus of the bladder. The largest of these ever found in a whale weighed twenty-one pounds. But pieces of ambergris have been found, which were six feet long, and weighed above 180 pounds. It seems, 1. That ambergris, like yellow amber, comes out of the earth into the sea. 2. That it comes not like napththa, but in a thicker viscid and tenacious consistence. 3. That in the first formation thereof, a liquid bitumen or napththa is mixed with it. 4. That large pieces may be generated at the same time; but usually a small one rises first, to which another soon adheres, and so more and more, forming irregular figures, under which it is soft, so that various substances stick to it: but it gradually hardens to the consistence of wax. However one would not be positive, as to the manner of its generation. For who can explain in what manner amber is produced Or how metals, semi-metals, precious stones, and innumerable other mineral substances are generated We know what they are, but how they are formed, we know not with any degree of certainty. 6.The principle of corruption in plants and animals, is probably the very same, which during a state of circulation, is the principle of life: namely the air, which is found in considerable quantities, mixed with all sorts of fluids. This has two very different motions; an expansive one, arising from its natural elasticity, by which it gives their fluids an intestine motion, and gradually extends the parts that contain them: and a progressive motion. It does not appear that this is essential to it. Rather it is occasioned by the resistance of the solid parts. This restraining its expansion, obliges it to take the course that is more free and open, which is through the vessels of plants and animals. When this course is stopped, the expansive motion remains, and still continues to act, till it has so fully overcome the including bodies as to bring itself to the same degree of expansion with the outward air. But this it cannot do, without destroying the texture and continuity of those solids, which we call corruption. The destructive quality of the air is promoted, either by weakening the tone or cohesion of the including parts; as when fruit is bruised, which corrupts in that part much sooner than in the others: or by increasing the expansive force of the air, by heat, or some other cooperating circumstance. And certainly there is no corruption or putrefaction, without air. Hence either vegetable or animal bodies buried deep in the earth or water, remain for ages entire, which when exposed to the air, quickly moulder away. And hence such vegetables as are most apt to putrify, remain unchanged in vacuo. Yet various experiments seem to shew, that air must be impregnated by water, before it can occasion putrefaction, either in animal or vegetable substances. For take a pound of fresh flesh, and keep it in a moderate heat, and it will thoroughly putrify in a few days. But if you first extract the moisture, it will harden like a stone. And it may then be kept for ages, without any putrefaction. Even blood, if you deprive it of its watery part, may be kept for fifty years. But if you then dissolve it in water, and place it in a gentle warmth, it will putrefy immediately. The process of putrefaction may be learned from an easy experiment. Take the green, juicy parts of any fresh vegetable, throw them together in a large heap, in a warm air, and lay a weight upon them. The middle part of the heap will soon conceive a small degree of heat. It will come hotter and hotter, till it comes to a boiling heat, and is perfectly putrefied. In three days from the first putting them together, the. heat will equal that of a human body in health. By the fifth day the heat will be such as the hand can hardly bear. By the seventh or eighth, all the juices are generally ready to boil. Sometimes the matter will even flame, as does moist hay, till it burns away. But commonly it acquires a cadaverous taste and smell, and turns into one soft, pulpy mass, much resembling human excrements in the scent, and putrified flesh in the taste: If this be distilled, there will come from it, 1. An urinous spirit, perfectly like that obtained from animals, and separable by fresh distillation into pure water, and, a large quantity of white, dry, volatile salt, not to be distinguished from animal salts. An oily salt, which shoots into globes. S. A thick, foeted oil, both which are entirely like those of animals. 4. The remainder being calcined in an open fire, yields not the least particle of fixed salt just as if the subject had been of the animal, not the vegetable kingdom. And this process holds equally in all kinds of vegetables, though of over so different natures. Yea, in dry vegetables, so they be moistened by water before they are thrown into heaps. By this means the difference between one vegetable and another is entirely taken away. By this process, they are all reduced .to one common nature: so that wormwood, for example, and sage, become one and the same thing. Nay, by this means the difference between vegetables and animals is quite taken away; putrefied vegetables being no way distinguishable from putrefied flesh. Thus is there an easy and reciprocal transition of animal into vegetable, and vegetable into animal. So true it is, that matter, as matter, has no concern, in the qualities of bodies. All depend on the arrangement of the particles, whereof each particle consists. Hence water, though tasteless, feeds aromatic mint, and the same earth gives nourishment to bread and poison. As to this arrangement, the first view of a vegetable gives us an idea, of infinitely numerous and various parts: and so complex, that many have been discouraged from prosecuting the research. But upon examination, the parts which appear so numerous, are reduced to a very small account. For a careful maceration in soft water will shew, that the parts really distinct are only seven. These are, 1. An outer bark. 2. An inner rind, 3. A blea 4. A fleshy substance. 5. A pith. There is between the flesh and the blea, 6. A vascular series. And, 7. Cones of vessels take their course within the flesh. Whatever part of the plant we examine, we find these, be it a fibre, the root or the stem. We never find more: and tracing these, we see the other parts of the plants are only the productions of them. Thus the root, its descending fibre, and the ascending stalk, we find are one, not three substances. The same seven parts are continued from one to the other, and what are supposed at its summit, to be many new and strange parts, are found to be no more than the terminations of these seven. The external parts are also seven. 1. The cup. 2. The outer petals. 3. The inner petals. 4. The nectaria, either distinct, or connected in one ring. 5. The filaments. 6. The receptacle of seeds. And, 7. The seed-vessel or seeds. And these are only the terminations of the seven constituent substances of the plant. The outer bark terminates in the ‘cup, the inner rind in the outward petals; the blea forms the inner petals, the vascular series ends in the nectaria, and the flesh in the filaments: the cones form the receptacle, the pith, the seed, and their capsules. These are universal in plants, though their course be less plain in some, and their terminations less distinct in others. Every piece therefore, cut from a plant transversely, contains all the parts of the plant, ready to grow in length into a stalk upwards, and into a root downwards, and to separate at a due height from the root, into the several parts of the flower. Thus we see the arrangement of the common particles of matter into a vegetable body, although it be a work worthy of his band who formed it, yet is not so complex a thing as it appears. And this arrangement being once made in one individual, the species is created for ever. For growth is the consequence of the arrangement, when it has heat and moisture. Upon the whole: if we consider every part of a plant, we shall find none without its use. The root draws nourishment-from the earth: the fibres convey the sap: the larger vessels contain the specific juice of the plant: others carry air for such a respiration as it needs. The outer and inner bark in trees, defend them from. heat and cold and drought, and convey that sap which is required for the annual increase of the tree. And in truth every tree may in some sense be said to be an annual plant. For both leaf, flower and fruit, proceed from the coat that was superinduced over the wood the last year. And this never bears more, but together with the old wood serves as a block to sustain the succeeding annual coat. The leaves serve, before the bud unfolds, to defend the flower and fruit, which is even then formed; and afterward to preserve them and the branches from the injuries of the summer sun. They serve also to hinder the too hasty evaporation of the moisture about the root. But their chief use is to concoct the sap, for the nourishment of the whole plant: both that they receive from the root, and that they take in from the dew, the rain, and the moist air. Add to this, that they are as lungs, which supply the plant with the necessary quantity of air, and as excrementary ducts, which throw off superfluities by insensible’ perspiration. And so necessary is their service, that most trees, if quite ,stript of their leaves, will die. And if in summer you strip a vine-branch of its leaves, the grapes will never come to maturity. Not that they are hurt by the sun: expose them to this as you please, so the leaves remain, and they will ripen well. Another point worthy our consideration is, the immense smallness of the seeds of some plants. Some are so extremely minute, as not at all to be discovered by the naked eye. Hence the number of seeds produced by some plants, is beyond imagination. A plant of red mace, for instance, and many sorts of fern, produce above a million: a convincing argument of the infinite understanding of the former of them. And it is remarkable, that such mosses as grow upon walls, the roofs of houses and other high places, have seeds so excessively small, that when shaken out of their vessels, they appear like smoke or vapour. These therefore may either ascend of themselves, or by an easy impulse of the wind be raised to the tops of walls, houses, or rocks. And we need not wonder how the mosses got thither, or imagine they sprung up spontaneously. Concerning vegetables in general, we may farther remark, 1. That because they are intended to be food for numberless species of animals, therefore nature has taken so extraordinary care, and made so abundant provision, for their propagation and increase. So that they are propagated and multiplied, not only by the seed, but also by the root: producing shoots or off-sets in some, creeping under ground in others. Some likewise are propagated by slips or cuttings; and some by several of these ways. Secondly, for the security of such species as are produced only by seed, most seeds are endued with a lasting vitality; so that if by reason of excessive cold or drought, or any other accident, they happen not to spring up the first year, they may continue their fruitfulness. I do not say six or seven only, but even twenty or thirty years. Nay, after this term, if the hinderance be removed, they will spring, and bring forth fruit. Hence it is, that plants are sometimes lost for a considerable time, in places wherein they abounded before. And after some years appear anew. They are lost either because of the unfavourable seasons; because the land was fallowed; or because plenty of weeds, or other plants, prevented their coming up. And as soon as these impediments are removed they spring up again. Thirdly, many vegetables are armed with prickles or thorns, to secure them from the browzing of beasts; as also to defend others, which grow under their shelter. Hereby likewise they are made particularly useful to man, either for quick or dead fences. Fourthly, such vegetables as are weak and not able to support themselves, have a wonderful faculty, to use the strength of their neighbours, embracing and climbing up upon them, and. using them as crutches to their feeble bodies. Some twist themselves about others like a screw: some lay fast hold upon them, by their curious claspers or tendrils, which herein are equivalent to hands. Some strike in a kind of root: others by the emission of a natural glue, firmly adhere to any thing which has strength sufficient to support them. Claspers are of a compound nature, between a root and a branch. Sometimes they serve for support only; as in the claspers of vines, whose branches being long and slender, would otherwise sink with their own weight: sometimes, for a supply of nourishment also; as in the trunk-roots of ivy, which mounting very high, and being of a close and very. compact nature, the sap would not be sufficiently supplied to the upper sprouts, unless these assisted the mother root. Fifthly, The best of all grain, and what affords the most wholesome and agreeable nourishment is wheat. And it is most patient of all climates, bearing the extremes both of heat and cold. It grows, and brings its seed to maturity, not only in the temperate countries, but also in the cold regions of Scotland, Denmark, Norway, and Muscovy, on the one hand; and on the other, in the sultry heat of Spain, Egypt, Barbary, Mauritania, and the East-Indies. Nor is it less observable, that nothing is more fruitful. One bushel when sown in a proper soil, having been found to yield a hundred and fifty, and in some instances abundantly more. 7. It may be of use to subjoin here, first a general view of vegetation. Secondly, Some additional reflections on the vegetable kingdom. And first. As to vegetation itself, we are sensible all our reasonings about the wonderful operations of nature, are so full of uncertainty, that, as the wise man truely observes, “Hardly do we guess aright at the things that are upon earth, and with labour do we find the things that are before us.” This is abundantly verified in vegetable nature. For though its productions are so obvious to us, yet are we strangely in the dark concerning them, because the texture of their vessels is so fine and intricate, that we can trace but few of them, though assisted with the best microscopes. But although we can never hope to come to the bottom of the first principle of things, yet may we every where see plain signatures of the hand of a Divine Architect. All vegetables are composed of water and earth, principles which strongly attract each other: and a large portion of air, which strongly attracts when fixed, and strongly repels when in an elastic state. By combination, action, and re-action of those. few principles, all the operations in vegetables are effected. The particles of air distend each ductile part, and invigorate their sap, and meeting with the other mutually attracting principles, they are by gentle heat and motion enabled to assimilate into the nourishment of the respective parts. Thus nutrition is gradually advanced, by the nearer and nearer union of these prin.ciples, till they arrive at such a degree of consistency, as to form the several parts of vegetables. And at length, by the flying off of the watery vehicle, they are compacted into hard substances But when the watery particles again soak into and disunite them, then is the union of the parts of vegetables dissolved, and they are prepared by putrefaction, to appear in some new form, whereby the nutritive fund of nature can never be exhausted. All these principles are in all parts of vegetables. But there is more oil in the more exalted parts of them. Thus seeds abound with oil, and consequently with sulphur and air. And indeed as they contain the rudiments of future vegetables, it was necessary they should be stored with principles, that would both preserve them from putrefaction, and also be active in promoting germination and vegetation. And as oil is an excellent preservative against cold, so it abounds in the sap of the more northern trees. And it is this by which the evergreens are enabled to keep their leaves all the winter. Leaves not only bring nourishment from the lower parts within the attraction of the growing fruit, (which like young animals is furnished with proper instruments to suck it thence) but also carry off redundant watery fluids, while they imbibe the dew arid rain, which ‘contain much salt and sulpher, for the air is full of acid and sulphureous particles; and the various combinations of these, are doubtless very serviceable in promoting the work of vegetation. Indeed, so fine a fluid as the air, is a more proper medium, wherein to prepare and combine, the more exalted principles of vegetables, than the gross watery fluid of the sap. And that there is plenty of these particles in the leaves is evident, from the sulphureous exuclations often found on their edges. To these refined real particles, not only the most racy, generous taste of fruits, but likewise the most grateful odours of flowers, yea, and their beautiful colours, are probably owing. In order to supply tender shoots with nourishment, nature is careful to furnish, at small distances, the young shoots of all sorts of trees with many leaves throughout their whole length, which as so many jointly acting powers, draw plenty of sap to them. The like provision has nature made, in the corn, grass, and reed-kind: the leafy spires, which draw nourishment to each joint, being provided long before the stem shoots: the tender stems would easily break, or dry up, so as to prevent their growth, had not these scabbards been provided, which both support and keep them in a supple and ductile state. The growth of a young bud to a shoot, consists in the gradual dilation and extension of every part, till it is stretched out to its full length. And the capillary tubes still retain their hollowness, notwithstanding their being extended, as we see melted glass tubes remain hollow, though drawn out to the finest thread. The pith of trees is always full of moisture, while the shoot is growing, by the expansion of which, the tender, ductile shoot is distended in every part. But when each year’s shoot is fully grown, then the pith gradually dries up. Mean time nature carefully provides for the growth of the succeeding year, by preserving a tender, ductile part in the bud, replete with succulent pith. Great care is likewise taken to keep the parts between the bark and wood always supple with slimy moisture, from which ductile matter the woody fibres, vesicles, and buds are formed. The great variety of different substances in the same vegetable proces, that there are peculiar vessels for conveying different’ sorts of nutriment. In many vegetables some of those vessels are plainly to be seen full of milky, yellow, or red nutriment. Where a secretion is designed to compose a hard substance, viz, the kernel or seed of hard-stone fruits, it does not immediately grow from the stone, which would be the shortest way to convey nourishment to it. But the umbilical vessel fetches a compass round the concave of the stone, and then enters the kernel near its cone. By this artifice the vessel being much prolonged, the motion of the sap is thereby retarded, and the viscid nutriment conveyed to the seed, which turns to a hard substance. Let us trace the vegetation of a tree, from the seed to its full maturity. When the seed iS sown, in a few days it imbibes so much moisture, as to swell with very great force, by which it is enabled both to strike its roots down, and to force its stem out of the ground. As it grows up, the first, second, third, and fourth order of lateral branches shoot out, each lower order being longer than those immediately above them: not only as shooting first, but because inserted nearer the root, and so drawing greater plenty of sap. So that a tree is a complicated engine, which has as many different powers as it has branches. And the whole of each yearly growth of the tree, is proportioned to the whole of the nourishment they attract. But leaves also are so necessary to promote its growth, that nature provides small, thin, expansions, which may be called primary leaves; they draw nourishment to the buds and young shoots, before the leaf is expanded. These bring nutriment to them in a quantity sufficient for their small demand: a greater quantity of which is afterward provided, in proportion to their need, by the greater expansion of the leaves. A still more beautiful apparatus we find in the curious expansions of blossoms and flowers, which both protect. and convey nourishment to the embryo, fruit and seeds. But as soon as the calix is formed into a small fruit, containing a minute, seminal tree, the blossom falls off, leaving it to imbibe nourishment for itself, which is brought within the reach of its suction, by the adjoining leaves. I proceed to make some additional reflections upon the vegetable kingdom. All plants produce seeds: but they are entirely unfit for propagation, till they are impregnated. This is performed within the flower, by the dust of the anther falling upon the moist stigmata, where it bursts, and sends forth a very subtle matter, which is absorbed by the style and conveyed down to the seed. As soon as this operation is over, those organs wither and fall. But one flower does not always contain all these: often the male organs are on one, the female, on another. And that nothing may be wanting, the whole apparatus of the anther and stigmata is in all flowers contrived with wonderful wisdom. In most, the stigmata surround the pistle, and are of the same height. But where the pistil is longer than the, stigmata, the flowers recline, that the dust may fall into the stigma, and when impregnated rise again, that the seeds may not faIl out. In other flowers the pistil is shorter, and there the flowers preserve an erect situation. Nay, when the flowering season comes’ on, they become erect though they were drooping before. Lastly, when the male flowers are placed below the female, the leaves are very small and narrow, that they may not hinder the dust from flying upwards like smoke: and when in the same species one plant is male, and the other female, th ere the dust is carried in abundance by the wind from the male to the female. We cannot also without admiration observe, that most ‘flowers expand themselves when the sun shines, and close when either rain, clouds, or evening is coming on, least the genital dust should be coagulated, or otherwise rendered useless. Yet when the impregnation is over, they do not close, either upon showers, or the approach of evening. For the scattering of seed nature has provided numberless ways. Various berries are given for food to animals; but while they eat the pulp, they sow the seed. Either they disperse them at the same time ; or if they swallow them, they are returned with interest. The mistletoe always grows on other trees; because the thrush that eats the seeds of them, casts them forth with his dung.’ The junipers also, which fill our woods, are sown in the same manner. The cross-bill that lives on fir-cones, and the haw-finch which feeds on pine-cones, sow many of those seeds, especiallywhen they carry the cone to a stone or stump, to strip off its scales. Swine likewise, and moles by throwing up the earth, prepare it for the reception of seeds. The great Parent of all decreed, that the whole earth should be covered with plants. In order to this he adapted the nature of each to the climate where it grows. So that some can bear intense heat, others intense cold. Some love a moderate warmth. Many delight in dry, others in moist ground. The Alpine plants love mountains whose tops are covered with eternal’snow. And they blow and ripen their seeds very early, lest the winter should overtake and destroy them. Plants which will grow no where else, flourish in Siberia, and near Hudson’s bay. Grass can bear almost any temperature of the air, in which the good providence of God appears: this being so necessary all over the globe, for the nourishment of cattle. Thus, neither the scorching sun nor the pinching cold hinders any country from having its vegetables. Nor is there any soil which does not bring forth some. Pond-weed and water-lillies inhabit the waters. Some plants cover the bottom of rivers and seas: others fill the marshes. Some clothe the plains: others grow’ in the driest woods, that scarce ever see the sun. Nay, stones and the trunks of trees are not void, but covered with liver-wort. The wisdom of the Creator appears no where more, than in the manner of the growth of trees As their roots descend deeper than those of other plants, they do not rob them of nourishment. And as their stems shoot up so high, they are easily preserved from cattle. Their leaves falling in autumn guard many plants against the rigour of winter: and in summer afford both them and. us a defence against the heat of the sun. They likewise imbibe the water from the earth, part of which transpiring through their leaves, is insensibly dispersed, and helps to moisten the plants that are round about. Lastly, the particular structure of trees contributes very much to the propagation of insects. Multitudes of these lay their eggs upon their leaves, where they find both food and safety. Many plants and shrubs are armed with thorns, to keep the animals from destroying their fruits. .At the same time these cover many other plants, under their branches, so that while the adjacent grounds are robbed of all plants, some may be preserved to continue th’e species. The mosses which adorn the most barren places, preserve the smaller plants when they begin to shoot from cold and drought They also hinder from putting earth from forcing the roots of plants upward in the spring, as we see happen annually to trunks of trees. Hence few mosses grow in southern climates, not being necessary. Sea-matweed will bear no soil but pure sand. Sand is often blown by violent winds, so as to deluge as it were meadows and fields.. But where this grows, it fixes the sand, and gathers it into hillocks. Thus other lands are formed, the ground increased, and the sea repelled, by this wonderful disposition of nature. How careful is nature to preserve that useful plant grass! The more its leaves are eaten, the more they increase. For the Author of nature intended, that vegetables which have slender stalks and erect leaves should be copious and thick set, and thus afford food for so vast a quantity of grazing animals. But what increases our wonder, is, that although grass is the principal food of such animals, yet they touch not the flower and seed bearing stems, that so the seeds may ripen and be sown. The caterpillar of the moth, which feeds upon grass to the destruction thereof, seems to be formed in order to keep a due proportion between this and other plants. For grass when left to grow freely, increases to that degree as to exclude ‘all other plants, which would consequently be extirpated, unless the insect sometimes prepared a place for them. And hence it is, that more species of plants’ appear, ‘when this caterpillar has laid waste the pasture the preceding year, than at any other time. But all plants, sooner or later, must submit to death. They spring up, they grow, they flourish, they bear fruit, and having finished their course, return to the dust again. Almost all the black mould which covers the earth Is Owing to dead vegetables. Indeed after the leaves and stems are gone, the roots of plants remain: but these too, at last rot and change into mould. And the earth thus prepared, restores to plants what it has received from them. For when seeds are committed to the earth, they draw and accommodate to their own nature the more subtle parts of this mould: so that the tallest tree is in reality nothing but mould wonderfully compounded with air and water. And from these plants, when they die, just the same kind of mould is formed as gave them birth. By this means fertility remains continually uninterrupted: whereas the earth could not make good its annual consumption, were it not constantly recruited. In many cases, the crustaceous liverworts are the first foundation of vegetation. Therefore, however despised, they are of the utmost consequence, in the economy of nature. When rocks first emerge out of the sea, they are so polished by the force of the waves, that hardly any herb is able to fix its habitation upon them. But crustaceous liverworts soon begin to cover these dry rocks, though they have no nourishment but the little mould and imperceptible particles, which the air and rain bring thither. These liverworts dying turn into fine, earth, in which a larger kind of liverworts strike their roots. These also die and turn into mould: and then the various kinds of mosses find nourishment. Lastly, these dying yield such plenty of mould, that herbs and shrubs easily take root and live upon it That trees, when dry or cut down, may not remain useless to the world, and lie melancholy spectacles, nature hastens on to their destruction, in a singular manner. First the liverworts begin to strike root in them; afterward the moisture is drawn out of them, whence putrefaction follows. Then the mushroom-kind find a fit place to grow on, and corrupt them still more. A particular sort of beetle next makes himself a way between the bark and the wood. Then a sort of caterpillar-, and several other sorts of beetles, bore numberless holes through the trunk. Lastly, the woodpeckers conic, and while they are seeking for insects, shatter the tree, already corrupted, and exceedingly hasten its return to the earth from whence it came. But how shall the trunk of a tree, which is immersed in water, ever return to earth A particular kind of worm performs this work, as sea-faring men know. But why is so inconsiderable a plant as thistles, so armed and guarded by nature Because it is one of the most useful plants that grows. Observe a heap of clay, on which for many years no plant has sprung up: let but the seeds of a thistle fix there, and other plants will quickly come thither, and soon cover the ground. For the thistles by their leaves attract moisture from the air, and by their roots send it into the clay, and by that means not only thrive themselves, but provide a shelter for other plants. I shall .add only one observation more, concerning the difference between natural and artificial things. If we examine the finest needle by the microscope, tire point of it appears about a quarter of an inch broad, and its figure neither round, nor fiat, but irregular and unequal. And the surface, however smooth and bright it may seem to the naked eye, is then seen full of raggedness, holes, and scratches, like an iron bar from the forge. But examine in the same manner the sting of a bee, and it appears to have in every part a polish most amazingly beautiful, without tire least flaw or inequality, and ends in a point too fine to be discerned by any glass whatever. And yet this is only the outward sheath of far more exquisite instruments, A small piece of the finest lawn, from the distance and holes between its threads, appears like a lattice or hurdle. And the threads themselves seem coarser than the yarn wherewith ropes are made for anchors. Fine Brussels lace will look as if it were made of a thick, rough, uneven hair-line, intwisted or clotted together in a very awkward and unartful manner. But a silk worm’s webb on the nicest examination appears perfectly smooth and shining, and as much finer than any spinster in the world can make, as the smallest twine is than the thickest cable. A pod of this silk winds into nine hundred and sixty yards. And as it is two threads twisted together all the length, so it really contains one thousand eight hundred and sixty: and yet weighs but two grains and a half. What an.exquisite fineness! and yet this is nothing to the silk that issued from the worm’s mouth when newly hatched. The smallest dot which can be made with a pen, appears through a glass, a vast irregular spot, rough, jagged and uneven about all its edges. The finest writing, such as the Lord’s prayer in the compass of a silver penny, seems as shapeless and uncouth as if wrote in Runic characters. But the specks of moths, beetles, flies, and other insects, are most accurately circular; and all the lines and marks above them are drawn to the utmost possibility of exactness. Our finest miniature paintings appear, before a microscope, as mere daubings, plaistered on with a trowel. Our smoothest polishings are shewn to be mere roughness, full of gaps and flaws. Thus do the works of art sink, upon an accurate examination. On the contrary, the nearer we examine the works of nature, even in the least and meanest of her productions, the more we are convinced, nothing is to be found there but beauty and perfection. View the numberless species of insects; what exactness and symmetry shall we find in all their organs ! What a profusion of colouring, azure, green, vermullion; what fringe and embroidery on every part! How high the finishing, how inimitable the polish we every where behold! Yea, view the animalcula, invisible to the naked eye, those breathing atoms, so small they are almost all workmanship: in them too we discover the same multiplicity of parts, diversity of figures, and variety of motions, as in the largest animals. How amazingly curious must the internal structure .‘ of these Creatures be! How minute the bones, joints, muscles, and tendons ! How exquisitely delicate the veins, arteries, nerves! What multitudes of vessels and circulations must be contained in this narrow compass! And yet all have sufficient room for their several offices, without interfering with each other. The same regularity and beauty is found in vegetables. Every stalk, bud, flower, and seed, displays a figure, a proportion, a harmony, beyond the reach of art. There is not a weed whose every leaf does not shew a multiplicity of pores and vessels curiously’ disposed for the conveyance of juices, to support and nourish it, and which is not adorned with innumerable graces to embellish it. But some may ask, to what purpose has nature bestowed so much expense on so insignificant creatures I answer, this very thing proves they are not so insignificant, as we fondly suppose. This beauty is given them either for their own sake, that they themselves may be delighted with it: or for ours, that we may observe in them the amazing power and goodness of the Creator. If the former, they are of consequence in the account of their Maker, and therefore’ deserve our regard. If the latter, then it is certainly our dirty to take notice of, and admire them. In short, the whole universe is a picture, in which are displayed the perfections of the Deity. It shews not only his existence, but his unity, his power, his wisdom, his independence, his goodness. His unity appears in the harmony we cannot but see in all the parts of nature; in that one simple end to which they are directed, and the conformity of all the means thereto. On every side we discern either simple elements or compound bodies, which have all different actions and offices. What the fire inflames,’ the water quenches: -what one wind freezes, another thaws. But these anti a thousand other operations, so seemingly repugnant to each other, do nevertheless all concur in a wonderful manner, to produce one effect. And all are so necessary to the main design, that were the agency of any one destroyed, an interruption of the order and harmony of the creation must immediately ensue. Suppose, for instance, the wind to be taken away, and all society is in the utmost disorder. Navigation is at a stand, and all our commerce with foreign nations destroyed. On the other hand, the vapours raised from the sea would remain suspended just where they rose. Consequently we should be deprived of that useful covering, the clouds, which now screens us from the scorching heat: yea, and of the fruitful rains. So our land would be parched up the fruits of the earth wither, animals die, through hunger and thirst, and all nature languish and droop. All the parts of nature therefore were constituted for the assistance of each other, and all undeniably prove the Unity of their Omniscient Creator. His power appears in the whole frame of creation, and his wisdom in every part of it. His independence is pointed out in the inexhaustible variety of beasts, birds, fishes and insects: and his goodness, in taking care of every one of these, opening his hand, and filling all things living with plenteousness. Every thing is calculated by Divine Wisdom, to make us wiser and better. And this is the substance of true philosophy. We cannot know much. In vain does our shallow reason attempt to fathom the mysteries of nature, and to pry into the secrets of the Almighty. His ways are past finding out. The eye of a little worm is a subject capable of exhausting all our boasted speculations. But we may love much. And herein we may be assisted by contemplating the wonders of his creation. Indeed he seems to have laid the highest claim to this tribute of our love, by the care he has taken to manifest his goodness in the most conspicuous manner, while at the same time he has concealed from us the most curious particulars, with regard to the essences and structure of his works. And to our ignorance it is owing, that we fancy so many things to be useless in the creation. But a deep sense of his goodness will satisfy all our doubts, and resolve all our scruples. 8. I cannot conclude this part better, than with an essay on the production, nourishment, and operation of plants and animals. SECTION I. Creatures produce their own kind. When I survey the works of nature with an attentive eye, I am surprised to find with what marvellous exactness every creature draws its own picture, or propagates its own likeness, though in different manners of operation. The fox produces a living fox; the goose drops her egg, and hatches the young goose; and the tulip lets ‘fall its seed into the earth, which ferments and swells, and labours long in the ground, till at last it brings forth a tulip. Is it the natural sagacity of foxes that enables them to form their own image so accurately By no means: for the goose and the flower do the like: the sprightly and the stupid, the sensible and the senseless, work this wonder with equal regularity and perfection; and the plant performs it as well as the animal. It is not possible that any of them should effect this by any peculiar rules of art and contrivance: for neither the one nor the other are at all acquainted with the composition or progress of their work. The bird is entirely ignorant of the wondrous vital ferment of her own egg, either in the formation of it, or the umcubation: and the mother-plant, knows as much of the parts of the young plant, as the mother-animal knows of the inward springs and movements of the young little animal. There could be. no contri— vance here: for not any of them had any thought or design of the final production: they were all moved, both the beast, bird: and flower, by the material and mechanical springs of their own nature to continue their own species, but without any such intent or purpose. Give souls to all the animal race, and make those souls as intelligent as you can; attribute to them what good sense you please in other affairs of their puny life; allow the brutes to be as rational and as cunning as you could wish or fancy, and to perform a thousand tricks by their own sagacity; yet in this matter, those intellectual powers must all stand by as useless: the senseless vegetable has as much skill here as the animal: the goose is as wise as the fox or the greyhound; they draw their own portraits with an exquisite art and accuracy, and leave as perfect images behind them to perpetuate their kind. Amazing proof and incontestible argument of some superior wisdom: some transcendent contriving mind: some divine artificer that made all these wondrous machines, and set them at work! The animal and the vegetable in these productions are but mere instruments under his supreme ruling power; like artless pencils in a painter’s hand, to form the images that his thought had before designed: and it is that God alone, who before all worlds contrived these models of every species in his own original idea, that appoints what under agents he will employ to copy them. In the week of the creation, he bade earth teem with beasts and plants: and the earth like a common mother brought forth the lion, the fox and the dog, as well as the cedar and the tulip. Gen. i. 11. 24. He commanded the water to produce the first fish and fowl: and behold the waters grow pregnant; the trout and the dolphin break forth into life; the goose and the sparrow arise and shake their wings. Gen. i. 20, 21. But two common parents, earth and water, to the whole animal and vegetable world! A God needs no more. And though he was pleased to make use of the water and the earth in these first productions, yet the power and the skill were just the same as if he had made them immediately with his own hands. Ever since that week of creative wonders, God has ordered all these creatures to fill the world with inhabitants of their own kind; and they have obeyed him in a long succession of almost six thousand years. He has granted (shall I say) a divine patent to each creature for the sole production of its own likeness, with an utter prohibition to all the rest; but still under the everlasting influence of his own supreme agency upon the moving atoms that form these plants or animals. God himself is the creator still. And it is evident that he has kept a reserve of sovereignty to himself, and has displayed the ensigns of it in some important hours. Egypt was once a glorious and tremendous scene of this: sovereignty: it was there that he ordered the rod of Moses, a dry and lifeless vegetable, to raise a swarm of living animals, to call up a brood of lice in millions, without a parent, and to animate the dust of the ground into a noisome army. It was there he bid Moses wave the same rod over the’ streams and the ponds, and the silent rod under divine influence would bring forth croaking legions out of the waters without number. But these are his works of miracle and astonishment, when he has a mind to shew himself the sovereign and the controller of nature: without his immediate commission not one creature can invade the province of’ another, nor perform any thing of this work but within its own peculiar tribe’. Even man, the glory of this lower creation and the wisest thing on earth, would in vain attempt to make •one of these common vegetables, or these curious animated moving machines. Not all the united powers of human nature, nor a council of the nicest artificers with all their enginery and skill, ‘can form the least part of these works, can compose a fox’s tail, a goose-quill, or a tulip-leaf. Nature is the art of God, and it must for ever be unrivalled by the sons of men. Yet man can produce a man. Admirable effect, but artless cause! A poor, limited, inferior agent! The plant and the brute in this matter are his rivals, and his equals too. The human parent and the parent bird form their own images with equal skill, and are confined each to its own work. So the iron seal transfers its own figure to the clay with as much exactness and curiosity as the golden one: both can transfer only their own figure. This appears to me a glorious instance wherein the wisdom and power of God maintain their own supremacy, and triumph over all the boasted reason and intellectual skill of men: that the-wisest son of Adam, in this noblest work of nature, can do no more than a flower or a fly; and if he would go out of his species, and the appointed order of things, he is not able to make a fly, or a flower; no, not a worm, nor a simple bulrush. In those productions wherein mankind are merely the instruments of the God of nature, their work is vital and divine; but if they would set up for prime artificers, they can do nothing: a dead statue, a painted shadow on a canvas, or perhaps a little brazen clock-work is the supreme pride of their art, their highest excellence and perfection- Let the atheist then exert his utmost stretch of understanding: let him try the force of all his mechanical powers, to compose the wing of a butterfly, or the meanest feather of a sparrow: let him labour, and sweat and faint, and acknowledge his own weakness: then let him turn his eye, and look at those wondrous composures, his son, or his little daughter, and when their infant tongues shall inquire of him, and say, Father, who made us let him not dare assume the honour of that work to himself, but teach the young creatures that there is a God, and fall ‘down on his .face, and repent and worship. It was God who said at first;” Let the earth bring forth grass, and the herb yielding seed, after his kind, and the living creature after his kind :“ and when this was done, then with a creating yoice he bid those herbs and those living creatures,” be fruitful and multiply” to all future generations. " Great things cloth he which we cannot comprehend. But he sealeth up the hand of every man, that all men may know his divine work.” Gen. i. 11. 25. Job, xxxvii. 5. 7. SECTION II. The laws of nature sufficient for the production of animalsand vegetables. WILL YOU suppose that it derogates from the glory of divine Providence, to represent the great engine of this visible world, as moving onward in its appointed course, without the continual interposure of his hand It is granted, indeed, that his hand is ever active in preserving all the parts of matter, in all their motions, according to these uniform laws: but I ,think it is rather derogatory to his infinite wisdom, to imagine that he would not make the vegetable and animal, as well as the inanimate world, of such sort of workmanship, as might regularly move onward in this manner for five or six thousand years, without putting a new hand to it ten thousand times every hour: I say, ten thousand times every hour: for there is not an hour nor a moment passes, wherein there are not many millions of plants and animals actually forming in the southern or northern climates. He that can make a clock, with a great variety of beauties and motions, to go regularly a twelvemonth together, is certainly a skilful artist; but if he must put his own hand to assist those motions every hour, or else the engine will stand still, or the wheels move at random, we conceive a much meaner opinion of his performance and his skill. On the other hand, how glorious and divine aim artificer would he be called, that should have made two of these pieces of clock-work above five thousand years ago, and contrived such hidden springs and motions within them, that they should have joined together, to perpetuate the species, and thus continue the same sort of clocks in more than a hundred successions down to this day! though each of their springs might fail in forty years time, and their motions cease, or their materials decay, yet that by the means of these two original engines, there should be engines of the same kind multiplied upon the face of the earth, by the same rules of motion which the artist had established in the day when he first formed them Such is the workmanship of God; for nature is nothing but his art. Such is the amazing, penetration of divine skill; such the long reach of his foresight, who has longs ago set his instruments at work, and guarded against all their possible deficiencies; who has provided to replenish the world with plants and animals to the end of time, by the wondrous contrivance of his creation, and the laws he then ordained. Thus every whale, eagle and apple-tree, every lion and rose, fly and worm in our age, are as really the work of God, as the first which he made of the kind. It is so far from being a ‘derogation to his honour, to perpetuate all the species by such instruments of his agency for many ages, that it rather aggrandizes the character of the Creator, and gives new lustre to Divine Wisdom: for if any thing can be said to be easier or harder in this sort of Almighty work,’ we may suppose it a more glorious difficulty for a God to employ a sparrow or an oyster to make a sparrow or an oyster, than to make one immediately with his own hand. Perhaps there is not a wasp or a butterfly now in the world, but has gone through almost six thousand ancestors, and yet the work of the last parent is exquisitely perfect in shape, in colour, and in every perfection of beauty: but it is all owing to the first cause. This is wisdom becoming a God, and demands an eternal tribute of wonder and worship. SECTION III. Of the nourishment and growth of plants. IN the beginning of time and nature, at the command of God, the earth brought forth plants and herbs, and four-footed animals in their various kinds; but the birds of the air, as well as the fishes, were produced by the same command out of the waters. This was intimated in a former section. The water and the earth were the first appointed mothers, if I may so express it, of all the animal and Vegetable creation. Since that time they cease to be parents indeed, but they are the common nurses of all that breathes, and of all that grows. Nor is the wisdom of God much less conspicuous in constituting two such plain and simple beings as the earth and water, to be the springs of nourishment and growth to such .an innumerable variety of creatures, than it was in the formation of them out of two such materials. Is it not counted an admirable piece of divine contrivance and wisdom, that the single principle of gravitation should be employed by the Creator, to answer so many millions of purposes among the heavenly bodies in their regular revolutions, as well as among the inhabitants, and the furniture of this earthly globe where we dwell And may it not be esteemed astonishing an effect of the same Supreme wisdom, that two such simple things as water and earth should be the common materials out of which all the standing ornaments, the vegetable beauties, and the moving inhabitants, of this our world, whether flying or creeping, walking or swimming, should receive their Continual sustenance, and their increase. Let us first consider this as it relates to the vegetable part of the creation. What a profusion of beauty and fragrancy, of shapes and colours, of. smells and tastes, is scattered among the herbs and flowers of the ground, among the shrubs, the trees, and the fruits of the field! Colouring in its original glory and perfection triumph’s here; red, yellow, green, blue, purple, with vastly more diversities than the rainbow ever knew, or the prism can represent, are distributed among the flowers and blossoms. And what variety of tastes, both original and compounded, of sweet, bitter, sharp, with a thousand namelesss flavours, are found among the herbs of the garden! What an amazing difference of shapes and sizes appears amongst the trees of the field and forest in their branches and their leaves! And what a luxurious and elegant distinction in their several fruits! How very numerous are their distinct properties, and their uses in human life! And yet these two common elements, earth and water, are the only materials out of which they are all composed, from the beginning to the end of nature and time! Let the gardener dress for himself one field of fresh earth, and make it as uniform as he can; then let him plant therein all the varieties of the vegetable world, in their roots or in their seeds, as he shall think most proper: yet out of this common earth, under the droppings of common water from Heaven, every one of these plants shall be nourished, and grow up in its proper form; all the infinite diversity of shapes and sizes, colours, tastes and smells which constitute and adorn the vegetable world, (would the climate permit) might be produced out of the same clods. What rich and surprising wisdom appears in that Almighty Operator, who out of the same matter shall perfume the bosom of the rose, and give the garlic its offensive and nauseous powers! Who, from the same spot of ground, shall raise liquorice and the wormwood, and dress the cheek of the tulip in all its glowing beauties! What a surprise, to see the same seed furnish the pomegranate and the orange tree with the juicy fruit, and the stalks of corn with their dry and husky grains To observe the oak raised from a little acorn, into its stately growth and solid timber, out of the same bed of earth that sent up the vine with such soft and feeble limbs! What a natural kind of prodigy is it, that chilling and burning vegetables should arise out of the same spot! That the fever and the frenzy should start up from the same bed, where the palsy and the lethargy lie dormant in their seeds Is it not exceeding strange, that healthful and poisonous juices should rise up in their proper plants out of the same common glebe, and. that life and death should grow and thrive within an inch of each other What wondrous and inimitable skill must be attributed to that Supreme Power, that first cause, who can so infinitely diversify effects, where the servile second cause is always the same! It is not for me in this place to enter into a long detail of philosophy, and shew how the minute fibres and tubes of the different seeds and roots of vegetables take hold of, attract, and receive the little particles of earth and water proper for their own growth; how they form theta at first into their own shapes, and send them up aspiring above ground by degrees, and mould them so as to frame the stalks, the branches, the leaves and the buds of every flower, herb, and tree. But I presume the world. is too weary of substantial forms, and plastic powers, to be persuaded that these mere creatures of fancy should be the operators in this wondrous work. It is much more honourable to attribute all to the design and forethought of God, who formed the first vegetables in such a manner, and appointed their little parts to. ferment under the warm sunbeams, according to such established laws of motion, as to mould the atoms of earth and water which were near them into their own figure, to make them grow up into trunk and branches, which every night. should harden into firmness and stability; and again, to mould new atoms of the same element into leaves and bloom, fruit and seed, which last being dropt into the earth, should produce new plants of the same likeness, to the end of the world. It is easier for the sons of men to stand and wonder, and adore God the Creator, than to imitate, or even to describe his admirable works. In the best of their descriptions and their imitations of this divine artist, they do but chatter like Hottentots, and Paint like Goths and Vandals. SECTION IV. Of the nourishment and growth of animals. LET us proceed in the next place to survey new wonders. All the animals of the creation, as well as the plants, have their original nourishment from these simple materials, earth and. water. For all the animal beings which do not live upon other animals, or the produce of them, take some of the vegetables for their food; and thus the brutes of prey are originally indebted to the plants and herbs, i. e. to the earth, for their support, and their drink is the watery element, That all flesh is grass, is true, in the literal, as well as the metaphorical sense. Does the lion eat the flesh of the lamb Doth the lamb suck the milk of the ewe But the ewe is nourished by the grass of the field. Does the kite devour the chicken, and the chicken the little caterpillars, or insects of the spring But these insects are ever feeding on the tender plants, and the green products of the ground. The earth moistened with water is the common nurse of all. Even the fishes of the sea are nourished with vegetables that Spring up there, or by preying on lesser fishes which feed on these vegetables. But let us give our meditations a loose on this entertaining subject, and we shall find numerous instances of wonder in this scene of Divine contrivance. I. What very different animals are nourished by the same vegetable food! The self-same herbage or fruits of the earth by the divine laws of nature and providence, are converted into animated bodies of very different kinds. Could you imagine that half the fowls of the air, as different as they are, from the crow to the tit-mouse, should derive their flesh and blood from the productions of the same tree, where the swine watch under, the boughs of it, and are nourished by the fruit Nor need I stay to take notice what numerous insects find their nests and their food all the summer season, from the same apples or apricots, plumbs or cherries, which feed hogs and crows, and a hundred small birds. Would you think that the black and the brindled kine, with the horses both gray and bay, should clothe themselves with their hairy skins of so various colours, out of the same green pasture where the sheep feed, and cover themselves with their white and woolly fleece And at the same time the goose is cropping part of the grass to nourish its own flesh, and to array itself with down and feathers. Strange and stupendous texture of the bodies of these creatures, that should Convert the common green herbage of the field into their different natures, and their more different clothing! But this leads me to another remark. 2. What exceeding great diversity is found in the several parts, limbs and coverings even of the same creature ! An animated body is made up of flesh and blood, bones and membranes, long, hollow tubes, with a variety of liquors contained in them, together with many strings and tendons, and a thousand other things which escape the naked sight, and for which anatomy has hardly found a name; yet the very same food is by the wondrous skill and appointment of the God of nature, formed into all these amazing differences. Let us take an ox to pieces, and survey the wondrous composition. Besides the flesh of this huge living structure, and the bones on which it is built, what variety of tender coats and humours belong to that admirable organ the eye! How solid and hard are the teeth which grind the food ! How firm the general ligaments that tie the joints of that creature together! What horny hoofs are his support, and with what different sort of horny weapons has nature furnished his forehead! Yet they are all framed of the same grassy materials; the calf grazes upon the verdant pasture, and all its limbs and powers grow up out of that food to the size and firmness of an ox. Can it be supposed, that all these corpuscles, of which the several inward and outward parts of the brute are composed, are actually found in their different and proper forms in the vegetable food Does every spire of grass actually contain the specific parts of the horn and the hoof, the teeth and the tendons, the glands and membranes, the humours and coats of the eye, the liquids and solids, with all their innumerable varieties, in their proper distinct forms This is a most unreasonable supposition. No, it is the wisdom of the God of nature that distributes this uniform food in the several parts of the animal, by his appointed laws, and gives proper nourishment to each of them. Again, 3. If the food of which one single animal partakes, be never so various and different, yet the same laws of motion, which God has ordained in the animal world, convert them all to the same purposes of nourishment for that creature. Behold the little bee gathering its honey from a thousand flowers, and laying up the precious store for its winter food! Mark how the crow preys upon a carcase; anon it crops a cherry from the tree, and both are changed into the flesh and feathers of a crow. Observe the kine in the meadows, feeding on a hundred varieties of herbs and flowers; yet all the different parts of their bodies are nourished thereby in a proper manner: every flower in the field is made use of to increase the flesh of the heifer, and to make food for men: and out of all these varieties, there is a noble milky, juice flowing to the udder, which provides nourishment for young children. So near akin is man, the lord of the creation, in respect of his body, to the brutes that are his slaves, that the very same food will compose the flesh of both, and make them grow up to their appointed stature. This is evident beyond doubt in daily experiments. The same bread-corn which we eat at our tables will give rich support to sparrows and pigeons, to the turkey and the duck, and all the fowls of the yard: the mouse Steals it and feeds on it in his dark retirements; while the hog in the sty and the horse at the manger, would be glad to partake of it. When the poor cottager has nursed up a couple of geese, the fox seizes one of them for the support of her cubs, and perhaps the table of the landlord is furnished with the other to regale his friends. Nor is it an uncommon thing to see the favourite lap—clog fed out of the same bowl of milk which is prepared for the heir of a wealthy family, but which nature had originally designed to nourish a calf. The same milky material will feed calves, lap-dogs, and human bodies. How various are our dishes at an entertainment! How has luxury even tired itself in the invention of meats and drinks in an excessive ‘and endless variety! Yet when they pass into the common boiler of the stomach, and are carried thence through the intestines, there is a white juice strained out of the strange mixture, called chyle, which from the lacteal vessels is converted into the blood, and ‘by the laws of nature is Conveyed into the same crimson liquor. This being distributed through all the body by the arteries, is farther strained again through proper vessels, and becomes the spring of nourishment to every different part of the animal. Thus the God of nature has ordained, that how diverse soever our meats are, they shall first be reduced to an uniform milky liquid, that by new contrivances and Divine art, it may be again diversified into flesh and bones, nerves and membranes. ‘ How conspicuous, arid yet how admirable are the operations of Divine Wisdom in this single instance of nourishment! But it is no wonder that a God who could create such astonishing and exquisite pieces of machinery, as plants and animals, could prescribe such laws to matter and motion, as to nourish and preserve the individuals, as well as to propagate the species,. through all ages, to the end of time. SECTION V. The similar operations of plants and animals. IT is with admiration and pleasure we take notice of the regular actions of animals even in their earliest hours of life, before they can possibly be taught any thing by remark or imagination. Observe the young sparrows in the nest: see how the little, naked creatures open their mouths wide to their dam, as though they were sensible of their dependence on her care for food and nourishment. But the chicken just released from the prison of the shell, can pick up its food with its own bill, and therefore it doth not open its mouth to beg food of the hen that hatched it. Yet the chicken seems to shew its dependence too: for when the first danger appears, you see it run and fly to the wing of its dam for protection; as if it knew, that though it could feed itself, yet it was not able to defend itself, but must trust to the better security of a parent’s wing. We admire these ‘little creatures and their remarkable sagacity; we are surprised to find that they distinguish so happily, and pursue their proper interest; that they are so soon acquaint ed with their abilities and their wants, and come to use their understanding so very early; for it is evident, that the mere faculty of sense, that is, the passive reception of images or ideas, can never be sufficient to account for these wondrous imitations of reason; sense has nothing to do but with the present impression, and includes no reflection or prospect of the past or the future, no contrivance of means to an end, nor any action in order to obtain it. But what shall we say, ‘or how shall we account for it, if ‘we are told there are instances almost as admirable as these to be found in the vegetable world, where we never suspect sense or reason The vine, as though it were sensible of its own weakness, thrusts forth its long tendrils, which curl round the branches of any stronger tree that stands near, and thus it ‘hangs its weighty clusters upon the arms of the elm that support it. Nay, every cluster has a tendril belonging to it, and if any stronger twig of its own be within its reach, it hangs itself there by this tendril for support. The hop and the lupin, or French bean, as though they knew they could not stand by themselves, find another way to raise their heads on high: they twine the whole length of their bodies round the poles or the rods which are planted near them; and thus their growth and their fruit are upheld from rotting upon the ground. The ivy, for the same reason, but by another contrivance, climbs up the oak, and sticks close to its sides: and the feeble plant, which we vulgarly call the creeper, that can hardly raise itself three feet high alone, thrusts out its claws at proper distances, fixes them fast in the neighbouring wall or building, and mounts by this means to the tops of the highest houses. What variety of artifice is found here among these feeble vegetables to support themselves! Yet we believe these plants have no understanding, and mankind are all agreed they have no such thing as sense belonging to them; and we immediately recur to the wisdom of God the Creator, and ascribe the contrivance and the honour of it to him alone. It was he, we say, who gave the vine its curling tendrils, and the creeper its hooky claws: it was he instructed the one to bind itself with natural winding cords to the boughs of a stronger tree; and he taught the other, as it were, to nail itself against the wall. It was he shewed the ivy to ascend straight up the oak; and the hop and the lupin, in long spiral lines, to twine round their proper supporters. Let us inquire now, “ What do we mean by such expressions as these “ Truly nothing but this: that God formed the natures of these vegetables in such a manner, as that by certain and appointed rules of mechanical motion, they should grow up and move their bodies and their branches, so as to raise and to uphold themselves and their fruit. Thus the wisdom of God, the great Artificer, is glorified in the vegetable world. And why should we not give God the Creator the same honor of his wisdom in the animal world also Why may we not suppose that he has formed the bodies of brute creatures, and all their inward springs of motion, with such exquisite art, as even in their youngest hours, without reasoning and without imitation, to pursue those methods as regularly which are necessary for their life and their defence, by the same laws of motion and the same unthinking powers This is nature, when God has appointed it. This seems to be the true idea, and the clearest explication of that obscure word, instinct. If we allow these young animals to perform all their affairs by their own contrivance and sagacity, why do not we ascribe the same sagacity and artifice to vines and ivy, that we do to young sparrows or chickens. The motions of the plants are slower indeed, but as regular and rational as those of the animals; they shew as much design and contrivance, and are as necessary and proper to attain their end. Besides, if we imagine these little young birds to practise their different forms of motion for their nourishment or defence, by any springs Of reason, meaning or design in themselves, do we not ascribe understanding to them a little too soon, and confess their knowledge is much superior to our own, and their reason of morn early growth Do we not make men, or rather angels of them, instead of brute creatures But if we suppose them to be actuated by the peculiar laws of animal motion, which God the Creator, by a long foresight has established amongst his works, we give him the honour of that early and superior reason, and we adore the Divine Artificer. Psalm cxlv. 10. “ All thy works shall praise thee, 0 Lord.” But we are lost among these wonders of thy wisdom! We are ignorant of thy divine and inimitable contrivances! What shall we say to thee, thou All-wise, Creating Power! Thy works surprise us: the plants and the brutes puzzle and confound our reasonings: we gaze at thy workmanship with sacred amazement: thy ways in the kingdom of nature are untraceable, and thy wonders past finding out. But what will some readers say when they peruse these discourses Are plants and brutes so very near akin to each other Creatures which we have always distinguished into the sensible and the senseless! Have birds and beasts no more perception or feeling, knowledge or consciousness, understanding or will, than the herbs, the trees and the flowers Is the grass of the field as sensible as the animal which eats it Excuse me here, my friends: I dare assert no such paradoxes. What if some of the early actions of brute creatures are merely the effects of such machinery and instinct as I before described It does not follow thence, that all the operations of their lives must be ascribed to such a mechanical principle. Even in human nature, where there is an undoubted principle of sense and reasoning, there are some early actions which seem to be the proper effects of such instinct or mechanism, and are owing to the wondrous divine artifice in the contrivance of their animal bodies, and not to any exercise of their own reasoning powers. How doth the infant hunt after the breast, and take it into its mouth, moving the lips, tongue and palate in the most proper forms for sucking in the milk to nourish it How does it readily shut the eyes, to cover them from any danger near! How does it raise its cries and wailing aloud for help when it is hurt! These are certainly the effects of instinct in their outward members, as much as the circulation of their blood and the digestion of their food in their bowels and their inward parts. It is certain, there are several operations in the lives of brute creatures, which seem to be more perfect imitations of reason, and bid fairer for the real effect of a reasoning principle within them, than these early actions which I have mentioned. What strange subtilty and contrivance seem to be found in the actions of dogs and foxes ! What artifices appear to be used both by birds and beasts of prey, in order to seize the animals which were appointed for their food, as well as in the weaker creatures, to avoid and escape the devourer ! How few are there of the passions, as well as the appetites of human nature, which are not found among several of the brute creatures ! What resentment and rage do they discover! What jealousy and fear, what hope and desire, what wondrous instances of love and joy, of gratitude and revenge! What amazing appearances of this nature are observed in birds and beasts of the more docile and domestic kind ! Such as puzzle the wisest of philosophers to give a plain, fair and satisfactory account how all these things can be performed by mechanism, or the mere laws of matter and motion! But how many actions soever may be performed by brute creatures, without any principle of sense or consciousness, reason or reflection, yet these things can never be applied to human nature. It can never be said, that man may be an engine too, that man may be only a finer sort of machine, without a rational and an immortal spirit. And the reason is this. Each of us feel and are conscious within ourselves, that we think, that we reason, that we reflect, that we contrive and design, that we judge and choose with freedom, and determine our own actions: that we can have no stronger principle of assent to any thing than present, immediate, intellectual consciousness. If I am assured of the truth of any inference whatsoever, it is because I am sure of my consciousness of the premises and of my consciousness that I derive this inference from them. My consciousness of these premises therefore is a prior ground of assurance, and the foundation of all my certainty of the inferences. Let a thousand reasons therefore be laid before me, to prove that I am nothing but an engine, my own inward present consciousness of this propositions that I have thoughts, that I have reasoning powers, and that I have a will and free choice, is a full evidence to me that these are false reasonings and deceitful arguments: I know and am assured, by what I feel every moment, that I have a spirit within me capable of knowing God, and of honouring or dishonouring my Maker, of choosing good or evil, of practising vice or virtue, and that I hereby am bound to approve thyself to the Almighty Being that made and governs me, ‘who will reward me in Some future state or other, according to my behaviour in this. And as I can certainly ‘determine this truth, with regard to my own nature, so when I see creatures round about me of the very same species with myself, I justly infer the same truth concerning them also: I conclude with assurance, that they are not mere engines, but have such reasonable and immortal spirits in them, as I find in myself. It is this inference of similar and equal causes from similar and equal effects that makes a great part in the science of mankind. Besides, I daily hear men discoursing with me on any subject, and giving as regular and reasonable answers to my inquiries, as I do to theirs; I feel within myself, it is impossible for me to do this without thinking, without the careful exercise of my intellectual and reasoning faculties, superior to all the powers of mechanism; and thence I infer, it is as impossible for them to practice the same discourse or conversation, without the powers of a rational and intelligent spirit, which in its own nature is neither material nor mortal. Let the question therefore which relates to brute creatures be determined to any side, it does not at all affect the nature, the reason, or the religion of mankind. It is beyond all doubt, that man is a creature which has an intelligent mind to govern the machine of his body; that man has knowedge, and judgment, and free choice; and unless he approve his conduct to the eyes of his Creator and his Judge, in this state of mortality and trial, be exposes himself to the just vengeance of God in his future and immortal state. It is certain, that the all-wise and all-righteous Governor of intelligent creatures, will not appoint the very same fate and period to the pious and the profane; neither his wisdom, his equity, nor his goodness, will suffer him to deal out the ‘same blessings and the same events in every state of existence, to those ‘who have loved him with all their souls, and those who have hated and blasphemed his name. It is the glory and the intent of the Supreme Ruler of the universe, to make a conspicuous and awful distinction in one world or another, between those who have endeavoured to serve him, and to render his majesty honourable among men, and those who have impiously abused all his favours, ridiculed his thunder, and robbed him of his choicest honours. But if philosophy should fail us here, if it were possible for creatures of such different characters to have nothing in their own natures which was immortal, yet it is a very reasonable thing, that the great Judge of all should prolong their, beings beyond this mortal state, that the Sons of vice might not go triumphant off the stage of existence, and that the men of virtue might not be always oppressed, nor come to a period of their being, without some testimony of the approbation of the God that made them. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 23: PART 03 - CHAPTER 3 - OF METALS, MINERALS, AND OTHER FOSSILS ======================================================================== Chapter 3 - Of Metals, Minerals, and Other Fossils 1. The variety of fossils 11. Of stones 2. The general properties of metals 12. Of petrifying springs 3. Of the nutrition and generation of metals 13. Of copper springs 4. Of gold, silver, platina, copper, iron, tin, lead 14. Of lime 5. Of steel 15. Of precious stones 6. Of quicksilver 16. Of the loadstone 7. Of mines 17. Of inflammable fossils 8. Of mundic 18. Of amber 9. Of the fissures of the earth 19. Of linum asbestum 10. Of salts 1. Among the bodies that remain to be considered, those which seem to bear the nearest resemblance to plants, are fossils, comprehending under the name, all bodies that are dug out of the earth. These have frequently, been, for order’s sake, divided into three classes: such as are capable of liquefaction; such as are reducible to a calx; and such as are inflammable. Of the first class, are metals: gold, silver, platina, copper, iron, tin, lead, quicksilver. However these differ in other respects, they all agree in the following particulars: that they are heavier than any other bodies yet known; that they are malleable; and that they are capable of liquefaction. 2. It is not improbably supposed, all metals consist of particles so heavy, that they cannot be totally torn asunder or dissipated by fire, or put into so rapid a motion as to inflame. It only sepa­rates them so far as not to resist a hard body, which is what we term liquefaction. Their malleableness, or bearing to be wrought by the hammer, may spring from the figure of their parts, per-. haps oblong or square, which may occasion their cohering’ so strongly, as not easily to be separated. And it is probable the pores, either of their constituent particles, or of the whole mass, are few and small, which may account for their being SO much heavier than any other known bodies, This is the radical character of metals. The weight of gold to that of glass is as nine to one; and the weight of tin, the lightest of all metals, is to that of gold as seven to nineteen: which con­siderably surpasses the weight of all stones and other the most solid bodies. Nor is there any body in nature but a metal, that is one third of the weight Of ‘gold. The specific weight of the several metals, and of the granite water and air, stands thus: Gold, - 19636 Iron, - - 7852 Quicksilver, 14019 Tin, - - 7321 Lead,. - 11345 Granite,- 3978 Silver - 10535 Water, - - 1000 Copper, - 8843 Air, - - 3/11 3. The nutrition of metals seems to consist only in the accre­tion of homogeneous parts, which is not improbably supposed to continue, while they lie in their native bed. Many suppose, that they have lain there ever since the flood, if not ever since the creation. Whether they have or not, they seem to grow as long as they remain therein. And after these beds have been emptied by miners, in a time they recruit again. Yea, the earth, or ore of allum will recruit again above ground, if it be exposed to the open air. And so in the forest of Deane the best iron, and in the greatest quantities, is found in the old cinders melted over again. However, it has long been disputed, whether metals are ge­nerated, or were all originally produced at the creation: and whether there be any general seeds of metals, as some suppose antimony to be. This is indeed a fossil of a very peculiar na­ture. It is a kind of undetermined, metallic substance, mixed with stony and sulphureous particles, so that it is hard to reduce it to any class. It is found in mines of all metals, but chiefly in silver or lead mines. That in gold mines is counted the best. It has also its own peculiar mines. It lies in clods of several sizes, nearly resembling black-lead, but is full of small threads, like needles, brittle as glass. It melts in the fire, though with some difficulty. Its uses are very numerous. It is a medicine of sovereign use in many cases, when warily and properly administered. It is a common ingredient in burning concaves, serving to give the composition a finer texture. It makes a part in bell-metal, in order to render the sound more clear. It is mingled with tin, to make it more hard, as well as of a brighter colour, and in lead, in casting of printers’ letters, to render them more smooth or firm. It is also a general help in casting of metals, and especially in casting cannon-balls. 4. Gold is either found in small grains in the sand of rivers, (formerly in several of the rivers of Europe) or is dug out of the earth, in small pieces of a tolerable purity. Sometimes it is also found like the ore of other metals, in a mass of earth, stone, or sulphur. In this state it is of all colours, red, white, black ash, making no ostentation of its real value. The chief properties of gold are, 1. It is the heaviest, though not the hardest of bodies. 2. It is the most ductile and malleable of all metals, of which goldbeaters and wire-drawers give us an abundant proof. But this depends altogether (incomprehensible as it is) on its being free from sulphur. For mix but one grain of sulphur with a thousand of gold; and it is malleable no longer. 3. It is more fixed in the fire than any other metal. Lay a quan­tity of gold two months in the intensest heat, and when it is taken out, there is no sensible diminution of its weight. And yet in the focus, of a large burning glass, it volatilizes and eva­porates. Yea, many thousands of moidores were wholly consum­ed, others half, or a quarter consumed, ‘by the flames which broke out, (luring the late earthquake at Lisbon. Gold may likewise by a glass’ be fused into a sort of calx, and then vitrified. But if the same be fused again with grease, ft is restored into gold. 4. It is dissolveable by no menstrum known, but aqua regia or mercury. The basis of aqua regia is sea-salt, the only salt which has any effect on gold. But this has its effect, how­ever applied, whether in a fluid or solid form. 5. It readily and spontaneously attracts and absorbs mercury. But as soon as the mercury enters it, the gold becomes soft like paste. 6. It with­stands the violence both of lead and antimony. All metals but gold and silver melted with lead, perish with it and evaporate: and all but gold, if melted with antimony. Thus melt gold, sil­ver, copper and tin with antimony, and all the rest rise to the top, and are blown off with bellows, but the gold remains be­hind. Hence antimony is used as the test of gold. The malleableness or ductility of gold, is beyond all imagina­tion. By exact weighing and computation it has been found, that there are gold leaves, which in some parts of them are scarce 350000th part of an inch thick. And yet this is a notable thick­ness in comparison of that of the gold spun on silk in gold-thread. It has been proved that the breadth of these gold plates is only the 96th part of an inch, and in their thickness, the 3072d; so that an-ounce of gold is here extended to a surface of 1190 square feet. How thin must it be when thus extended! In some parts it has been computed, its thickness is only the 3,150,000th part of an inch ! And yet with this amazing thinness, it is still a perfect cover for silver : nor can the best eye, or even the best microscope discern the least chasm or discontinuity. Nay, there is not an aperture to admit alcohol of wine, one of the subtlest fluids in nature: no, nor light itself. So closely connected are the particles, notwithstanding their inconceivable thinness. Silver approaches the nearest to gold in ductility and resisting fire. Like the ore of all other metals, it is found in the earth, under different forms and colours. But it usually affects some-what of a pointed regular form like crystals. It is never found in sand or grains, as native gold is. It is sometimes ash-coloured, sometimes spotted with red and blue, sometimes -of changeable colours, many times almost black. Although the history of fossils has been diligently cultivated, especially j)y the ‘moderns, yet it must be owned, that andst the vast variety of them, there is still room for new inquiries. No wonder therefore, that among the great variety of salts, ores and other concretes, new mixtures should daily be discovered. But that among bodies so simple as metals, any should still remain unknown, will appear extraordinary. Yet so it is there has been discovered in New Spain, an ori­ginal metal between gold and silver, the Spaniards call it platina, from the resemblance in colour which it bears to silver. It is of an uniform texture, bright and shining. It takes a fine polish, and does not tarnish nor rust. It is very hard and compact, but extremely brittle, and malleable but in a small degree. it is found chiefly in small grains, yet not pure, but mixed with a shining black sand. There are likewise usually mixed with it, a few,, shining particles of a golden colour. When exposed by itself to the fire, it is extremely, hard to melt. It has been kept for two hours in an air furnace, in a heat that would melt cast iron in fifteen minutes, without being either melted or wasted. But when exposed to a proper heat -with gold, silver, copper, lead, or tin, it readily melts and incorpo­rates with them. Having been kept in an assay-furnace with lead for three hours, till all the lead was wrought off, it was found remaining at the bottom, without having suffered any alte­ration or diminution. A piece of it having been put into strong aquafortis, and kept in a sand heat for twelve hours, yet when taken out it was no ways corroded, and was of the same weight as when put in. It has been said to be heavier than gold: but that is a mistake. Its specific gravity is to that of water, as fifteen to one. Yet an equal mixture of gold and platina, was near as heavy as gold itself, being to water as nineteen to one. It appears then, that no known body comes so near gold in fixed­ness and solidity. If it could be made as ductile as gold it would not easily be distinguished from it. Platina is likewise found in large, hard masses: these masses are with great labour, reduced into small grains, which are after­wards ground with mercury to extract the gold; and it is not to be brought into fusion by the greatest degree of fire procurable in the ordinary furnaces. It entirely resists the vitriolic acid, which dissolves or corrodes every other known metallic body except gold. Nay, it resists the marine fumes, and the regal cement, so called, from its being supposed to purify gold from all heterogeneous metallic matters. It also resists the force of the vitriolic and flutrous acids, though applied in such a manner as to be capable of perfectly dissolving all other known metallic bodies. It follows from other experiments, that platina contains nò gold; for it cannot,, any more than the common metallic substances, prevent a small portion of gold mixed with it from being disco verable. It farther appears, that platina, like gold, is not acted on by the simple acids which dissolve every metallic body besides:that aqut regiae, the solvents of gold, prove menstrua for platina; and that consequently the common methods for assaying and puri­fying gold by aqua fortis, aqua regiz, or the regal cement, can no longer be depended on : that it differs from gold, in giving no stain to the solid parts of animals, not striking a purple colour ‘with tin, not being revived from its Solutions by inflammable spirits, not being totally precipitable by alcaline salts; that in certain circumstances it throws out gold from its solutions; that these properties afford means of distinguishing a small portion of gold mixed with a large one of platina, or small portion of platina with a large one of gold; and that platina contains no gold except­ing the few particles distinguished by the eye. That platina is precipitated from its solutions by the vitriolic acid, and by the metallic substances, which precipitate gold, though scarce totally by any: and that its precipitates resist vitrification, and this per­haps is a more perfect manner than precipitates of gold itself. It is therefore a simple metal of a particular kind, essentially distinct from all those hitherto known, though possessed of some properties generally supposed peculiar to gold. Many of its cha­racters have been already pointed out; others result from com­bining it with the several metals, with each of which, notwith­standing its resistence to the most intense fires by itself, or with unmetallic additions, it melts perfectly ; occasioning remarkable alterations in their colours, texture, and hardness. It melts with equal its weight of each of the metals, with one more readily than with another. With some it becomes fluid, in a moderate fire; but a strong one is requisite for its perfect solution. Composi­tions of silver, copper, lead, with about one third their weight of platina, which had flowed thin enough to run freely in the mould, and appeared to the eye perfectly mixed, on being digested with aquafortis till the mestruum ceased to act, left several grains of platina in their original form. Upon viewing these with a micros­cope, some appeared to suffer no alteration; others exhibited an infinite number of minute, bright, globular protuberances, as if they had just begun to melt. Platina hardens and stiffens all metals; one more than another, lead the most. In a moderate quantity it diminishes, and in a large one destroys the toughness of all the malleable metals, but communicates some degree of this quality to cast iron. Tin bears much the least, and gold and silver the greatest quantity without the loss of their malleability. A very small portion of platina scarce injures the colour of copper and gold : a larger renders both pale, a far less quantity has less effect on copper than on gold. It debases and darkens, in proportion to its quantity, the colour of the white metals; that of silver much the least, and of lead the most. It in good measure preserves iron and copper from tarnishing; scarce alters gold or silver in this respect; makes tin tarnish soon, and lead exceeding quick. . Copper comes next to silver in ductility. Brass is an artificial metal, composed of copper fused with lapis caliminaris. Iron is less ductile than any of these, and contains more dross. It like-wise easily rusts, whereas silver seldom rusts, and gold seldom either rusts or cankers. It resembles lead, but is considera­bly harder and not near so heavy. Indeed it seems to be a sort of imperfect metal, generated of two different seeds, that of silver and that of lead, which makes it a kind of compound of both. And it is sometimes found in silver mines, sometimes in’ lead mines, though it has also mines of its own. It is the lightest of all metals, very little ductile or elastic, but the most fusible of all. It is scarce dissolvable with acids, but easily mixes with other metals. Of all the substances concurring to form the terrestrial globe, iron seems to have the greatest share: as it not only abounds in most kinds of stone, but enters greatly into the composition of clay. This may be judged, from the similitude of colour between clay and dry iron ore, from the easy vitrification of clay, from the resemblance of vitrified clay to clinkers of iron, from its deep red colour after calcination, and, lastly, from its yielding pure iron, by being burnt with oil. Dr. Lister has shewn that stones out of the human bladder, being calcined, iron may be extracted from them by a loadstone. And there is scarce any terrestrial substance either in men, brutes, or plants, which after burning do not exhibit some metal­lic particles. Dr. Bucher says, that out of brick-earth, mixed with any fat or oil, and calcined in the fire, he hath produced iron: The spirit of vitriol being mixed with iron, after fermenting, produces a green vitriol like the natural one. But if for spirit of vitriol, you use oil of vitriol, which is the most acid part of that mineral, there happens immedi­ately a small fermentation, which is quickly over. That fermentation begins again in a few days, under the form of a white smoke, which rises to the surface, and the whole mass of iron turns into a very white pap which smells like common sulphur. When the fermentation is over, the iron, instead of turning into green vitriol, becomes on a sudden white vitriol Mean time there is on its surface a black dust, which it has thrown up. It seems this would have made it green. For if white vitriol be mingled with this dust, it acquires a green colour. White-lead is thin plates of lead dissolved in vinegar. Red-lead is com­monly calcined. Black.lead (very improperly so called) is only a talky kind of earth. for it is only the iron that causes the redness of the bricks and it can be extracted from them again. Moreover, metals are dissolved by the salts and moisture in the earth, and so mix with the nutricious juices of vegetables; hence it may in some pects be said, that we eat metals with the greatest part of our food. The arbor martis is a germination of iron, resembling a natural plant. The manner of its discovery was this. One poured oil of tartar on iron filings, dissolved in spirit of nitre in a glass. Presently the liquor swelled much, though with little fermen­tation, and was no sooner at rest, than there arose a sort of branches adhering to the glass, which increased till they covered it all over. And these branches were so perfect, that one might even discover a kind of leaves and flowers thereon. The expe­riment has since been frequently repeated, and with the same success. A friend of mine showed me an experiment of the same kind. In a glass placed over a moderate fire, there was a continual budding of silver, in the form of a branch. When this was clipped off with scissors, and a little crude mercury added,, in a small time there arose another branch of true silver, which had suck­ed in and converted into metallic springs, a considerable portion of the quicksilver. The increment of new silver branches ceased not, as long as the fire was continued and fresh mercury sup­plied, for the due nutriment of this mineral vegetation. The ingredients were only aquafortis, quicksilver, and a small quan­tity of silver, far less than you may reap in a small time front these silver sprigs. Yet far more expense is blown away in smoke, than can be recovered from this silver harvest. Not much unlike this was an experiment made by a gentle­man, who kept in a cabinet some pieces of fire-stone from a coal-pit, and some large pieces of crude allum-stone, such as it was when taken out of the rock. After a time both these had shot out tufts of long and slender fibres: some of which were half an inch long, bended and curled like hairs. And as often as these tufts were wiped off, they sprouted out again. But both of these fail short of what is related by a curious natu­ralist. “Having extracted the salts out of a quantity of fern-ashes after the common method, most of the water being evaporated, I had. several pounds of salt, most of which being dried, I exposed the rest t the air. Having put it into a large glass, I forgot it for five or six weeks: looking after it then, I was saluted with a pleasing spectacle. The lixivium had deposited a large portion of salt, out of which sprung at a small distance from each other, about forty branches, which exactly resemble fern, putting out many leaves on each side, from one stem. They were of different sizes, but the figures of all were precisely the same. And these artificial vegetables, taking case not to shake them, I preserved for many weeks.” And yet the following ‘account is stranger still. “ I mixed equal parts of sal ammoniac and potashes, which Were put into a tall glass body, with plenty of volatile salt sublimated. I expected no unusual appearance from this, having often repeated the operation. Being called out just as the salt began to appear, how was I amazed at my return, to See in the glass head a forest in perspective, so delineated, as scarce to be equalled by the greatest masters. They were a representation of firs, pines, and another sore of tree I had never seen. But of this delightful spectacle I was soon deprived by the sublimation of more ‘salts. “ The next day I related this to Sir Robert Murray. He told me, one Davison, an experienced chemist, at Paris, had fre­quently shewed him in a glass a great company of firs and pines, full as lively as any can be painted. But in a little time they dis­appeared. He produced them again at pleasure. But herein his operation differed from mine: the substance tout of which he raised those shapes was of a more fixed nature; that which afforded mine, was volatile to the highest degree. Again, he could constantly and regularly produce those beautiful repre­sentations: whereas mine unexpectedly appeared; nor have I any hope of seeing them again.” Sal ammoniac is made of the soot arising from the clung of four-footed animals, as sheep, oxen and camels, so long as they feed only on green vegetables. This dung is collected in the four first months of the year, when all these feed on fresh spring grass. This, in Egypt, is a kind of trefoil or clover. But when the cattle are fed on hay, and the camels on bruised date-kernels, their excrements are not fit for this purpose. The nitre of Egypt was well known to the ancients. it is produced in two lakes near Memphis. One of them is four or five leagues long and one league broad: the other, three leagues long, and one and a half broad. In both, the nitre is covered by a foot or two of water. They cut it up with long iron bars, sharp at the end. And what is taken away, is replaced in one or two years, by new nitre, coming out of the earth. 5. If iron in melting be carefully purged from its dross, drawn into plates, and plunged red-hot into cold water, it grows harder, and is termed steel. But it is considerably softened again, if it is put into the fire, and afterward left to cool gra­dually in the air. 6. Quicksilver differs from all metals, in that it is naturally liquid. Its properties are, 1. It is the heaviest of all bodies, but gold and platina. 2. It is the most fluid of all. The particles even of water, do not divide so easily as those ‘of quicksilver they have hardly any cohesion. 3. Of all bodies it is divisible into the minutest parts. Being on the fire. it resolves into an almost invisible vapour. But let it be divided ever so much, it still retains its nature. For the vapours of distilled quicksilver, received in water or on moist leather, become pure quicksilver. And if it be mixed with lead or other bodies, in order to be fixed, it is easily by fire separated from them again, and reduced to its ancient form. 4. It is extremely volatile, being con­vertible into a fume, even in a sand-heat. 5. Of all fluids it is in equal circumstances the coldest and the hottest. This depends on its weight; for the heat and cold of all bodies, is (cæteris paribus) as their weight. 6. It is dissolvible by almost all acids, but vinegar. And hereby we discover, if it be sophisticated with lead. Rub it in a mortar with vinegar. If it be mixed with lead it grows sweetish: if with copper it turns greenish or bluish. If there be no adulteration, the quicksilver and vinegar will both remain as before. 7. It is the most simple of all bodies, but gold and platina. 8. It has no acidity at all, nor does’ it cor­rode any body. But it may be observed of metals in general, there is great uncertainty and inconstancy in the metallic and mineral king­doms, both as to colour, figure, and situation. A marcasite, for instance, may have the colour of gold and silver, and yet afford nothing but a little vitriol and sulphur: while what is only a pebble in appearance, may contain real gold. It is common also to find the same metal shot into many dif­ferent forms, as well as to find different kinds of metal of the same form. There is the same uncertainty as to their place. Sometimes they are found in the perpendicular fissures of the strata, sometimes interspersed in the substance of them; and the same metals in strata of very different natures. - They are likewise frequently intermixed with each other; so that we seldom find any of them pure and simple, but copper and iron, gold and copper, silver and lead, tin and lead in one mass: yea, sometimes all fix together. What distinguishes them from all other bodies, as well as from each other, is thcir heaviness: each metal having its peculiar weight, which no art can imitate. But who can reckon the various ways, wherein metals are useful to mankind Without these we could have nothing’ of culture or civility; no tillage or agriculture; no reaping or mowing, no ploughing or digging, no pruning, or grafting, no mechanic arts or trades, no vessels or utensils of household stuff, no convenient houses or edifices, no shipping or navigation. What a barbarous and sordid life, we must necessarily have lived, the Indians in the northern parts of America, are a clear demonstration. And it is remarkable, that those which are of most necessary use, as iron and lead, are the most plentiful. Those which may better be spared, are more rare. And by this very circumstance they are ‘qualified to be made-the common measure and standard of the value of other commodities, and to serve for money, to which use they have been employed by all civilized nations in all ages. All metals are liable to-rust. Gold itself rusts, if exposed to the fumes of sea-salt. The great instrument in producing rust. Is water: air, only by the water, it contains. Hence in dry air metals do not’ rust; neither, if they are well oiled: water not being able to penetrate oil. Rust is only the metal under another. form. Accordingly rust of copper may be turned into copper again. Iron, if not preserved from the air by paint, will in time turn wholly into rust. 7. Mines in general are cavities, within the earth, containing substances of various kinds. These the miners term loads: if metallic, they are said to be alive; if not, to be dead bodies. In Cornwall and Devonshire the loads always run from east to west. Mines seem to be, or to have been, channels of waters within the earth, and have branches opening into them in all directions. Most mines have streams running through them: where they have not, probably the water has changed its course. The springs in these parts are always hard, abounding either with stony or sulphurco-saline particles. These particles are either of a vitriolic or an arsenical nature. The first concretes into white cubes, resembling silver, the second into yellow ones resembling gold. Both these are by the miners termed mundic. 8. MUNDIC is variously coloured on the outside with blue, green, purple, gold, silver, brass and copper colours. But within it is either of the colour of silver, of brass, or gold colour, or brown. The other Colours are no more than a thin film or sediment, which water, variously impregnated, deposites upon the surface. There are few copper loads, if any, but have this semi-metal (whichis a kind of wildmock copper) attending uponthem. There­fore, in searching for copper, it is reckoned a great encourage­ment to meet with mundic. The mundic does not intimately incorporate itself with the ore of copper; for copper in its mineral state, being usually of a close consistence, repels the mundic, which is therefore easily separated from the ore. Cornish waters are infected by mundic, more or less, according to the quantity which they pass through, and the disposition of the mundic, either to retain or to communicate the noxious par­ticles of which it consists. Arsenic, sulphur, vitriol, and mercury are the constituents of mundic, yet these pernicious ingredients are so bridled and detained by their mutual action and re-action, and by mixing with other minerals, that the water is not poisonous, generally speaking, even in the mine where it proceeds directly from the mundic. Mundic resembles plants, animals, mouldings, carvings and sundry more varieties, too numerous to insert. Shall we attribute this to a plastic power superintending the congress of fossils, and sporting itself with such representations Or shall we rather say, that the great power which contrived and made all things, needing no delegate, artfully throws the flexile liquid materials of the fossil kingdom into various figures, to draw the attention of mankind’ to his works, and thence lead them to the acknow­ledgment, and adoration of an intelligent being, inexhaustibly wise, good and glorious Doubtless these are the works of that same lover of shape, colour and uniformity that paints the pea cock’s train, that veins the onyx, that streaks the zebra: it is the same band whose traces we may discover even among the meanest and most obscure fossils. God loves symmetry, gracefulness, elegance and variety, and distributes them for his complacency as well as glory, limits them not to plants, and animals, and open day light, but like a great master habitually imparts them to all his works, though in the deepest ocean, and in the most secret parts of the earth. 9. Although fissures are the natural result of a moistened and mixed congeries of matter, passing by approximation of parts into a state of solidity, we are by no means to conclude them useless, or the works of chance. No, the Great Architect, who contrived the whole, determined the several parts of his scheme so to operate, as that one useful effect should become the bene ficial cause of another. Hence it happens, that matter could not contract itself into solid large masses, without leaving fissures between them: and yet the fissures are as necessary and useful as the strata through which they pass. These are the drains which carry off the redundant moisture from the earth, which but for them, would be too full of fins and bogs for animals to live, or plants to thrive on. Through these fissures the rain which sinks beneath the channels of rivers, not having the advantage of that conveyance above ground, returns into the sea, bringing the salts and mineral juices of the earth into the -ocean, enabling it to supply the firmament with proper and sufficient moisture, and preserving that vast body, the sea, wholesome, fit for fish to live in, and sailors to navigate. In these fissures the several ingredients which form the richest loads, by the continual passing of waters, and the menstrua of metals, are educed out of the adjacent strata, collected and con­veniently lodged in a narrow channel, much to the advantage of those who search for and pursue them. For if minerals were more dispersed, and scattered thinly in the body of the strata, the trouble of finding and getting at metals, those necessary instru­ments of art and commerce, and the ornaments of life, would be endless, and the expense of procuring, would exceed the value of the acquisition; without these, neither metals, marbles, salts, earths nor stones, could be so easily or in such plenty, provided, as is necessary for the-use of man. ‘Earth is certainly the general food and stamen of all bodies, yet we know of itself it can do nothing: it must be Connected by a cement, or it cannot form Stone; it must be softened and atten­uated by moisture and warmth, or it cannot enter into the alimen­tary vessels of plants and animals. The parts of earth which constitute the solids of any plants are exceeding fine, and the common mass in which we plant trees, is for the most part gravel, clay, and sand, which promote vegetation, but are too gross to enter into, and become the constituent parts of them. Water must therefore be considered as the vehicle of more solid nourishment, and the parent of the fluids: the earths, salts, and oils, are the great instruments of the increase of solids. To trace fertility a little farther: when the earth is softened and diluted heat rarefies and evaporates the mixture; the salts con­tained and dissolved, are always active and promote motion; the elasticity of the air quickens and continues it: the oils supple the passages, of which some are fitted to secrete, arrest, and deposite the nutritious particles as they pass; some adapted (by the same secret hand, which conducts every part of the opera­tion) to throw off the redundant moisture by perspiration: the earthly mixture composes the hard and solid parts, and the genial, little atmosphere of every plant gives spirit, colour, odour and taste. Herbs and fruits being thus fed and matured, make tile earth they contain better prepared to pass into the still more curious and highly organized parts of animals. It is easy to see that this is rather a detail of the several materials, and well known instruments, conducing to fertility, than the cause. Fertility is owing to the concert, fitness and agreement of all these, with some volatile active principle, of which we know nothing at all. But whence that agreement results, how the materials ferment, replace, connect, and invigorate one another, how the vessels choose and refuse, (if I may so say) in order to produce the fertility desired, is known only to the infinitely wise Disposer of all things, ever attentive to the nurture and support of what he has created. But to whatever cause the fertility of earth is to be assigned, earth it must be owned is a most fruitful universal ele­ment. Animals, plants, metals and stones arise out of it, and return to it again; there, as it were, to receive a new existence, and form new combinations, the ruins and dissolutions of one sort affording more and more materials for the production of others. In stones and metals, we admire the continuity, hardness and lustre of earth; in plants, the rarity, softness, colours and odours: in animals, the lush, tile bone, and an infinite number of fluids, in which this supple clement can take place: but the greatest wonder is, that earth is capable of being subtalized to such an exquisite degree, as by uniting and communicating with spirit, to perform all animal functions given it in charge by the soul. This is the highest and utmost refinement, which in this state of being, earth is capable of; but that it may be still-farther refined, in order to be qualified for a future, incorruptible, and more glorious state, is one of the greatest truths which we owe to revelation. 10. To the second class of fossils belong those which. are reduced by fire to a caix. Such are, i. Salts, all fossils which whether they have a salt taste or no, are soluble in water. Com­mon salt is heavier than water, and if quite pure, melts when left in the open air. If the water it is dissolved in be boiled and evaporated, it remains in the bottom of the vessel. It is well known to preserve flesh from putrefaction, and to be with great difficulty dissolved by fire. Probably it is composed of pointed particles, which fix in the pores of flesh, and by reason of their figure are easily divided by water, though not by fire. It ever comes purer out of the fire. Yet it will fuse in a very intense heat. All salt dissolves by moisture: but moisture -only dissolves a certain quantity. Yet when it is impregnated with any salt, as much ‘as it can bear, it will still dissolve a considerable quantity of another kind of salt. It seems, the particles of this, being of different figures, insinuate into the remaining vacuities. Thus when a cup of water will dissolve no more common salt, allum will dissolve in it. And when it will dissolve no more allum, saltpetre will dissolve, and after that, sal ammoniac. The most remarkable salt mines in the world, are in the village Willisca, five leagues from Cracow in Poland. They were first discovered above 500 years ago, in the year 1251. Their depth and capacity are surprising. They contain a kind of subterranean republic, which has its laws, polity, carriages, and public roads for the horses which are kept there, to draw the salt to the mouth of the quarry. These horses after once they are down, never see the light of the day again. But the men take frequent occa­sions of breathing the upper air. When a stranger comes to the bottom of this abyss, where so many people are interred alive, and where so many were born, and have never stirred out, he is surprised with a long series of lofty vaults, sustained by huge pillars, which being all rock salt, appear by the light of flambeaus, that are continually burning, as so many crystals, or precious stones of various colours. 11. To this class, secondly, belong STONES, which are hard, rigid, void of taste, reducible to dust by the hammer, and into a calx by fire. It is probable, that stones, like salts and most fossils, are generated from a fluid, which gradually hardens into stone, by the evaporation of its finer parts. Mr. Tournefort observed, that in tile famous labyrinth of Crete, several persons had engraved their names in the living rock, of which its walls are formed: and that the letters so engrav en, instead of being hollow, as they were at first, stood out from the surface of the rock. This can no otherwise be accounted for, than by supposing the cavities of the letters filled insensibly, with matter issuing from the substance of the rock, even in more abundance than was needful to fill those cavities. Thus is the wound of a knife healed up, much as the fracture of a bone is consolidated, by a callus formed of the extravasated nutritious juice, which rises above the surface of the bone. Such callus’s have been observed to be formed on other stones, which were reunited after they had been accidentally broken. Hence it is manifest, that stones grow in the quarry, and consequently are fed; and that the same juice, which nourishes them, serves to rejoin their parts when broken. There is then no room to doubt, that they are organized, and draw their nutricious juice from the earth, which is first filtrated and prepared in the surface of the stone, and thence conveyed to all the other parts. Doubtless the juice which filled the cavities of those letters was brought thither from the root of the rock, which grew as corals do, or sea mushrooms, which every one allows to grow: and yet they are true stones. Indeed there are some species of stones, whose generation can no otherwise be accounted for, than by supposing them to come from a kind of seeds, which contain their organized parts in, minature. But many sorts of stones were once fluid; witness the various foreign bodies found therein. That even pebble stones grow, may be proved to a demonstra­tion, by an easy experiment. Weigh a quantity of pebbles and bury them in the earth. After a time dig them up, and on weighing them again, you will find they have gained a very con­siderable addition. The vegetable mould or surface of the earth, is made up of sands, clays, marls, loams, rotten stalks, and leaves of herbs, serving both as a proper bed and covering, and as a receptacle and conductor of moisture to tile roots of trees and plants. Sands and pebbles may be considered as drains, for carrying off the redundant moisture, to places where it may be ready to supply the place of what is continually rising in exhalations. But lest tile strata of sand should be too thick, small ones of clay are often placed between, to prevent the moisture from departing too far from where it may be of use. And lest these thin partitions of clay should let the particles of sand insinuate into them, and thereby let the moisture pass through, thin crusts of a ferrugine­ous substance are placed above and beneath each of these claycy strata: by which means the clay and sand are effectually kept asunder. Supposing some stones are organized vegetables, and are produced from seed, yet most sorts of stones seem to be unor­ganized vegetables. Other vegetables grow by a Solution of salts, attracted into their vessels. Most stones grow by an accretion of salts, which often shoot into regular figures. This appears by the formation of crystals upon the Alps. And that stones are formed by the simple accretion of salts, appears from the tartar on the inside of a claret vessel; and still more clearly, from the formation of a stone in the human body. The air is in many places impregnated with such salts or stony particles: and these ascending from the cavities of the earth, may petrify wood. In this case the petrifying quality is not originally, either in the earth or the water: but in the rising steams impregnated with saline or stony particles. 12. Many waters are generally supposed to turn other bodies into stone. This is ascribed to the lake Loghmond in Scotland, and Lough-Neagh in Ireland. But it is a mistake. There is not in reality any such transmutation in those bodies. Only the stony particles floating in the water, lodge in the pores, or on the surface of them. Petrifactions therefore are nothing more than incrustations of stony particles, which surround and partly insi­nuate into the bodies immersed. With regard to Lough-Neagh, some think the petrifying qua­lity, to be not only in the water, but in the adjacent soil. Many pieces of petrified wood are thrown up daily, in breaking up new ground, which that water never touched. They are often found two miles from the Lough, in great numbers, and deep in the ground, altogether like the Lough-Neagh stones. That these were once wood is certain. They burn clear, and may be cut with a knife, though not so easily as other wood. Petrifying springs are impregnated, some with particles of stones, others with serrugineous and vitriolic particles. When the stony ones drop on wood, or other vegetables, they coagu­late upon it, and by degrees cover it with a stony coat. If this be broke before the wood is rotted away, you find it in the heart of the stone. If the wood is rotted, you will find a cavity in the stone; but this also in time will be filled up with stony particles. Sometimes indeed these waters penetrate the pores of the wood, fill them up with their stony particles, and by their burning qua­lity proceeding from lime-stone, destroy the wood, and assume the shape of the plant. Metallic particles mostly act, by insinuating into the pores of wood or other vegetables, without increasing their bulk, or alter­ing their texture, though they greatly increase their weight. Such is the petrified wood in and near Lough-Neagh. It does not shew any outward addition of matter, and preserves the grain of wood. All the alteration is in the weight and closeness, by the mineral particles pervading and filling the pores. That there are mines near the Lough, we may gather from the great quantity of iron-stones found on its shores, and from the yellowish ochre and clay in many places near it. Now, whatever springs run through these, will be impregnated with metallic particles. And if they rise in the middle of a river or lake, and in their course meet with wood or other vegetables, these parti­cles will insinuate and lodge themselves in their pores, and by degrees turn them into stone. That such springs are under this lake, appears from hence, that in the great frost, 1740, though the lake was frozen over, so as to bear men on horseback, yet several circular spots remained unfrozen. Hence it appears, that this petrific quality is not in all parts of the lake, but here and there only. As to the trees which are found petrified and buried at a small distance from the lake, probably it was broader once than it is now, so that what was then under water, is now dry land. If so these trees might have been petrified in the part which was then overflowed, though it is now dry. 13. It is certain, that water impregnated with metallic parti­cles, when falling on wood or other vegetables, will coagulate upon it, as was observed above, and cover it with a metallic coat. It is also certain, that the vegetables included therein, are gradually destroyed, till the same matter which first formed the crust, takes up the whole space which they occupied before. But it is not only wood and other vegetables, which are capable of being thus acted upon, first crusted over and then destroyed. A shovel of iron some years since lying in the water, in the county of Wicklow, in Ireland, was observed to be incrusted with copper, which gave occasion to an important discovery. A gentleman, who visited the place on purpose to examine the truth of what was commonly reported, observes, “ I saw the iron bars impregnated with copper. I was an eye witness to the change in all its progress: an*o were thousands beside. I saw the masons laying a chain of new stope troughs, for the copper water to run through. I saw the men also laying the iron bars on wooden rafters, in those troughs. I saw the iron bars lifted up out of some troughs, where they had lain from one to eight months: and saw them incrusted over with copper, and corroded more or less, (some of them to very thin plates) according to the time they had lain in the water. I saw some of the troughs emptied, wherein the bars were wholly dissolved: and the labourers were throwing up with shovels the copper, which lay on the stones in the bottom of them. It was like mud, as it lay wet on the stones in the bottom of them. It was like mud, as it lay wet in the heap, but became dust as it dried. I also saw several pieces of copper, which had been made out of their copper-mud. “This water is supposed to flow over a vein of copper in the neighbouring mountain, it is of a sharp, acid taste, and of a blue colour. It is received and collected in those troughs ‘wherein the iron bars were placed: which’ after lying in the water, often not above three months, are entirely consumed: then at the bottom of the troughs, a quantity of topper is found, in the form of coarse sand. And it is remarkable, that there is a greater quantity of this copper, than there was of iron. But by what principle is this effect produced In order to discover this I made the following experiments. “ 1. Some small iron nails ‘put into the water, were in four minutes covered with a substance of a copper colour. And during that time the nails gained four grains in weight. The water had the very same effect on silver and tin, but not on gold. Hence we observe, the colour and increase of weight were owing to the adhesion of the particles of the matter dissolved in the water by an acid, which could not penetrate gold. “ 2. In order to determine the quantity and quality of this matter, I put two drachms of small iron nails into three ounces of the water. After they had lain therein four and twenty hours, I found the surface of the water covered with a thick scum, exactly like that which covers a chalybeate spaw. I observed, likewise, it had lost the blue colour, and sharp, vitri­olic taste. It was quite transparent, and at the bottom lay a brown powder, which when dried, weighed fourteen grains. This powder, melted without any flux, poduced twelve grains of pure copper. The nails also (which had lost eight grains) were in several places covered with a solid lamina of pure copper. The water being afterward filtrated and evaporated, afforded a pure green vitriol. “ 3. From the spring water treated in the same manner, I obtained a blue vitriol, the basis of which is copper. From all these experiments it appears, that a mineral acid is the active principle in this water, which being diffused through the copper ore, unites itself with that mind and forms a vitriol. This is dissolved by the water, and remains suspended therein, till it meets with the iron in the trough, and by which it is more strongly attracted than by the copper. Therefore, it quits the copper, corrodes the iron, and changes it into a vitriol, which is again dissolved ‘and carried off in the stream. Meantime the copper, deserted by its acid, falls by its specific gravity to the bottom of the trough. “It appears then, upon the whole, that this admirable process of nature, whereby one metal seems to be turned into another, is no more than a simple precipitation of the copper, by means of them.” In the Lower Egypt, there is a vast sandy desert, called the Desert of St. Macarius. One large plain herein is called by a name which signifies, The sea without water. This is strewed over with limbs of trees which are entirely petrified: very probably by means of the nitre, with which this whole country abounds. The change of wood into stone is not the only wonder here. The sand is also changed into eagle-stones. These stones are found two or three fingers breath beneath the surface of the earth, in little mines, some paces long and broad, about half a mile from each other. It is thought that in these places, there oozes out of the earth, a sort of metallic matter, which ferments with the burning sand, and in fermenting assumes Some kind of roundish figure, and attaches to itself more and coarser sand. Afterward it hardens by degrees, and grows black through the heat of the sun. The eagle-stone when in the mine is soft and brittle as an egg, and of a bright yellow or violet colour, but after being exposed to the air, it turns brown or black, and hardens gradually. Like­wise after a few days, most of these stones, will, if struck, sound like little bells. Not far off is a vast heap of sand, which they call the Eagle-stone Hill, because it is covered over with great rocks of the very same matter whereof the small eagle-stones are formed. But what shall we judge of those petrified shells, which have been dug up in many places Some indeed are not petrified. Near Reading, in Berkshire, for succeeding generations, a con­tinued body of oyster-shells have been Lund through the cir­cumference of five or six acres of ground. Beneath is a hard, rocky chalk, on which the shells lie in a bed of green sand, about two feet thick. Above are various strata for at least eighteen feet. The shells are so brittle, that in digging, one of the valves will frequently drop from its fellow. But several are dug out entire; nay, some double oysters, with all their valves united. In a quarry at the east end of Broughton, in Lincolnshire, there is a clay under the stone, in which are numberless frag­ments of the shells of shell-fish of various kinds. And there are sometimes found whole shell-fish, with their shells on, in their natural colours, only bruised and broken, and some squeezed flat by the weight of earth, which was cast upon them at the deluge. There is another quarry, south of the town, of a blue, hard stone, (probably a pure clay in some antediluvian lake) in which are numberless shell.fish of various sorts, but so united to the stone, that it is hard to get them out whole. They are all in the furface of the quarry, within a foot of the top. On the surface there are many shell-fish, half in the stone, half out. That part which is within the quarry is whole, but is a hard stone. That which is without, is all consumed, but a little of the edges, which are plain shell. Some of the shell-fish in this quarry are half open, and filled with the matter of the bed on which they lie. Some of them are broken, others bruised: the edge of one fish is sometimes thrust into the sides of another. One shell of some is thrust half way over the other, and so they are petrified together. Among these there are several great horse-muscles, such as breed in rivers and ponds. And in the fields and stones near Bramby and Frodingham is found a sort of fish bending like a ram’s horn, and creased like one on the outside. The bed wherein, it seems, this fish bred, is about a foot thick; in which are millions of the fish, sticking half within the stone, half without. And this shell being extremely durable, even the part sticking out, is not consumed, as it usually is in others, but remains whole and entire. 14.From stone burnt to dust arises lime, which has this re­markable property, that if cold water he poured upon it, it presently heats and boils up. In order to account for this, some have supposed, that some subtle matter is lodged, in the pores of the lime, (perhaps many of those particles of fire, whereby the stone was reduced to dust) which when the water insinuates into those pores, occasions the same kind of ebullition, as if it was poured on any other burning substance. 15.Most precious stones are transparent, and strike the eye with vivid and various colours. Probably they were once fluid bodies, which while in that state were mixed with metallic or mineral juices. Their transparency likewise makes this pro­bable, and so does their outward configuration. For many bodies hardening into solids shoot into crystals, just as is observed of several kinds of precious stones: and to this their inward struc­ture answers. For in many we may observe the thin plates. or coats one over the other, just as we see in those mineral sub­stances, which were once fluid. Their colours might be owing to some mineral juice or exhalation, which tinctured them before their pores were fully closed. This is the more probable, because many gems lose their colour,, if they lie long in the fire: and because, generally, coloured gems are found over metallic or mineral Dr. Boerhaave takes crystal to be the basis of all precious stones, which assume this or that colour, from the metallic or mineral steams mixed with the primitive crystalline matter. But how is crystal itself formed An Italian writer gives a parti­cular account of this. In the Val Sabbia, says be, I observed some parts of a meadow bare of all herbs. Here, and no where else thereabouts, the crystals are genenated. And whenever there is a serene and dewy sky, if all the crystals that can be found over night, are taken away, others will be found in the same place in the morning. Having observed, there is no sign of any mineral steam near, I conclude they are produced by steams of nitre. These may at the same time hinder vegetation in those places, and coagulate the dew that falls thereon. As nitre is the natural coagulum of water, so it ever retains’ its sex-angular figure. The largest crystals known were found in the mountains of Grimiule, between vast strata of Stones. The biggest of them was near three feet in length, and little, less in circumference. It weighed two hundred and fifty pounds: others weighed less and less, to those of ten pounds, which were the smallest there. They were of the same figure; sexangular columns, terminated by sexangular pyrands at one end, and at the other fixed to the rock. They were in general perfectly clear throughout, but in some the bass was foul, in others the point. If a solution of allum is permitted to crystallize quietly, it shoots into planes, of eight, six, four and three sides. But beside this, particles when excited to action by a certain degree of heat, arrange themselves into regular and delightful star-like figures of different sizes. Many of these have long streaming tails, and resemble comets. Others shoot into an infinite number of paral­lel lines, beautiful beyond description. These configurations are no less constant in their forms, than the crystals on which they grow. And they are equally transparent, but the figures produced are so extremely different, that every’ considerate observer must judge them to be owing to some very different property in nature. But what property Who can determine Indeed how little do we know of the most common things The very elements that surround us, the fire, the water, the air we breathe, the earth we tread upon, have many properties beyond our senses to reach, or our understanding to comprehend. Dr. Borlase range’s crystal itself and all gems under the head of spar,, which, says he, are only finer and purer substances of the spar-kind. All spar has been in a state of fluidity. In some are found straws and other light bodies. Yet time adds nothing to their firmness: but they are as hard when first consolidated, as ever they will be. But why do we find no spars in their fluid state Because while the matter of them remains incorporated with the water, it is not to be distinguished. from it, and as soon as it is deserted by the water, wherein it swims, it commences stone. It is by water that the sparry atoms are washed out of their repositories, and are collected into a transparent or opaque juice. As soon as the redundant water is drained off or evaporated, the stony parts accede to a closer union. They are assisted therein, either by cold compressing the parts, or by sudden evaporating heat. Thus the stone is formed, so much water resting in the pores as is necessary to fix it into a consistency. Hence may arise some queries. 1. Whether spar is not the universal gluten of stones distin­guished. from each other, by various mixtures of earthy, mineral, or metallic particles, but all united by the sparry liquor Per­haps there is scarce any sand, stone, or ore, which either by the naked eye or glasses, may not be discerned to have a portion of spar, clearer or opaque, in its composition. 2. Whether these and all other sorts of stones are not conti­nually forming in the earth 3. Whether there are not quarries of stone, which, when left unwrought for a considerable time, yield a fresh supply of stone, in those’ channels, which had been before thoroughly cleared A very peculiar kind of precious stone is what is termed a turquois. It is of the opaque kind, and commonly of a beautiful blue colour. And yet it has lately been made very probable, that these shining stones are originally no other than the bones of animals. In the French mines they are frequently found in the figure of teeth, bones of the legs, &c. And turquoises half formed, are composed of laminæ, like those of bones, between which petrifying juice insinuating, binds them close together. And the more imperfect the stones are, the more distinguishable are the different directions of the fibres and their larninæ, and the nearer resemblance they bear to fractured bones. The blue turquois, is indeed no other than fossil bone, or ivory saturated with copper dissolved in an alkaline menstruum; the green turquois is the same substance, intimately penetrated by a cupreous matter dissolved in an acid menstruum. 16. The loadstone is found in iron mines, and resembles iron both in weight and colour. Its most remarkable properties are, turning to the poles, and attracting iron. As to the former, when it moves without hinderance, it constantly turns one end to the north, and the other to the south: only declining a little to the cast or west. If two loadstones are brought within a certain distance of each other, that part of the one which is toward the north pole of the earth, recedes from that part of the other which respects the same pole. But it accedes to it, if the south­ern pole of the one, be turned toward the south pole of the other. The needle touched with the loadstone, when on this side the equinoctial line, has its north point bending down-‚ward; on the other side, its south point: under the line, it turns any way, and is of no use. As to its attractive power, it not only sustains another toad­stone, (provided the north pole of the one be opposed to the south pole of the other) but iron also. Likewise if steel-dust be laid upon a loadstone, it will so dispose itself, as to direct its parti­cles straight to the poles, whence they will be moved round by little and little, till they are parallel to the axis of the loadstone, It communicates its virtue to iron, and if it be armed with (that is, fixed in) iron, its force is greatly increased. It looses its force either by fire, or by letting two loadstones lie together, with the north pole of one opposed to the north, or the south pole of one to the south of the other. These plain phænomena of the ‘load-stone we know: the cause of them we know not. From late observations it appears, that the loadstone is a true iron ore, and is sometimes found in very large pieces, half load-stone, half common ore. In every one, 1. There are two poles, one pointing north, the other south; and if it be divided into ever so many pieces, the two poles will be found in each piece. 2. If two loadstones be spherical, one will conform itself to the other, as either would do to the earth, and will then approach each other: whereas in the contrary position, they recede from each other. 3. Iron receives virtue, either by touching, or by being brought near the stone: and that variously, according to the various parts of it which it touches. 4. The longer the iron touches the stone, the longer it retains the virtue. 5. Steel receives this virtue better than iron. 6. In these parts the south pole of a loadstone lifts more iron than the north pole. 7. A plate of iron interposed hinders the operation of the loadstone; but no other body; no, not glass itself. 8. A touched wire, if bent round in a ring, quite loses its virtue. But though bending thus destroys its virtue by day, it will not destroy it in the even­ing. Where is the philosopher in the world, who can account for this 9. Loadstones without any known cause, act sometimes at a greater distance than at other times. That of the royal society will keep a key suspended to another, sometimes at the height of ten feet, sometimes not above four. As strange as it is, the variation of the needle is different at different times of the day. 10. If a touched wire be split, the poles are’ sometimes changed (as in a split loadstone). And yet sometimes one half retains the same poles, and the other half has them’ changed. 11. Touch a wire from end to end with the same pole of the load-stone, and the end first touched turns contrary to the pole that touched it. But touch it again from end to end with the other pole of the stone, and it will turn just the contrary way. 12.Touch a wire in the middle with one pole of the stone, and the pole of the wire will be in that place: the two ends will be the other pole. 13. The poles of a small loadstone may pre­sently be changed, by applying them to the opposite poles of a large one. 14. Iron bars which stand long in an erect position, grow permanently magnetical; the lower end of them being the north pole, and the upper the south pole. 15. The same effect follows, if you only hold them perpendicularly: but if you invert them, the poles will shift their places. 16. Fire, which deprives a loadstone of its attractive virtue, soon gives verticity to a bar of iron, if it be heated red hot, and then cooled in an erect pos­ture, or directly north and south. 17. A piece of English okcr, thus heated and cooled, acquires the same verticity. 18. The verticity thus acquired by a bar of iron, is destroyed by two or three smart blows on the middle of it. 19., Either a piece of iron or a loadstone. being laid on a cork that swims freely in the water, which ever of the two is held in the hand, the other will be drawn to it. This proves that the iron attracts the stone, just as much as it is attracted by it. 20. Draw a knife leisurely from the handle to the point Over one of the poles of a loadstone, and it acquires ‘a strong magnetic virtue. ‘But this is immediately lost, if you draw it over the same pole from the point to the handle. Lastly, a loadstone acts with as great force in vacuo; as in the open air. The chief laws of magnetism ‘are these: 1. The’ loadstone has both an attractive and a directive power: iron touched by it has only the former. 2. Iron seems to consist almost wholly of attractive particles, loadstones of attractive and directive toge­ther, probably mixed with heterogeneous matter, as not having been purged by fire like iron. And hence iron, when touched, will lift up a much greater weight than the loadstone that touched it. 3. The attractive power of armed’ loadstones is, cæteris pan­bus, as their surfaces. 4. Both poles of the loadstone equally attract the needle till it is touched. Then it is that one pole begins to attract one end and repel the other. But even the repelling pole will attract upon contact, or at a very small dis­tance. But how odd are the following experiments ! I cut a piece, says Dr. Knight, of a loadstone, in an oblong square. In this I placed the magnetic virtue in such a manner, that’ the two opposite ends were both south poles, and the middle quite round was a north pole. I made the two opposite ends of another stone, north poles, the opposite side south poles. An irregular stone had two broad, flat surfaces opposite to each other. I made half of each of these surfaces a north pole, and the other half a south pole. So that the north pole of one surface was opposite to the south pole of the other. I took a stone that had a grain very apparent, running the lengthways of it. At one end of it I placed a north pole, surrounded by a south: at the other a south sur­rounded by a north pole: so that the edges of each surface had a different pole’ from that which occupied the middle. Many varieties of this kind might easily be ‘devised. But these examples are sufficient to shew, how manageable the mag­netic virtue is, with respect to its direction; and how defective all the hypotheses are, which are brought to account for the phænomena of the loadstone. Mr. Howard sailed to Barbadoes in company with another ship, commanded by one Groston. Suddenly a terrible clap of thunder broke Groston’s fore-mast, and did some damage to his rigging. When the noise was past, he was surprised to see Mr. Groston’s ship steering directly homeward. He tacked and stood after him, and found that Mr. Groston did indeed steer by the right point of the compass, but that the card was turned round, the north and south point having changed places. If he set it right with his finger, as soon as it was at liberty, it returned to its former posture. And on examination, he found every compass in the ship had undergone the same change. An odd discovery has been lately made, that not only iron, as has been generally thought, but brass too, by being hammered and properly touched, will contract a true magnetic virtue. And perhaps it will be hereafter discovered, that other metals may receive the same. Before closing this article, it may be proper to observe, first, The peculiar qualities wherewith some other stones are endued; and secondly, the remarkable uses they are of to us. As to the former, we nay observe, 1; The colour. The carbuncle and ruby shine with red, the sapphire with blue, the emerald with green, the topaz with a yellow or gold colour; the amethyst, is as it were tinctured with wine; the opal varies its colour like change­able taffeta, as it is variously exposed to the light. Observe, 2. The hardness wherein some stones exceed all other bodies, the diamond in particular, which is so extremely hard, that no art is able to counterfeit it. 3. As to the uses, some are serviceable for building, and for many sorts of vessels and utensils; for pil­lars and statues; for porticos, conduits, palaces, as free-stone and marble: some to burn into lime, some (with the mixture of kelp) to make glass, as common flints: some to cover houses, as slate; some for marking, as chalk, which serves also to manure land, and for medicinal uses; some to make vessels which will endure the fire. I might add the warming stone, digged in Cornwall: which being once well heated at the fire, retains its heat for a considerable time. 17. Of the third class are inflammable fossils, the chief of which are SULPHUR and EFRUMEN. Both are highly inflammable: but the substance of bitumen is more fat and tenaceous; whereas sulphur may easily be broken, and reduced to a fine powder. The bitumen of the Latins was by the Greeks called asphaltos. It is a black, solid, brittle substance, resembling pitch. It is chiefly found swimming on the dead sea, where anciently stood Sodom and Gomorrah. It is cast up from time to time from the bottom to the surface, where it gradually condenses by the heat of the sun. It burns as violently as naphtha; but is of a firmer consistence. Asphaltos is also a kind of bituminous stone, found near the ancient Babylon, and lately in the province of Neufchatcl, which properly mixed, makes an excellent cement, incorruptible either by air or water. With this, it is supposed, the walls of Babylon were built. Yet seems to be formed in the earth of a bituminous juice. It is a light, smooth, pitchy stone. It is fissile, and works like amber: the best in the world is said to be found in Yorkshire. It readily catches fire,’ flashes and yields a bituminous smell. Nearly resembling this, is the channel coal, found in several parts of Lancashire, which burns with an even, steady flame, like a candle or torch. 18. AMBER is a kind of fossil pitch, the veins of which run chiefly at the bottom of the sea. It is hardened in tract of time, and cast on shore by the motion of the sea. It was long thought that none could be found but in Prussia: but it has since been found in Sweden, on the shores of the isle of Beorkoo, though situate in a lake whose water is sweet. Nay, it is digged out of the earth, at a considerable distance from the sea, and not only in sandy, but in firm ground. 19. But the most extraordinary of all fossils is the ASBESTOS. It seems to be a species of alabaster, and may be drawn into fine silky threads, of a greyish or silver colour. It is indissoluble in water, and remains unconsumed even in the flame of a furnace. A large burning-glass, indeed, will reduce it to glass globules; but common fire only whitens it. Its threads are from one to ten inches long, which may be wrought into a kind of cloth. This the ancients esteemed as precious as pearls. They used it chiefly in making shrouds for emperors or kings, to preserve their ashes distinct from that of the funeral pile. And the princes of Tartary at this day apply it to the same use. The wicks for their perpetual lamps were likewise made of it. A handkerchief of this was long since presented to the royal society. It was twice thrown into a strong fire, before several gentlemen. But in the two experiments it lost not above two drachms of its weight. And what was very remarkable, when it was red hot, it did not burn a piece of white paper, on which it was laid. But there is a kind of asbestos wholly different from that known to the ancients. It is found so far as we yet know, only in the county of Aberdeen, in Scotland. In the neighbourhood of Achintore, on the side of a hill, in a somewhat boggy soil, about the edges of a small brook, there is a space ten or twelve yards square, in which pieces of fossile wood petrified lie very thick. Near this place, if the ground be dug into with a knife, there is found a sort of fibrous matter, lying a little below the surface of the ground, among the roots of the grass. This the knife will ‘not cut: and on examination it proves to be a true asbestos. It lies in loose threads, very soft and flexible, and is not injured by the fire. Yet it is sometimes collected into parcels, and seems to form a compact body. ‘When this, however, is more nearly examined, it appears not to be a real lump, but a congeries resembling a pledget of pressed lint, and being put into water, it separates into its natural loose threads. A stranger discovery still has been lately made. The proprie­tor of a forge, upon taking down his furnaces to repair them,, found at the bottom, a great quantity of a substance, which upon repeated trial, effectually answered all the Uses of the asbestos.’ it was equally well manufactured either into linen or paper, and equally well endured the fire. Upon prosecuting the inquiry, it appeared to him, that both the native ‘asbestos (at least one species of it) and this obtained from the forge, were nothing more, than what he terms calcined iron, deprived, whether by nature or by art, of its inflammable part: and that by Uniting the inflammable part, either with this, or. the fossile asbestos, it may at any time be restored to its primitive state of iron. But it is certain, there is asbestos which has no relation to iron. Both in Norway and Siberia, there are petrifying waters which, pervading The pores of wood lying therein, fill it with stony particles; and when by a caustic, corrosive power, derived from lime, they have destroyed the wood, a proper asbestos remains, in the form of a vegetable, which is now no more. To which of these does the following belong Signor Marco Antonia Castagna, superintendant of some mines in Italy, has found in one of them a great quantity of linum asbestum. He can prepare it so as to make it like either a very white skin, or a very white paper. Both of these resist the most violent fire. The skin was covered with kindled coals for some time: being taken out, it was soon as white as before: neither had it lost any thing of its weight. The paper also was tried in the fire, and without any detriment. Neither could any change be perceived, either with regard to its whiteness, fineness, or softness. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 24: PART 04 - CHAPTER 1 - OF EARTH AND WATER ======================================================================== Chapter 1 - Of Earth and Water 1. Of the formation of the earth 9. Of fountains 2. Sand probably its general cover 10. Of the sea 3. An inundation of sand 11. Of rivers and islands 4. Of mountains 12. Of the bason of the sea 5. The benefit of mountains 13. Of the tides 6. The height of mountains 14. Of currents in the sea 7. Of water 15. Of subterraneous trees 8. Of ice 16. Origin of bogs 1.The earth, or terraqueous globe, is a congeries of many different bodies. It contains sand, clay, various sorts of earth, stones, salts of various kinds, sulphur, bitumen, metals, minerals, and other fossils almost innumerable. Upon the earth are the waters, an4 on or near its surface animals and vegetables of all kinds. Bpit how was this whole mass formed into mountains, valleys, seaS, rivers, and islands Des Cartes advances one hypothesis; Dr. Burnet another; Mr. Hutchinson a third; and each world-builder advances plausible reasons for his own hypothesis. But none of those reasons are demonstrative: higher than probability they cannot go. That the earth is round, manifestly appears from the eclipses of the moon, in all which the shadow appears circular, which way soever it be projected. The natural cause of its roundness, is the great principle of attraction, which the Creator has stamped on all the matter of the universe, whereby all bodies, and all the parts of bodies, continually attract each other. By this means, as all the parts of bodies tend naturally to their centre, so they take globous figure, unless some other more prevalent cause interpose. Hence drops of quicksilver assume a Spherical form, the parts strongly attracting each other. Drops of water have the same form, when falling in the air, but are only half round, when they lie on a hard body, because their gravity overpowers their attraction. Yet the earth is not exactly round, but swells out towards the equator, and is flatter towards the poles, which is supposed to be occasioned by the diurnal rotation of the earth on its axis. By this means the greater diameter exceeds the less about 24 miles. What the earth loses of its sphericity by mountains and vales is nothing considerable the highest eminence being scarce equivalent to the smallest protuberance on the surface of an orange. The diameter of the earth is supposed to be 7967 miles. In the terraqueous globe are, 1. The external part, from which vegetables grow and animals are nourished. 2. The middle part, which is possessed by fossils, and extends farther than human labour can penetrate. 3. The internal, which some suppose to be a great loadstone; some a large mass of fire; some a collection of. waters; and others a hollow space inhabited by animals, which have their sun, moon and all other conveniences, peculiar to themselves. But indeed of that we know nothing. The deepest cavities, natural or artificial, known to us, scarce penetrating a mile below the surface. In the external part we meet with various strata, which were doubtless formed by the general deluge. The exterior parts of the earth were then dissolved, and mixed with the waters in one common mass. Afterward they sunk, nearly according to the laws of gravity, the heaviest first, and the lighter in their order. So were these strata formed, which, hardening by degrees, have continued ever since. It is probable, these lay more regularly at first, but have been much changed in process of time, and their order disturbed by earthquakes, volcanos and divers other causes. The earth is nearer the sun at Christmas than at midsummer, as appears both from the sun’s apparent diameter, being greater in December than June, and from its motion, being then swifter. Hence it is that there are about eight days more in the summer half year, from March to September, than in the winter half year, from September to March. That the earth moves round its own axis, not the sun and stars round the earth, may appear from this single consideration. All the planets revolve in more or less time, as their orbits are greater or less. If then they moved round the earth, they must revolve in unequal times, according to their orbits; not all in the same time, in twenty-four hours, as they seem to do. Therefore, they do not move round the earth; but the earth, as the rest; round its own axis. That it moves also round the sun, appears thus: all bodies which turn round each other, must gravitate towards each other: consequently if the sun gravitates to the earth, so must the earth to the sun. Now it is demonstrable, that when two bodies’ gravitate to each other, without approaching each other in right lines, they both turn round their common centre of gravity. But the earth being no more than a point to the sun, the common centre of these two bodies, will be within the body of the sun itself, and not far from the centre of it. The earth therefore turns round a point which is in the sun; consequently round the sun. Indeed to suppose the earth at rest, destroys all the order and harmony of the universe, annuls its laws, and sets every part at variance, with the others. It renders the motions of the planets utterly inexplicable, which are otherwise plain and simple. Nor is the motion of the earth, whatever is vulgarly supposed, contrary to any part of the scripture. No other ideas are to be affixed to the words of scripture, than such as occur to one who looks at the thing spoken of. By the sun’s rising therefore, when mentioned in scripture, we are to understand no more than the sun’s appearing again in the horizon, after he had been hid below it : and by his setting, his ceasing to appear. And when the sun and moon are said to stand still, it means only, that they did not change their situation in respect of the earth: that the sun still appeared just over Gibeon, and the moon over the valley of Aja Ion. If it be said, “ but David speaks of the sun running it. course,” we may answer over and above, the word here used does not mean the orb or body of the sun, but always his rays or beams. 2 It is probable sand was once the exterior cover of the whole earth. All our northern mountains are, more or less, covered. with it at this day. And the higher the mountain the coarser the sand. The rivers rising in the mountains, still daily bring it down in large quantities. And that it has been so in all ages, since the first rains fell on the earth, seems highly probable, in that the mouths of rivers and entrances of harbours are usually barred with it. And if you pierce deep into the low ground near rivers, you find this mountain sand in great quantities: it was the more fit to be the general cover of the earth, because Of its great hardness, and consequently durableness. Mountain sand above all other, not being made, as much sand is, by attrition, steadily keeps its original figure and magnitude. All sands are either natural or factitious. Natural sands are those which have been in the same or nearly the same state from the creation, diffused through all parts of the earth. Sand viewed in a microscope, is no more than a parcel of little stones: doubtless therefore they must have begun to exist, and been formed by the same laws that stones were formed by. Now stones were formed first into hard and solid masses, in proportion. to the quantity of similar materials, and proper cement. Where there was a great quantity of lapideous particles, and few heterogeneous mixtures, there strata, rocks, and large stones were formed: But where the lapideous particles were scattered and disunited by the intervention of other bodies, there small rubble-stones, gravel, girts, and the smallest and most numerous of all stones, sands, coalesced’ into minute glebes. This probably was the process in every part of the earth, so that sand is one of the primeval bodies, concreted at the same time with stones, upon the highest mountains, as well as in the valleys: and at the bottom of the sea, as well as upon dry land. Besides this natural sand, there is also a factitious one, which owes its origin to the fretting of river or sea-water. For water always in motion, preys upon the stones and grinds them by degrees into stony powder which we call sand: hence it is that the sand of a particular stone, cove or bay has generally the same colour, and in a microscope, the same structure, as the rocks and stones of the adjacent cliff, and the strata under the sea, upon which the waves are perpetually working, and driving into the sea what they dash off from those strata. 3. We have heard of large bodies of sand moving together in the deserts of Arabia. But has any thing of the kind been known in England There has, and that very lately. It is not a century, says Mr. Wright, since our sands, near Dewnham, in Suffolk, first broke prison. In a warren near Lakenheath, an impetuous south-west wind having broken the sand of some sand-hills, the sand blew upon the adjacent grounds, which being much of the same nature, the thin crust of barren earth was soon rotted and dissolved by this sand laying upon it, and thereby fitted to bear it company in its strange progress. At its first eruption the whole magazine of sand could not cover above eight or ten acres of land. But it increased into a thousand acres before the sand had travelled four miles. Above thirty rears since it reached the bounds of this town, where for ten or twelve years it did no considerable mischief: because its course was then down the hill, which sheltered it from the wind that ‘gave it motion. But the valley once past, it went above a mile, up hill, in two months time. It over run two hundred acres of good corn that same year. It is now got into the body of this little town, where it has buried several houses. And the remainder have been preserved at more expense than they were worth. At the other end of the town divers houses are buried, and our pastures and meadows destroyed. A branch of the river upon which we border, for three miles together. is more than half filled up with sand. And had not this interposed to stop its passage into Norfolk, doubtless a considerable part of that county, had e’re now been left a desolate trophy of this conquering enemy. 4. One of the most considerable parts of the earth is the mountains. There is a remarkable irregularity in their figure, and, so far as we can judge, an entire neglect of order in their situation. The far greater part of them are hollow, and contain beds of stone, metals or minerals. And doubtless such there were from the creation, although not so high, steep, or rugged. For these vast masses are not, as some have supposed, mere incumbrances of the creation: rude and useless excrescences of the globe; but answer many excellent purposes. They are contrived and ordered by the wise Creator, for this grand use in particular, to dispense the most necessary provision of water, to all parts of the earth ; without which neither animals could live, plants grow, nor perhaps fossils receive any increase. For was the surface of the earth even and level, there could be no descent for the waters, but instead of gliding along those gentle declivities, quite down to the sea, they would drown large tracts of land, and then stagnate and putrefy. Indeed without hills, as there could be no rivers, so neither could there be any springs, which we continually find in or near high grounds, very rarely on spacious plains. When we do find any there, it is generally at great and inconvenient depths. And even these are probably owing to hills, either near, or at some distance: as we may gather from the impetuous manner wherein these subterraneous waters break out, when wells are dug in the Lower Austria, or in several parts of Italy. And if there are some islands, which seem void of mountains, and nevertheless are well watered, in reality the whole mass of land is no other than one mountain, descending gently and imperceptibly down, from the midland parts to the sea. 5. The benefit of mountains in general is not only, that vapours driven against them are condensed, so as to be precipitated through the chinks of the rocks, but that afterwards in their bowels they are preserved till they form rivulets, and then rivers. Vapours would fall in rain or dew though there were no mountains, but then they would fall equally, over considerable places of the globe at once, and so would be sucked deep in the ground, or make an universal puddle; whereas, by means of mountains, they are perpetually pouring down in particular places, and treasuring up a constant supply to the rivers. Another considerable use of them is the determination of these rivers; for if there could have been rivers without mountains, yet they could only have run in a straight line, if they had run at all; whereas by these eminences, placed up and down, they make innumerable turnings and windings, whereby they enrich, fatten, and water the soil of several different countries in one course, and at last disembogue in several mouths into the sea. Lastly, most hills are the nests of metals or minerals. These by the efficacy of subterranean heat, converting the adjacent earths into their substance, grow as truly as animals or vegetables. I just mention their use for the’ production, shelter, and nourishment of some sorts of vegetables and animals, which could not grow or live so well any where else. But from the whole, we may see of what advantage these unsightly moles (as some thought them) are to the accommodations, and even necessities of life. 6. The height of Snowden-Hill, generally supposed to be the highest in Great Britain, is 1240 yards. But Skiddow-Hill, in Cumberland, is I 760 yards high from the level of the lake beneath. And Conagra which rises gradually from the head of the bay at St. Kilda, one of the western islands of Scotland, is 1800 yards high; so that this may justly be stiled the Teneriffe of Great Britain. The height of several mountains in France is as follows: FEET. Bugarach in Languedoc - - 3888 Le Puy de domme 4860 Le Courland 5088 Le Coote in Auvergne - 5106 Le Cantal 5904 Le Mont d’or 6180 Le Mont Ventoux in Avignon 6216 The height of the Pyrenean mountain is, St. Barthelemi - - 7110 Le Montage des, Mausset - 7548 Le Conigoe - - - 8640 Probably these mountains may vie in height with most in the known world. Yet above all these is the Stella Piz Hail, a steep mountain in the Grisons, which is 9585 Paris feet above the level of the sea; a height which the wild goats themselves scarce venture to ascend. But Mr. Martel informs us, that the highest point Of Mont-Blano is higher even than this: that it is 2076 toises above the level of the Rhone, which added to the height of this above the sea, makes 13,115 Paris feet, or above two English miles, and two-thirds of a mile. If so, this is the highest mountain in Europe, and perhaps in all the world: unless you except Mount Athos in Macedonia: which, according to the account of Riccioli, who measured it exactly, is 10,000 Italian paces high, carrying its top above the winds and clouds: a clear proof of which, is, that whatever is written there in ashes or light sand, is found there, just as plain as at first, after several months or years. “But is not the celebrated Mount Atlas in Africa, the wonder of all ages, far higher than this “ One who saw it, and travelled all over it, is best abic to answer this question. He writes the other stony strata, through the whole length or bulk of the mountain, and from the variety of its colours, makes a very pleasing appearance. Of these veins, some consist of marble or alabaster, some of agate, white, red, or blue stone, which, especially towards the sea, where the rocks are bare, form many curious variegations. Hence likewise there remain on the surface many detached blocks and fragments, scattered not only in the valleys and creeks, but on the tops of the highest mountains. Many of these are of the bulk of a common house, and consequently too ponderous, to have been raised to such an immense height, by the hands or art of men. But the largest mountains may have been formed in the following manner. The sea-waters doubtless remained some time on the earth: and during that time the surface of the earth was the bottom of the sea, where every thing passed in the same manner as. passes at the present bottom of the sea. Now the sea has always had a flux and reflux, and that most violent under the equator, where likewise the earth’s motion causes a greater centrifugal force than any where else. Suppose then the earth was at first quite round, yet its diurnal motion, with the flux and reflux of the sea, would have raised by degrees the parts near the equator, by amassing there shells, mud and earth. And as this is performed daily, the water would carry at each time a small quantity of matter, which afterwards sinks to the bottom, and forms those parallel strata, which are every where found. Thus in fact, on many shores the flux brings a great number of things along with it, and leaves them there. So that while it insensibly covers some lands, it abandons others, after adding thereto shells, earth and sand which, gradually accumulating, make a part of the continent. On a coast against which the sea beats violently, it carries a little soil away at each tide. Yea, even where it is. bordered with rocks, it wears them away by little and little. These particles the waters carry to a certain distance, where they sink in the form of a sediment, and form the first stratum, which will soon be covered by another, and so with more and more. Hence in time a mountain will be formed in the bottom of the sea, entirely like what we see on the land. Such eminences lying in the same direction with the waves that produced them, form by degrees a chain of mountains. “But how come mountains, whose top is composed of rock, to have only earth or sand for their base, which may often be seen in the neighbouring plains, to a considerable distance “ We’ answer, the water first transported the sand that formed the first layer at the bottom of the sea. Afterward the more firm and weighty substances were attacked, and brought by the waters in an impalpable powder. And this powder of stone formed the rocks which cover these eminences. These causes act with more force under the equator, as the winds are there more uniform, and the tides more violent: and. accordingly the greatest chain of mountains is near the equator. Those of. Africa and Peru are the highest we know, which after traversing whole continents, stretch to very considerable distances, under the waters of the ocean. The mountains of the north are not equal to these. Moreover the number of isles in the northern seas is inconsiderable, while there is a vast quantity under the torrid zone: and an island is no more than the top of a mountain. It is then doubtless the general flux and refiux of the sea, which has produced the greatest mountains. But others we may ascribe to currents, winds, and other irregular agitation of the sea, which. must, by their various combinations, infinitely vary the direction of the tides. They are the smallest of all which owe their rise to earthquakes, or to accidental causes. But how ‘shall we account for the formation of the Iron Mountain, near Taberg, in Sweden It is situated in a ‘mountainous part of the country, covered with sand, near forty leagues from the sea. It is an entire mass of rich iron ore, the perpendicular height whereof is above four hundred feet, and its circumference three English miles. Opposite to it is a valley, through which flows a small river. No ore is found beyond the foot of it, nor on the neighbouring plain, so that it appears as if the mountain had been artificially laid on the sand. For it has no roots like other mountains, nor does its substance penetrate the ground. It has all over, many perpendicular and horizontal fissures, filled with pure sand: in the inner parts whereof bones of stags and other animals are found. No hypothesis hitherto advanced to account for the formation of mountains, will at all account for this. The bones found therein shew it was owing to some ruinous cause. But what that cause was, must in all probability ever remain a secret. No less unaccountable are some of the mountains in Iceland, termed by the natives, Jokeler. From the tops of these continually flow large streams of a thick, sooty, stinking water. These occasion lakes which increase in bulk, and again diminish, and change their appearance almost every day. Hence paths are seen in the sand made by travellers that passed the day before. When followed, they lead to a large pond or lake, which obliges them to go two or three miles round, and then they come to the very path opposite to that which they were obliged to leave. But in a few das the lake is, as it were vanished, and the uninterrupted path appears again. 7. A body that yields easily to the touch, and whose parts making but little resistance against being divided, move among\ themselves with great facility, is usually termed a fluid. Liquids are a sort of fluid which assume the figure of the vessel they are contained in, and always keep their upper surface in a plain, ‘parrallel to the horizon. Such as water, oil, mercury, which are distinguished from their fluids, by the parallelism of their surface, in consequence of their weight, and the intestine motion of their parts all manner of ways.. That they have such a motion, plainly appears, from their dissolving hard bodies. Put a piece of copper into a glass of aqua fortis, and there is first an effervescence, then the copper diminishes, and at last disappears. And ‘what’ strong waters are with regard to metals, other liquids are to other substances. Each of them is a dissolvent, more or less, according to its component particles. Now it is plain that dissolution supposes motion, and is the effect of it. There is therefore in all liquors an intestine motion, from which this effect results. Water is a transparent liquid, capable of heat and cold, and of being rarefied into vapour. But it is not capable of being condensed, by any method yet known. It is of itself without smell or taste, and liable to putrefaction. It is heavier by many degrees than air, and insinuates where air cannot enter. These properties do unquestionably depend on the figure and texture of its parts. But these, after our most curious researches, it is not possible to know with certainty. Dr. Boerhaave says, no one ever yet saw a drop of pure water. It is never pure from salts. For all water contains air, and all air contains salts. The particles of water are generally allowed to be round. This figure Indeed is probably inferred from its fluidity. Allowing then the particles of it to be round, fluidity must be an essential property of all quantities and assemblages of it. For take any mass of round bodies, (bullets for instance, pebbles, or the like) they will not cohere or rest by one another without force, but will flow on every side, till they meet with such resistance from external bodies, or rather internal gravitation, as shall prevent farther motion. The particles of water are unalterable, for passing into so many bodies, and through such alternate extremes of heat and cold, if they had not preserved their essential properties constantly, moisture since the beginning of the world, must have very sensibly diminished. But seeing no such deficiency appears, and that springs, rains, and rivers, are as abundant now as they anciently were, (as by the rising of the Nile for many ages, among oilier reasons may appear) we are to conclude, though waters may be transplanted, they can neither be transmuted nor destroyed ; and wherever removed they will make their appearance again when at liberty, in the same liquid state as they were before. The particles of water are exceeding small: for they may be so divided from each other, that one square inch of common water shall, when rarefied, fill a space of 14000 square inches. And it is computed that at least 12000 particles of water may be held on the point of a needle. By this it appears, that what we call water is an assemblage of small transparent globules, which are composed again of an infinite number of smaller particles or atoms of this elementary liquor. Water seems to be diffused every where, and mixed with all bodies. Fire itself is not without it. Place salt of Tartar near the hottest fire, and it will imbibe water, and thereby in a short time, considerably increase in weight. So a pewter vessel with ice in it, brought up from a cold vault into the hottest room, in a dry summer-day, is immediately covered with little drops of water, which is gathered from the air, and condensed by the coldness of the ice. . Indeed the quantity of water which is afforded by the driest bodies is surprising. Oil of vitriol long exposed to a violent fire, to separate it from all its water, by only standing a few minutes in the air, will afford as much as at first. Hartshorn kept forty years, and turned as hard and as dry as any metal, so as to strike fire with a flint, yet distilled in a glass vessel, will yield an eighth part of its quantity in water. Bones dried five-and-twenty years, and almost as hard as iron, have by distillation yielded half their weight in water. Yea, the hardest stones, ground and distilled, always afford a portion thereof. All animals and vegetables grow out of water and salts, and by putrefaction return to the same. The chief properties of water are, 1. It is next to fire, the most penetrative of all bodies. So that a vessel through which water cannot pass, will contain any thing. ‘Only some oils will pass through those wooded vessel, which contain water. Not that their particles are more penetrative: but those woods abound with rozin. This the oil dissolves, and then makes its way through the spaces left thereby. Water also by degrees makes its way through all wood, and is only retainable by glass and metals. It finds its way where air cannot, as through leather, which air cannot penetrate. Again, air may be retained in a bladder: but water oozes through. Yea, experiments shew, it will pass through pores ten times smaller than air will. By this very quality it is fitted to enter into the composition of all bodies, animal, vegetable and fossil; with this peculiar circumstance, that by a gentle heat it is separable from them again. By this, joined with its smoothness, it is fit to convey the nutritive matter of all bodies. Passing so readily, it never stops up the pores, but leaves room for the following supplies. And yet, 2. Water, which so easily separates from most bodies, firmly coheres with some: yea, binds them together in the most solid masses. So mixed with ashes, it gives the utmost firmness. The ashes, for instance, of an animal, wrought up with pure water into a paste, and baked with a strong fire, grows into a coppel, which bears the utmost heat of a refiner’s furnace. It is in truth, by the glutinous nature of water alone, that our houses stand. For take this out of wood, and it becomes ashes; out of tiles, and they become dust. Indeed all the stability and firmness in the universe, are owing an part to water. Thus stone would be incoherent sand, did . not water bind it together. And thus of water and clay we make earthen vessels, of the utmost hardness and closeness. And these, though appearing perfectly, dry, yield, when distilled, an incredible quantity of water. The same holds of metals, parings or filings, which by. distillation, yield water plentifully. Yea, the hardest stones, sea-salt, nitre, vitriol, are hereby shewn to consist chiefly of water. Hence we learn that the component particles of water are, I. Infinitely small, whence their penetrative power. 2. Exceeding smooth and slippery; hence their fluidity, and easy separation from other bodies. 3. Extremely solid. 4. Perfectly transparent. 5. Hard, rigid, and inflexible’: as appears from the absolute impossibility of compressing them. Salts melted in water, do not fill the vessel in proportion to their bulk. It follows, that there are spaces between the particles of water, to admit those of the salt. Hence also we gather, that the watery particles are extremely solid and inflexible, since notwithstanding those spaces, no power can compress, or force them nearer each other. . 8. When the particles of nitre that float in the air, wedge the particles of. water together, they become ice. The air lodged in the pores of the water, is then greatly expanded. Hence the water is lighter than before: but at the same time it is less transparent: perhaps because the passage of light is hindered by the interposal of these nitrous particles. It is observable, 1. That all liquids, except oil, dilate in freezing and grow lighter. Nay, even after they are thawed, they are considerably lighter than before: 2. That water will not freeze in vacuo: 3. That water which has been boiled does not readily freeze: 4. That water covered with oil of olives does not freeze readily; covered with nut oil, not at all: 5. That nut oil, oil of turpentine and spirits of wine will not freeze at all: 6. That frozen water is covered with wrinkles, something like rays drawn from the centre to the circumference. Though fluids are dilated near a tenth of their length, metals are shortened by frost. If vessels made ofmetals, however thick and strong, be filled with water, close stopped, and exposed to frost, the water will burst the vessels. A strong barrel of a gun, thus filled and stopped, will rend the whole length. Dr. Plot observes, that rivers are always found to freeze first at their bottom. The same is observed by watermen in the Thames, who not only feel it at the bottom with their poles, some days before the surface is froze over, but see it rise up from the bottom, so as to dart up in pieces edgeways, half a foot, sometimes a foot, above the surface. In this posture it continues a little time, and then turning flat upon the water swims along the stream, till it meets with other pieces, which if the frost con tinues, all harden into one, till the river is froze over. “ In a part of the Thames, where there was very little stream, I found the water, (says Dr. Hale) in a cold morning froze one fifth of an inch thick, under which I saw a bed of ice at the bottom. Breaking away some of the upper ice, I took Up’ some of the lower ice, which was about half an inch thick, It adhered close to the bottom, where the stones and sand were incorporated with it. When it freezes to a considerable thickness, it will raise up with it from the bottom the fishermen’s osier wheels, although they sunk down with stones or bricks tied to them. Standing waters indeed freeze first at top, because they are coldest there: ‚whereas in a stream the upper and lower waters being continually blended together, are equally cold; and the upper water mean time having more motion, cannot freeze so soon. But here, where the motion of the water was so small, its surface was froze as well as the bottom, though not so thick; ‘whereas the main river, where its motion was greater, was not froze over, though cakes of ice were continually rising from the bottom.” It has been commonly supposed, that fluids not only dilate, but evaporate by cold. And this has long passed for an incontestable truth. Yet it is altogether a mistake. From later experiments it undeniably appears, 1. That cold does not increase, but lessen the evaporation of water, if it be not exposed to the agitation of the air: 2. That the evaporation of water depends on an intestine motion, which it preserves as long as it is liquid, and that the air only contributes thereto, by continually transporting the particles detached from the surface, and thereby giving other particles room to disengage themselves: 3. That frozen water does not evaporate at all, if it be kept from the agitation of the aim’: 4. That the diminution observed in ice exposed to the open air, is not from any evaporation, but is the effect of a fine rasping by the wind, rubbing against it and carrying off its finer particles. And what is thus detached from ice is only a very fine dust, not more different from ice than the dust of free-stone, cut from the stone itself. This dust carried by the wind produces intense cold. Nor is it always invisible. The air near Hudson’s Bay is often filled with particles of ice, fine as hairs, and sharp as needles: which if they strike against the hands or face, pierce the skin and occasion painful blisters. The natural state of this globe seems to be in an intermediate degree between heat and cold. And this natural warmth of the earth is what secures many springs from being frozen: the frost in England seldom penetrating the earth, more than fourteen inches below the surface. Even in Sweden bubbling springs do not freeze at all, while the standing waters Ereeze three ells deep. In the lakes of Sweden the ice often cracks, with a rupture nine or ten feet deep, and many leagues long, arid with a noise like cannon. Hereby the fishes get air, so that few of them are destroyed. In Moscow the earth is often cleft by the frost, a foot broad, and many yards long. In the mountains of Switzerland, there are vast masses of ice, which have lain there for many’ Centuries. At certain times these crack, and by those cracks one may guess at the immense thickness of them: some of, the Cracks being three or four hundred ells deep, though none of them have ever gone through the whole thickness of the ice. We need’ not then be surprised, at the effects of severe frost on trees and other vegetables. How these are hurt in hard winters is easily understood, if we consider, that water when frozen, takes up more space than it did before: that all trees, especially those that shed their leaves, drink in a large quantity’ of moisture in summer, and that the Vessels of small twigs are larger in proportion than those of the trunk, and Consequently contain more moisture. It follows, that being surprised by a hard winter, before their juices are diminished, or changed into a glutinous nature, which does not so easily freeze; the vessels of the tree must necessarily burst. Consequently their juice must be extravasated, and so cause, as in animals, the death of the tree, by a kind of bleeding, which nothing can stop. In the great frost in 1683, oaks, ashes and walnut-trees, were cleft in two, and frequently with a terrible noise, and not only their bodies, but their branches and roots also. In 1708, the frost was almost through all Europe, except Scotland and Ireland. All the orange-trees and olives in Italy, Provence and many other countries, perished, and all the walnut-trees in France, with an infinity of other’ trees. In England most of the bay-trees, hollies, rosemary, and even furze, perished. The sap also of wall-trees, stagnated in the branches, and produced disorders resembling chilblains. And the very buds of the finer trees were quite killed, and turned into a kind of mealy substance. In 1728, toward the end of November, the wind blew exceeding cold, followed by so heavy a snow, as in one night broke off large arms of many evergreen trees. At this time also, there was a great number of large trees disbarked. Two West-India plane-trees, in particular, in the physic-garden at Chelsea, which were near forty feet high, and a fathom in circumference, were disbarked almost from the bottom to the top, on the west side of the trees. And it was observable, that whatever trees were disbarked, it was on the west or south-west side. On the 14th of December, 1759, there was at Petersburg, the most excessive cold weather that ever was known, even to 205 degrees of De Lisle’s thermometer. At that time professor Braun repeated Fahrenheit’s experiments, in order to produce excessive cold by means of spirit of nitre combined with snow. He ‘saw’ with surprise, the quicksilver in the other thermometer descend even to 470 degrees: there the quicksilver remained fixed in the open air, for the space of a quarter of an hour, and did not begin to rise, till it -was carried into a warm room. He repeated the same experiment, first with the same, and then with another thermometer,. with the same success. But as Mr. Braun had not broken the glasses, he could only at that time form a conjecture. On the 17th he produced again cold equal to that of the 14th, and communicated his discovery at a meeting of the academy. On the 25th of December, in the morning, between nine and ten, De Lisle’s thermometer was at the 199th degree of cold, and Mr. Braun, as well as professor pinus, repeated this experiment. As soon as the former observed the quicksilver immoveable in the thermometer he broke the glass, and found the quicksilver frozen, but not entirely: Mr. pinus’ thermometer fell with extreme rapidity, almost to the sooth degree, and in breaking the glass from below, he found the quicksilver contained in it absolutely frozen. Both the gentlemen found, that the quicksilver, thus rendered solid, bore hammering and extension, like other metals; but being exposed to the open air, it recovered its former fluidity in a little time, Mr. pinus went farther, to examine the quicksilver when it was made solid. He poured quicksilver into a glass tube, as thick as one’s finger, closed at the bottom, but open at top. The quicksilver in this cylinder, which was about one inch and an half long, froze in three quarters of a minute; and became solid, perfectly resembling other metals. Mean time it continually contracted, its surface, which was at first pretty high, sunk very low, and the cylinder of frozen quicksilver sunk to the bottom of the fluid quicksilver. We know the contrary happens to water frozen and other fluids, which extend as they become solid, and their ice swims in the fluid matter, of which they were produced. The bodies of ice in the northern seas, near Hudson’s Bay are surprising: some of them are immersed a hundred fathoms or more, under the surface of tire ocean. They stand a fifth or sixth part above, and are three or four miles in circumference. These floating mountains owe their durable nature, to a cause not usually observed; that is, to their’ not being common ice, but the ice of sea water. If a phial of sea water be exposed to the air in frosty weather, till flakes of ice are formed therein, and ‘then set in a warm room, still the flakes will remain a long time undissolved, and if they are taken out, and exposed at a small distance to the fire, they will not run into water, as common ice does; but will by degrees evaporate, leaving only a little white salt. It is easy then to conceive, that the immense masses or tins ice found in the northern seas, will continue undissolved throughout the year, and at the return of the freezing season, grow larger and larger every year, by the freezing of more ice about them. On the contrary, there are some waters, which will not freeze at all. The lake Ness, in Scotland, never freezes, be the winter ever so severe. Yea, while every thing round is frozen, its waters run smoking for six miles down the river into which they are discharged; and from this ‘smoke there rises a sort of fog, which overspreads the country, for several miles. Near the lake is a mountain, on the summit of which there is another lake, ‘which is always full, summer and winter. Due west from the river, there is another lake, two miles long and six broad. The middle of this is sometimes dry, and then plainly appears to have been once an inhabited country. There are many tumuli to be seen under water, one of which is accessible at low water. And in this urns have been found, which leave no room to doubt of their having been burial places. There are likewise in Scotland other lakes, which freeze only at peculiar seasons. A little lake, in Statherick, never freezes over, be the frost ever so sharp, till February. But after the first part of this month, a slight frost will freeze it over in a night’s time. There are also two other remarkable lakes in the same country. The one Lough Monan, which is considerably large, observes the same rule, freezing over in February with a slight frost, but never before, be the season ever so rigorous. The other in Straglash has a contrary quality. It lies between two high hills, and is itself considerably above the level of the rest of the country. This freezes continually, having ice in the middle, even in the hottest summer’ months, while the sun, by reflection from the hills on each side, gives a very considerable heat. There are many other lakes in the neighbouring country which yet have no such property: so that this, and the property of the two other lakes, must be owing to some peculiar cause. The herbage about the sides of the last lake mentioned, has a kind of perpetual spring, which continues throughout the whole year, and is much esteemed by the country people, for feeding cattle in one month, more than the best land in the country will do in two. The lake is very deep, and the water does not manifest any particular quality. 9. Rain and snow which rise in vapours, both from the earth and waters, descending on hills, sink through the earth, till they meet with a bed of clay or stone. This retains the water and gathers it together, in a larger or smaller bason, till running over tire edge, it makes itself a way, and rises in a fountain. Hence issues a rivulet, many of which joining together, constitute a river, which continues its course, till it empties itself into the grand receptacle of water, the sea. But it has been asked, “ is, there a sufficient quantity of vapours raised, in tire ordinary course of nature, to supply the demand of fountains and rivers” We answer, there is abundantly sufficient, from the surface of the sea alone, leaving the earth out of the account. For it has been shewn by clear experiments,. 1. That water salted to about the same degree as sea water, and exposed to heat equal to that of a summer’s day, did from a circular surface, eight inches in diameter, evaporate 6 ounces in 24 hours. If so, the thickness of a skin of water, evaporated in 2 hours, is the sad part of ‘an inch. But were it only a 60th, it would exhale the 10th of an inch in 2 hours. And on this principle every ten square inches of the surface of water, yield in vapour a square inch of water daily: each square foot, half a pint: every space f four feet square, a gallon: a mile square 6914 tons: a quantity abundantly sufficient to furnish both dews, rains, springs and rivers. So that we need not have recourse for supplies to the great abyss, whose surface, at high water, is surmounted several hundred feet, even by ordinary hills: and some thousands, by those vast mountains, from whence the largest rivers take their course. Nevertheless we may allow a different rise to those springs, which ebb and flow with the sea: as likewise to those lakes whose water is salt, and which have sea-fish in them, although they have no communication with any sea, by any visible passage. To explain this a little more at large. It is evident from experience, that a vapour is perpetually rising from the sea, rivers, and lakes. The winds carry this vapour through the atmosphere, in the form of a cloud or mist. When it meets with a colder air, or is stopt by mountains, it condenses, and falls to the earth. As it falls, it finds several chinks and crannies, through which it insinuates into the mountains, and lodges there, till increasing its store, it bursts out and takes the name of a fountain. That this is really the case, will easily be allowed, by all who seriously consider, 1. That the vapours rising from the sea, are more than sufficient to supply both the surface of the earth, and the rivers with water. 2. That the mountains by their particular structure arrest the vapours that float in the atmosphere, and having collected them in their reservoirs, dismiss them again through their aides, either in perpetual or intermitting currents. With regard to the first, it has been shewn, that every ten square inches of the surface of the sea, yields a square inch of water daily; every square mile 6914 tons: and pursuing the same proportion, every square degree, or 69 English miles, will yield 33 millions of tons. Now if we suppose the Mediterranean to be 40 degrees long, and 4 broad, at a medium, which is the least we can suppose, its surface will be 160 square degrees a from whence there will in summer evaporate daily 5280 millions of tons.’ The Mediterranean receives water, (to say nothing of small and Inconsiderable streams) from eight large rivers, the Iberus, the Rhine, the Po, the Danube, the Neister, the Borysthenes, the Tanais and the Nile. Now suppose each of these convey ten times as much water to the sea as the Thames. The Thames has been shewn to pour daily into the’ sea 203 millions of tons. Therefore all those rivers will produce 1827 millions of tons. But this is little more than one third of the quantity daily evaporated from the sea. How prodigious a quantity then remains for rains, and all other purposes! Let us observe, secondly, how the mountains arrest, and collect these vapours, and then discharge them in springs. The tops of mountains in general abound with inequalities, cavities, grottos and gaping cells. The floating vapours are stopt by these and by their pointed summits, and being condensed thereby, precipitate in water, easily penetrate through sand and lighter earth, and gather’ in basons of clay or stone, till they overflow and work a passage through the side of the mountain. And yet we need not deny, that some springs may arise from the sea, or’ the great abyss: those in particular’; which at all times afford the same quantity of water. Some of these are found in almost every country. There is one near Upminster, in Essex, which in the greatest droughts, and when all the brooks are dried up, is little, if at all diminished. And in the wettest seasons it is not increased, unless violent rain falling into it, or running into it from the higher grounds, raise it for a day, or a few hours. As to the manner how the water rises in such springs it may easily be represented, by putting a small heap of sand in a bason, and then pouring in water. Here the sand will represent the dry land, and the water the sea round about it. And as the water in the bason rises, to or near the top of the heap, just so do the waters of the sea rise, to the top of the land with which it communicates. 10. Some think the earth entirely covered the sea, till at the deluge the fountains of the great deep were broken up. And it is highly probable, there is still an abyss of waters within the earth, which has an uninterrupted communication with some part of the outward sea. The immediate cause of the deluge, was probably that comet, which, as Mr. Whiston shews, passed toward the sun, just before the earth, on the first day of the deluge. The consequence of this must be, that when it came below the moon, it would raise a vast and strong tide, both in the waters that were on the antedeluvian earth, and also in the great abyss, which was under the crust of the earth, This tide must increase all the time that the comet was approaching toward the earth; and would be at its greatest height, when the comet was at the least distance from it. By the force of this internal tide, as well as by the attraction of the comet, the abyss, which was nearly round before, would then become oblong. And thus must immediately extend, and then burst the incumbent crust. And thus, according to the expression of Moses, the fountains of the treat deep were broken up. Again. As tire same comet for a considerable time involved the earth in its atmosphere, it must have lost a vast quantity of its vapours, most of which would fail on the earth in violent rain. And thus the windows of heaven were opened. To remove this vast orb of water, he supposes a mighty wind to have risen, which dried up some, and forced the rest into the abyss again, through the clefts by which it came up. Only part of it stayed in the channel of the ocean, now first made to receive it, and in the lesser cavities, placed up and down on the surface of the globe. The present distribution of the waters and the dry land, though it may seem rude and undesigned to a careless view, yet is admirably well adjusted to the use and conveniences of our world. In the first place, they are so distributed all the world over, that there is a just equipoise of the whole globe. The northern balances the Southern ocean; the Atlantic, the Pacific sea. The American dry land is a counterpoise to the European, Asiatic, and African. Jim the next place, the waters are so admirably ‘well placed about the globe, as to afford sufficient vapours. for clouds and rain, to temper the cold of the northern and southern air, to mitigate the heats of the torrid zone, and to supply fresh waters to fountains and rivers. Nay, so abundant is this great blessing, that we have more than a bare sufficiency, even a surplusage of this useful creature:, and yet so well ordered, as not to drown the earth, not to stagnate, putrefy or annoy its inhabitants: but to glide gently through convenient channels back again to its grand fountain, the sea: and many of the rivers through such large tracts of land, and to such prodigious distances, that it is a wonder the ‘fountain should be high enough, or the sea low enough for so long a conveyance. Witness the Danube and Wolga in Europe, the Nile and Niger in Africa, the Ganges and Euphrates in Asia, with the Amazon’s river and Rio de la Plata in America. No accidental currents or alterations of the waters themselves, no art or power of man, nothing less than the power of the Almighty, could ever have made or found, so long and commodious declivities and channels, for the passage of those waters. 11. The largest rivers of Asia, are, the Hoanho, in China, which is eight hundred and fifty leagues in length: the Jenisca of Tartary, about eight hundred leagues in length, from the lake Selinga to the Icy Sea: the Oby in Siberia, of near’ eight hundred leagues, running from the lake of Kila into the Northern seat the Amour in Eastern Tartary, whose course is about five hundred and seventy-five leagues, from its source to its entrance into the sea of Kamtkatska: the Kiamin China, five hundred and fifty leagues in length. The Ganges, one of the most noted rivers in the world, is about as long as the former: it is visited annually by several hundred thousand pilgrims, who pay their devotions to the river as to a God; for savage simplicity is always known to mistake the blessings of the Deity for the Deity himself. Next to this may be reckoned the celebrated river Euphrates: this rises from two sources northward of the city of Erzerum in Turcomania, and unites about three days journey below the same; from whence, after performing a course of five hundred leagues, it falls into the Gulf of Persia. The river Indus is extended, from its source to its discharge into the Arabian sea, four hundred leagues. The largest rivers of Africa, are, the Senegal, which runs a course of eleven hundred leagues: and the celebrated river Nile, said to be nine hundred and seventy leagues from its source in Upper Ethiopia, to its opening into the Mediterranean sea. This river, which the natives call Abava, that is, the father of rivers, rises first in Sacala, a province of the kingdom of Goiama, the most fruitful in all Abyssinia. In the eastern part of this province, on the declivity of a mountain, are two springs, each about two feet diameter, a stone’s cast distant from each other, which are the real source of this celebrated river. Its waters, after the first rise, run east about a musket-shot; then turning to the north, continue hid in the grass and weeds, for about a quarter of a league, and discover themselves for the first time among some rocks, a pleasing sight to those who have read the fabulous accounts of the ancients. It flows thence with a very small stream, but soon receives such an increase from various rivulets, that not above three day’s journey from its source, it is near a mile broad. After running nine or ten leagues farther, it enters the lake of Dambia. It crosses this at one end, with such rapidity, that the waters of the Nile may he distinguished through the whole passage, which is six leagues. Fifteen miles farther it rushes from the top of a high rock, and forms one of the most beautiful cascades in the world. The tall of this mighty stream from so vast a height, makes a considerable noise. Yet the neighbouring inhabitants are not deaf, but hear just as well as others. After this cataract, the Nile again collects its scattered stream, and flows on through various nations. Hence we may learn, that it is impossible to arrive at the source of the Nile, by tracing its channel from the mouth, there being so many cataracts in the way, which no vessel can pass. In Abyssinia, from June to September, there is no clay without rain. Now the Nile receives in its Course all the brooks, rivers, and torrents, which flow from the Abyssinian mountains. These necessarily swell it above the banks, and fill the plain of Egypt with the inundation. This comes regularly in the month of July, that is, three weeks after the beginning of the rains in Ethiopia. The water of the Nile is so delicious, that the Turks excite themselves to drink of it by eating salt. When the Egyptians leave their country, they speak of nothing but the pleasure they shall find at their return, in drinking the Nile water. All those who have tasted of it, allow, that they never met with the like in any other place. In truth, when one drinks of it the first time, it seems (says Maserier) to be some water prepared by art. It has something in it inexpressibly agreeable and pleasing to the taste. But to some, it appears to have too much sweetness. It is likewise salutary in the highest degree. Drink it in what quantities you will, it never incommodes you. It seems peculiar to the water of the Thames, that in eight months’ time it acquires a spirituous quality, so as to burn like spirits of wine. Even when it stinks, it is not unwholesome men who were obliged to hold their noses, yet drank of it all the way to the East-Indies, and found no inconvenience. If you take out the bung from any cask that stinks, and let the air come in, it will be sweet in twenty-four hours. If you take a broomstick, and stir it well, it will be sweet in four or five hours. It casts a black lee to the bottom, which remixing with it, causes a third or fourth fermentation, after which it stinks no more. But though Thames water’ does not putrefy when it stinks, many other waters do, and are at that time very dangerous to drink. The cataracts of the Nile are Probably less remarkable than that of Niagara, in Canada. T lie fall of this is about six leagues from Fort Niagara. The whole course of the river, for two leagues and a half below the great fall, is a series of smaller falls, one under another. The rocks of the great fall cross the river in almost a semicircle. Above the fall, in the middle of the river, and parallel with the sides of it, is an island above four hundred yards long. The lower end of this island is just at the perpendicular edge of the fall. On both sides of this island runs all the water that comes from the lakes of Canada, which indeed are rather seas than lakes, receiving many large rivers. When the water approaches the island, it runs with an amazing swiftness, and before it comes to the fall, is quite white, and in many places is thrown high into the air. Looking up the river from the fall, you see it is exceeding steep, resembling the side of a lull. When this vast body of water comes to the fall, it throws itself down perpendicularly. To see tlmis rush headlong down so prodigious a precipice, strikes the beholder in a manner not to be expressed. It falls one hundred and thirty-seven feet. When the water’ is come down to the bottom, it leaps back to a great height in the air’: at a little distance it is white as snow, and boils like a cauldron. The noise of it in fair weather is heard gigyrrn leagues, yea, many times at Niagara. From the place where the water falls, abundance of vapour rises, resembling a very thick smoke. When it is calm, this rises high in the air. If you go into this vapour, in a few minutes you will be as wet as if you had been’ under water. In a calm morning, you will see it rising in the air, at the distance of many leagues. And a person unused to it, would be apt to think, that all the forests thereabouts were on lire. But of all parts of the world, America supplies the largest rivers. The foremost of these is the great river of Amazons, which from its source in the lake of Lauricocha, to its discharge into the Western Ocean, performs a course of more than twelve hundred leagues. The breadth and depth of this river are answerable to its vast length; and where its width is more contracted, its depth is augmented in proportion. Next to this is that of St. Lawrence, in Canada, which after a course of nine hundred leagues, pours its collected waters into the Atlantic Ocean. The river Mississippi is more than seven hundred leagues in length. The river Plata is more than eight hundred. The river Oroonoko is seven hundred and fifty-five leagues in length, from its source to its discharge into the Atlantic Ocean, Tire glory of other rivers increases in proportion to the length of their course. With the Rhine it is quite the reverse. For some hundred miles it pours on with a vast force. But at for’t Scheneken it divides, and one half of its waters takes the name of Wahall. The Yssel robs it of another part, a little above Arnheim. About twenty miles lower, at tire town of Duerstadt, it separates again. Here its principal branch takes a new name, and is called the Leck. Tire poor, little, stripped rivulet turns to the right, retaining still the old name of Rhine, and passes on to Utreclmt, where it is divided a fourth time. There the Vetcht breaks off, and the little thread of water, still called the Rhine, passes quietly to Worden. At length it comes to Leyden, and faintly finishes its course, by losing the small remainder of its waters in two or three canals. The cause of the Rhine’s fate is well known. It was an earthquake which shook the Downs, in the ninth century, and filling the mouth of this river, forced it to return, and seek a new passage. The Leck was then scarce worth notice: but the water’s of the Rhine, which were driven back, swelled and deepened its channel: and the entrance of the sea has been ever since shut against the ancient course of the Rhine. It is supposed, that Zealand was then divided into the several islands we see now: and that those lands, woods and meadows, which were between Amsterdam and the Texel, were overflowed and covered with the waters still remaining, and known by the name of the Ztiyder Sea. The lake Baiacel, in Siberia, is the greatest fresh water lake yet discovered. It extends in length above five hundred leagues, and is from twenty-five to eighty leagues in breadth. It is every where deep and navigable. The water is extremely clear, and abounds with fine fish. It receives abundance of rivers, but imone runs out of it, beside one, the Angara. Salt lakes are cmmon in many parts of Siberia. Some contain a pure, white salt, fit for use, which in summer is crystalized by the heat of the ,sun, and forms a crust on the top of the lake. Springs of salt water sometimes rise in the midst of fresh water. One of these rises through a rock, in the bed of the river Angara. Thirty leagues above this, there is a hill thirty fathom high and two hundred and ten long, consisting entirely of rock salt. There are some lakes, which were fresh some years since, but are now salt: some have by degrees dried up; others appear, where formerly it was dry ground. And some of these, which at first had no fish, are now plentifully stocked therewith. The natives say, ducks and other birds that live upon fish, carry their eggs from one lake to another. Three leagues east of Damascus is a lake ten or twelve leagues long, and five or six broad. This continually receives the waters of many rivers; yet never’ overflows its banks. Above thirty leagues from it there is a river, which is called the Dog river From under a large, vaulted rock, through an opening twelve or fifteen feet high, and twenty or twenty-five broad, issues continually a vast body of water, which gives rise to this river. And it is the common opinion, that this body of water, comes front the lake, through a subterraneous channel: which is the more probable, because the water of the lake and the river have the same qualities, and contain the very same sorts of fish, being cold, hard, and remarkably unwholesome. Far different from this, is the water which rises out of the ground, throughout tire vast sandy deserts of the Mongal Tartars. Wherever you dig, there rises fresh water. Were it not for this, they must have been altogether uninhabited, either by man or beast. It seems these springs are produced by the rains and melted snow in the spring. For the water sinking in the sand is thereby prevented from exhaling by the heat of the summer sun, which must be very scorching in these deserts, wherein there is not the least shade to be found. Besides the rivers which run upon the surface of the earth, there are many which hide themselves in its bowels, and run in subterraneous ducts, till they discharge themselves into the sea. A remarkable one of this kind has been discovered on the coast of Languedoc. There are also several of this sort on the coast of Croatia, opposite Venice. Thus does the all-wise Creator shower down his treasures on the summits of tire mountains, which afterwards diffuse their refreshing streams over the plains below, give life and verdure to the trees and herbs, and beautify and enrich, the whole earth. At the same time we see the communication between those parts of nature, that before seemed to have no relation to each others Indeed all nature is linked together by one law of harmony, which sufficiently proves it to be the work of one wise and gracious Author. How delightful an object is a’ large and majestic river! How graceful an appearance does it make in the works of nature! Consider its progress. At first it is but a vein of water, streaming from some hill, and even the scattered pebbles interrupt its course, till it unites with other kindred streams, and then rushes on the plain below. By its fall it hollows the ground, casting it up on each side: timen it pursues its course, eating a passage through every timing that opposes it. When it has received the supplies of marry rivulets, it is dignified with a name. Thus enlarged, it makes the tour of hills and mountains, and at once adorns and enriches the plains. At the deluge, likewise, the main islands of the globe were formed. But it is certain others have been formed in later ages: partly by the casting up of vast heaps of clay, mud and sand, as that of Isongming in the Chinese province of Nanquin, partly by the violence of the sea, tearing off large provinces from the continent. So the ancients imagined Sicily to have been formed, and even Great Britain and Ireland. It is certain also, that others have emerged out of the sea, as Santorini formerly: and three other islands near it lately. The last of these rose in 1707, from the bottom of the sea, just after a violent earthquake. Indeed earthquakes, storms and inundations, have given rise to many islands: particularly in the East Indies, where they are very frequent, and which abounds in islands above any part of the world. 12. The entire bason of the sea, is of such immense extent, and covered in many places with such an unfathomable depth of water, that it cannot be traced in’ every part: but from some, we may form a probable judgment of the rest. The materials which compose the bottom of the sea, must in a degree influence the taste of its waters. Its saltiness it undoubtedly derives from mountains of salt which are found there: as bitterness from fossil, coal and other bituminous substances, which are there in plenty. There may likewise be many other substances, which the plummet does not discover. For the true bottom of the sea is often concealed by another accidental bottom, formed of various substances mingled together, and Covering it to a considerable depth. The entire gulph of Lyons forms a bank above the surface of the water at the shore, of the exact figure of an arch. And ‘within this there is formed another such arch, making the bottom of the sea, for a great way from shore, of different depths in. various places, but generally between Sixty and seventy fathoms, In general the bed of the main sea sinks, about as high as the mountains rise on the land. Near the land, in proportion to the height and steepness of the shores, the sea is deep below. And. on the contrary level shores denote shallow seas. By the strata on the shores we may commonly judge of the bottom of the adjacent seas. For the veins of salt and bitumen doubtless run on in the same order as we see them at land. And the strata of stone that serve to support the hills and elevated places on shore, serve also, in the same continued chain, to support the waters of the sea. Probably the veins of metals and minerals likewise, which are found in the neighbouring earth, are in the same manner to be found in the bottom of the sea. But the natural surface of the bottom of the sea, is greatly changed by subterranean’ currents. As we see these break out in rivers, on the surface of the earth, so we may be assured they break out at the bottom of the sea, and empty their fresh waters into the salt mass. In this case the continual rushing up of the water, makes a roundish cavity. And its running on, continues that cavity, till by degrees it is lost. Thus every river that arises in the bottom of the sea, when the water near the shore is clear, shews the traces of these currents, even to the naked eye, and the water taken up from them is more or less fresh. Again. The coral fisheries give us occasion to observe, that there are many large caverns in the bottom of the sea, especially where it is rocky, as also in the sides of perpendicular rocks. These are often of great depth as well as extent, some with wide, others with narrow entrances. Nor is it any wonder, that we daily find vast cavities in the rocky mountains, so we should find them in the rocks under the sea. Nay, we may expect them in these the rather, as the rocks at land are in a state of rest, while those at sea are continually washed by the water, which insinuates every where, and by its continual agitation, enlarges every cavity it finds. Upon the whole, it seems plain, that the bason of the sea was after the flood composed of the same substances, as the surface of the rest of the earth, namely, stone, clay, sand, and the like. It is true, the plummet in sounding usually brings up a matter composed of mud, dead weeds, broken shells, and various bodies cemented together by a sparry or tartareous substance. But these are only an artificial bottom, covering the natural one, such indeed as one might expect where numerous animals and vegetables are produced and decay, and where the quiet waters have time to deposite their stony matter, as our petrifying springs do. There are places however where this adventitious crust is not found, but the natural bottom appears of the same nature with the strata in the body of the earth. But the fine and pure sand we sometimes find, seems not to be the original bottom, but to have been rather brought into the sea by the course of some subterraneous river, and to be lodged in one of those particular basons, which these rivers form to themselves. In deep water, where the surface only is disturbed by storms and the lower part remains more quiet for ages, the bottom is covered with a great variety of things, sometimes with pure sand, sometimes a sort of sand made of shells beat to powder, sometimes with powdered corals, sometimes fragments of rocks. But beside these, which might well be expected, the plummet sometimes brings up substances, which are of the most beautiful colours: of as fine a scarlet, purple, or blue, as the finest paint could make them. Those of a bright yellow are very common; but the green or snow-white more rare. These coloured substances seem sometimes to make up. the whole bottom. But they are more frequently found on other things, as upon mud, corals, or larger pieces of shells, in the manner of tartarous crusts. And their colours are not merely superficial or transient; but many of them are so permanent, that they may be preserved in white wax, and when thus examined, appear equal to paints of the finest kind. There is very little difference between the bottom of the Adriatic sea, and the surface of the neighbouring countries. There are at the bottom of the water, mountains, plains, valleys, and caverns, just as upon the land. The soil consists of different strata planted one upon another; and for the most part corresponds to those of the rock, islands, and neighbouring continents. They contain stones of different sorts, minerals, metals, various petrified bodies, pumice-stones, and lavas, formed by volcanoes. Istria, Dalmatia, Albania, and other adjacent countries, as well as the rocks, the island, and the bottom of the Adriatic sea, consist of a mass of white marble, of an uniform grain, and of almost an equal hardness. This vast bed of marble in many places under both the earth and the sea, is interrupted by several other kinds of marble, and covered by a great variety of bodies. The variety of these soils under the sea is remarkable: it is to this are owing the varieties of plants and animals found at the bottom of the sea. Some places are inhabited by a great number of different species of plants and animals, in others only some particular ‘species are found, and in others neither plants nor animals. These observations not only point out to us the resemblance between the surface of the earth, and the bottom of the sea, but likewise one cause of the varieties, which are observed in the distribution of the marine fossils found in the earth. In that vast mass of marble, which is, common to the bottom of the Adriatic, and the neighbouring provinces toward the east, are a multitude of marine bodies petrified; some of which are so united to the stony substance, that they are scarce to be distinguished Likewise a crust is discovered under the waters in divers places, and for a great extent, which is a composition of crustaceous and testaceous be dies, and beds of polypi of different kinds, confusedly blended with earth, sand, and gravel. These different bodies which enter into the composition of this crust, are at the depth of a foot or more entirely petrified and reduced into marble. At less than the depth of a foot they approach nearer to their natural state. And at the surface of this crust, they are either dead, though extremely well preserved, or still living. This demonstrates that stones may be formed from things petrified, and actually are formed, in great quantities under the water. Crustaceous and testaceous bodies and polypi, are every where mingled in the utmost confusion, which shews a striking resemblance between the crust discovered under the sea, and the marine bodies petrified in many parts under the earth. The more these crustaceous and testaceous bodies and beds of polypi multiply, the more their exuvia, and skeletons contribute to enlarge this crust. In several parts it forms very considerable banks, and of a very great thickness. It follows that the bottom of the sea is rising constantly higher and higher. Divers other causes contribute to this; snow and rain, and waters that bring clown from the mountains, into the sea, a great quantity of earth and stones. The waves, beating against the continent arid islands, detach many masses which are spread upon the bottom of the sea. The rivers carry the mud with their waters into the sea, at the bottom of which that mud deposites itself. From the rising of the bottom of the sea, that of the level of the water naturally follows. So at Venice, in Istria, in Dalmatia, the level of the waters is several feet higher than it was formerly. This elevation is observed only on the northern and eastern coasts of the Adriatic. The sea seems on the contrary, to abandon the western coast, that of Italy. The eye can reach but a short way into the depth of army sea, and that only when the surface is glassy and serene. In many seas it perceives nothing but a bright sandy plain at bottom, extending for several hundred miles. But in others, particularly in the Red sea, it is very different the whole bottom of this extensive bed of water, is a forest of submarine plants, and corals formed by insects for their habitation: sometimes branching out ‘to a great extent; so that some have even supposed the sea to have taken its name from the colour of its plants below. How ever, these are not peculiar to this sea, as they are found in great quantities in the Persian gulf, along the coasts of Africa and those of Provence and Catalonja. The bottom of many parts of the sea near America presents a very different appearance. This is covered with vegetables, which makes it look as green as a meadow; and beneath are seen thousands of turtles, and other sea animals feeding therein. Ocean-shells are frequently found very near the surface of the earth, which proves that such places formerly have been the sea shore. Hence it is clear, that the cause which transported them thither, acted suddenly, which perfectly agrees which the account of the deluge given by Moses. Nay, at Touraine, in France, more than a hundred miles from the sea, there is a plain of about nine leagues long, and as many broad, from whence the peasants of the country supply themselves with marie. if they dig deeper than twenty feet, the whole plain is composed of the same materials, which are shells of various kinds, without the smallest portion of earth between them. These shells are in their natural state: but they are found also petrified and almost in equal abundance in all the Alpine rocks, in the Pyrenees, in the hills of France, England and Flanders. Yea, in all quarters from whence marie is dug, if the rock be split perpendicularly down, petrified shells, and other marine substances will be plainly discerned. In several parts of Asia and Africa, travellers have observed these shells in great abundance. In the mountains of Castravan, they quarry out a white stone, every part of which contains petrified fishes in great numbers, and of surprising diversity, in such preservation, that their fins, scales and all the minutest distentions of their make can be perfectly discerned. From all these instances we may conclude that these fossils are very numerous. And the variety of their kinds is astonishing. Most of the sea-shells which are known, and many others to which we are entirely strangers, are to be seen either in their natural state, or in various degrees of petrifaction. But in the place of some we have mere spar, or stone exactly expressing all the lineaments of animals: for the shells dissolving by slow degrees, and the matter having exactly filled all the cavities within, this matter retains the same form which the shells were of. The greatest depths of the sea ever yet sounded, have been found to be about 3000 fathoms. The ordinary depths are about 150. Though these shells are to be found in almost all the plainer parts of the surface of the earth, yet there are certain very large tracts, where such bodies are never found, viz. the mountains, which seem to be the remains of the original strata of the earth. It is true that there are many eminences, which have been taken for mountains, where sea-shells of every kind are found : but these are hillocks, compared with the large mountains, which may be traced in immense chains, without almost any discontinuity, from one continent to another; and from continents to neighbouring and opposite islands; insomuch that all these chains, not only of the old, but likewise of the new world, seem connected one with another. In the Alps, Apennine and Pyreneans, no shells, nor marine bodies of any kind, are to be found neither in the large Grampion mountains in Scotland. The same is observed of all the large mountains of Africa, and of Asia, and in the huge chain of Cordilleres in Peru. This kind of mountains, which indeed alone deserve that name, are chiefly composed of vitrifiable matter; and if they are sometimes found to contain sea-shells, it is never to great depths, though such bodies are found in the adjacent vallies. Potters earth is found plentifully in most low grounds and vallies, between mountainous tracts. By exposing common flint stones to the confined vapour of boiling water, a clay of the very same kind may be formed, and is no more than a decomposition of flints. Hence it appears that wherever this clay is to be found, there the earth has undergone some violence by fire; and that this has been effected by earthquakes, soon after the deluge, seems extremely probable. The deluge has given origin to many fossil substances, and combinations, which otherwise would not have happened. Chalk is no more than the ruins of sea-shells, and lime-stones consist of the same bodies cemented together by a stony juice. 13. At fixed times the water of the sea runs for near six hours from south to north, which is called the flood, at which time it rises gradually on our shores, and in the channels of the rivers. Then after standing at the same height for a quarter of an hour, it returns for near six hours from north to south, which we term the ebb; and after a quarter of an hour the water rises again. The change thereof is twice in twenty-four hours, but begins near fifty minutes later daily. And this is observed on all the shores of Europe, that are washed by the ocean: whereas the Baltic and Mediterranean sea, as well as the Caspian, have no tides. The nearer we approach the pole, the more impetuous the tides are. The cause of them was wholly concealed from the ancients; but it is now well known to every one. They depend entirely on the motion of the moon, with ‘which they exactly correspond: the flood beginning to rise just at the time when the moon is in the meridian. There is something remarkable in the manner, wherein the tides rise, in several of our rivers. In the river Severn, in particular, near Newnham, and one hundred and sixty miles from Lundy, the head of the flood at spring-tides rises in height like wall, near nine feet high. Thus it pours on for many miles, usually oversetting any vessels that lie in its way. This head tide they call the Boar; it flows here only two, and ebbs ten hours. But how shall we account for the ebbing and flowing of Lay-well, near Torbay This ebbs and flows many times in an hour. it usually performs its flux and reflux in a minute’s time. But it stands two or three minutes after the ebb: so that in the whole, it ebbs and flows about sixteen times in an hour. 14. Currents in the sea are either natural and general, arising from the daily rotation of the earth on its axis, or particular, or accidentally caused by the waters being driven against promontories, or into gulfs and straits, where, wanting room to spread, they are driven back, and so disturb the ordinary flux of the sea. The currents are so violent near the line, where the motion of the earth is the greatest, that they carry vessels swiftly front Africa to America, but prevent their returning the same way. So that they run as far as the fortieth degree, to find a passage into Europe. in the Straits of Gibraltar, which are about twenty miles broad, the current almost always runs eastward. And so it usually does in St. George’s Channel. But the most violent sea is in the Straits of Magellan, which is owing to two contrary currents, which meet in those straits. Sometimes there is an under current, contrary to that above. So it is in the Baltic Sound. One of the king’s frigates being there, they went with their pinnace in the mid-stream, and were carried violently by the current. Soon after they sunk a basket with a large cannon-bullet to a certain depth of water. This checked the motion of the boat. And ‘when they sunk it lower, the boat was driven ahead against the wind as well as the upper current. And the lower the basket was let down, the stronger the current was found. The upper current appeared by this experiment, not above four or five fathom deep. And does not the following instance shew that there is an under current at the mouth of the Mediterranean sea In the year 1712, Mons l’Aigle, commander of a privateer, chasing a Dutch ship near Ceuta Point, came up with her in the straits between Tariffa and Tangier, and giving her one broadside sunk her. A few days after, this ship with her cargo of brandy and oil arose near Tangier, four leagues west of that place where she sunk, and directly against the strength of the current. Certainly then the deep water in the middle of the strait, sets outward to the grand ocean. And possibly great part of the water, which runs in at the straits, may run out again that way. One of the most violent currents in the northern seas, runs between two of the Western Isles. The sea begins to boil, with the tide of flood, and increases gradually, till there are many whirlpools, which form themselves into a sort of pyrands, and immediately spout out as high as the mast of a little vessel. At the some time they make a loud report. These white waves run two leagues before they break. T he sea continues these motions, till it is more than half flood, and then decreases gradually, till it has ebbed half an hour. From that time it boils again, till it is within an hour of low water. This boiling of the sea is about a pistol-shot distant from the isle of Scarba. But the smallest boat may safely cross the gulf, at the last hour of the flood or of the ebb. In like manner the collision of the opposite and oblique streams, near the and of the Orkney islands, excites a circular motion in the water; anLi when the swiftness of the tide is considerable, occasions, whirlpools or cavities in the sea, in the form of an inverted bell, wide at the mouth, and growing gradually narrower towards the bottom. Their width and depth are in proportion to the rapidity of the streams that cause them. Those in Pentland Firth, near the islands Storma and Swona, will, with a spring-tide, turn any vessel quite round. There have been instances of boats being swallowed up in them. The cavity is largest when it is first formed, and is carried along with the stream, diminishing gradually as it goes, until it quite disappears. The suction communicated to the water, does not extend farther than the cavity. When fishermen are aware of their approach to one of these wells, as they call them, and have time to throw an oar or any other bulky body into it, before they are too near, the spiral motion is interrupted, and the continuity of the water broke; which rushing in on all sides, fills up the cavity, and enables them to go over it safe. The Maelstroom, is a whirlpool on the coast of Norway, and received this name ‘from the natives, which signifies the navel of the sea; since they suppose a great share of the water of the sea is sucked up and discharged by its vortex. A description of the internal parts is not to be expected, since none ever returned thence to bring information. The body of waters that form this ‘whirlpool, are extended in a circle about thirteen miles in circumference. In the midst of this stands a rock, against which the tide in its ebb is dashed with inconceivable fury. At this time it instantly swallows up all things that come within the sphere of its violence, trees, timber, and shipping. No skill in the mariners, nor strength in rowing, can work an escape: the sailor at the helm finds the ship first go in a current opposite to his intentions: his vessel’s motion, though slow in the beginning, becomes every moment more rapid; and it goes round in circles still narrower and narrower, till at last it is dashed against the rocks, and instantly disappears: nor is it seen again for six hours; till the tide turning, it is vomitted forth with the same violence with which it was drawn in. The noise of this vortex increases its terror, which, with the dashing of the waters, and the dreadful valley covered by their circulation, makes one of the most tremendous objects in nature. May I be permitted to mention here, a cheap and easy way of making sea-water fresh: “I took, says a gentleman, a long glass body, and having filled it with sea-water, put therein sea-weed with its roots fresh and new gathered. Then I put on a head and a beak, and adapted a receiver thereto, without any lute or closing the Joints. From the plants distilled daily a small quantity of very sweet and potable water. And probably there may he found other plants near the sea, which would yield fresh water in large quantities.” Sea-water, simply distilled, affords a water as pure and wholesome, as that obtained from the best springs. From the improvements made by Dr. Hales, it appears. that three quarts of water might be procured in five minutes, that is fifty gallons in twelve hours, from a small cylindrical still of Mr. Durand’s, by setting some pewter plates edgewise in its head. And a still thirty-two inches diameter would give two hundred gallons in twelve hours, with only the expense of a. bushel and an half of coals. When sea-water is boiled in a close covered vessel, the steam is converted into fresh water on the inside of the cover. And from a pot of thirteen inches diameter, by frequently removing the cover, and pouring off the water collected upon it, a quarter of a pint of fresh water is procured in an hour. Perhaps a yet better way of making sea-water fresh, is the following. Take bees-wax, and mould it into the form of an empty hollow vessel; sink the vessel into the sea. The water, in some will work its way through the pores of the wax, and the quantity contained in the vessel will be fresh, and good for use. The same will happen by using a round earthen vessel, and stopping the aperture : for the water that penetrates it is percolated and pure. But fresh water may be had in much greater plenty, and more expeditiously, by filling a vessel with river-sand or gravel, and pouring salt-water upon it. The vessel must be perforated at bottom, and by applying a linen strainer, the water, after undergoing a few filtrations, will lose all its brackish taste. In order to keep fresh water sweet, take of fine, clear, white, pearl ashes, a quarter of a pound of avoirdupoize weight, and put into one hundred gallons of fresh water (observing this proportion to a greater or lesser quantity) and stop up your cask as usual till you have occasion to broach it for use. As an instance of its utility and success, Dr. Butler put an ounce of pearl ashes into a twenty-five gallon cask of Thames water, which he stopt up very close, and let it stand for upwards of a year and a half, opening it once in four months, and constantly found it in the same unaltered condition and perfectly sweet and good: afterwards he made use of it in boiling pease and burgoo, and found that it made the pease as soft, and answered for all purposes to which he applied it, as well as water fresh drawn out of the river. To this short sketch of what is Observable in the terraqueous globe, I subjoin some of the beautiful reflections of Mr. Hervey. “ What an admirable specimen have we here, of the Divine skill and goodness This globe is intended, not only for a habitation, but for a store-house of conveniences. And if we examine the several apartments of our great abode, we shall find reason to be charmed with “the displays both of nice economy and boundless profusion. The surface of it, the ground, coarse as it may seem, is yet the laboratory where the most exquisite operations are performed. And though a multitude of generations have been accommodated by it, it still continues inexhaustible. The unevenness of the ground, far from being a defect, heightens its beauty and augments. its usefulness. Here it is scooped into deep and sheltered vales,, almost constantly covered with verdure, which yields an easy couch and agreeable food to the various tribes of cattle. There it extends into a wide, open country, which annually bears a copious harvest: a harvest not only of the principal wheat, which is the staff of our life, but of the appointed barley, and various other grain, which are food for our animals. The furrows vary their produce. They bring forth flax and hemp, which help us to some of the most necessary accommodations of life. These are wove into ample volumes of cloth, which, fixed to the mast, give wings to our ships. It is twisted into vast lengths of cordage, which give nerves to the crane, and sinews to the pulley, or else adhering to the anchor, secure the vessel even andst the driving tempest. It •covers our tables with a graceful elegance, and surrounds our bodies with a cherishing warmth. Yonder arise the hills, like a grand amphitheatre! Some are clad with mantling vines, some crowned with towering cedars, some ragged with misshapen rocks, or yawning with subterraneous caves. And even those inaccessible crags, those gloomy cavities, are not only a refuge far wild goata, but sometimes for those of whom the world ia not worthy. At a greater distance the mountains penetrate the clouds, with their’ aspiring brows. Their sides arrest and condense the vapours as they float along. Their caverned bowels collect the dripping treasures, and send them gradually abroad by trickling springs: and hence the waters increasing roll down, till they have swept through the most extensive climes, and regained their native seas. The vine requires a strong reflection of the sunbeams and a large proportion of warmth. How ‘commodiously do the hills and mountains minister to this purpose! May we not call those vast declivities, the garden-walls of nature Then concentre the solar fire, and completely ripen the grape! 0 that any should turn so valuable a gift of God into an instrument of sin. What is nature but a series of wonders! That such a variety of fruits should rise from the insipid, sordid earth! I take a walk. through my garden or orchard in December. There stand several logs of wood on the ground. They have neither sense nor motion; yet in a little time they are beautified with blossoms, they are covered with leaves, and at last loaded with fruit. I have wondered at the account of those prodigious engines, invented by Archimedes. But what are all the inventions of men, to those nice automata of nature . The forest rears myriads of massy bodies, ‘which though neither gay with blossoms, nor rich with fruit, supply us with timber of various kinds. But who shall cultivate them The toil were endless. See therefore the ever-wise and gracious ordination of Providence! They have no need of the spade or the prunning knife. They want no help from man. When sawed into beams they sustain the roofs of our houses. They make carriages to convey our heaviest loads. Their substance is so pliant, that they are easily formed into every kind of furniture: yet their texture so solid, that they compose the most important parts of the largest engines. At the same time, their pressure is so light, that they float upon the waters. Thus while they serve all the ends of architecture, and bestow numberless conveniences on the family, they constitute the very basis of navigation, and give being to commerce. If we descend from the ground floor of our habitation into the subterraneous lodgments, we shall find there also the most exquisite contrivance, acting in concert with the most profuse goodness. Here are various minerals of sovereign efficacy: beds fraught with metals of the richest value: and mines, which yield a metal of a meaner aspect, but superior usefulness. Without the assistance of iron, what would become of all our mechanic skill Without this we could scarce either fix the mast, or drop the faithful anchor. We should scarce have any ornament for polite, or utensil for common life. Here is an inexhaustible fund of combustible materials. These mollify the most stubborn bars. They melt even the most stubborn flint, and make it more ductile than the softest clay. By this means we are furnished with the most curious and serviceable manufacture in the world; which admits into our houses the cheering light, yet excludes the wind and rain: which gives new eves to decrepit age, and more enlarged views to philosophy; bringing near what is immensely remote, and making visible what is immensely small. Here are quarries stocked with stones, which do not sparkle like gems, but are more eminently useful: These form houses for peace, and fortifications for war. These constitute the’ arches of the bridge, the arms of the mole or quay, which screen our ships from the most tempestuous seas. These are comparatively soft in the bowels of the earth, but harden when in the open air Was this remarkable peculiarity reversed, what difficulties would attend the labours of the mason His materials could not be extracted from their bbd, nor fashioned without infinite toil. And were his work compleated, it could not long withstand the fury of the elements. Here are various assortments and beds of clay, which however contemptible in its appearance, is abundantly more beneficial than the rocks of diamond or the veins of gold: this is moulded into vessels of any shape and size: some so delicately fine as to suit the table of a princess; others so remarkably cheap that they minister to the convenience of the poorest peasant: all so perfectly neat, as to give no disgust even to the nicest palate A multiplicity of other valuable stores is locked up in these ample vaults. But the key of all is given to industry, in order to produce each as necessity demands. Which shall we most admire, the bounty or wisdom of our great Creator How admirable is his precaution in removing these cumbrous wares from the surface, and bestowing them under the ground in proper repositories! Were they scattered over the surface of the soil, it would be embarrassed with the enormous load. Our roads would be blocked up, and scarce any room left for the operations of husbandry. Were they on the other hand, buried at a great depth, it would cost us immense pains to procure them. Were they uniformly spread into a pavement for nature, universal barrenness must ensue: whereas at present we have a magazine of metallic, without lessening our vegetable treasures. Fossils of every kind enrich the bowels, verdure adorns the face of the earth. Well then may even the inhabitants of Heaven lift up their voice and sing, “Great and marvellous are thy works, 0 Lord God Almighty !“ And is there not infinite reason for us to join the triumphant choir Since all these things are to us, not only a noble spectacle, bright with the display of. our Creators’s wisdom, but likewise an inestimable gift, rich with the emanations of his goodness “ The earth hath he set before the inhabitants of his glory: but he hath given it to the children of men.” Has he not then an undoubted right to make that tender demand, “ My son give me thine heart !“ The rocks which bound the sea, are here prodigiously high and strong; an everlasting barrier against both winds and waves. Not that the Omnipotent engineer has any need of these here. It is true, they intervene, and not only repress the rolling billows, but speak the amazing majesty of the Maker. But in other places the Creator shews, he is confined to no expedient. He bids a bank of despicable sand repel the most furious shocks of assaulting seas. And though the waves toss themselves they cannot prevail: though they roar, yet they cannot pass over. Nay, is it not remarkable, that sand is a more effectual barrier against the sea than rock Accordingly the sea is continually gaining upon a rocky shore: but it is continually losing on a sandy shore, unless where it sets in with an eddy. Thus it has been gaining from age to age, upon the Isle of Portland and the Land’s End, in Cornwall, undermining, throwing down, and swallowing up one huge rock after another. Meantime the sandy shores both on our southern and western coasts, gain continually upon the sea. Beneath the rocks frequently lies a smooth, level sand, almost as firm as a well compacted causeway: insomuch that the tread of a horse scarce impresses it, and the waters never penetrate it. Without this wise contrivance the searching waves would insinuate into the heart of the earth; and the earth itself would in some places be hollow as a honeycomb, in others bibulous as a sponge. But this closely cemented pavement is like claying the bottom of the universal canal: so that the returning tides only consolidate its substance, and prevent the sun from cleaving it with chinks. Here the main rolls its surges from world to world. What a spectacle of magnificence and terror! How it fills the mind and amazes the imagination! It is the most august object under the whole Heaven. What are all the canals on earth, to this immense reservatory! What are the proudest palaces on earth, to yonder concave of the skies! What the most pompous illuminations, to this source of day! They are a spark, an atom, a drop. Nay, in every spark and atom and drop, that proceeds from the hand of the Almighty, there is the manifestation of a wisdom and a power absolutely incomprehensible. Let us examine a single drop of water, only so much as will adhere to the point of a needle. In this speck an eminent philosopher computes no less than thirteen thousand globules. And if so many thousands exist in so small a speck, how many m the unmeasured extent of the ocean Who can count them As well may we grasp the wind in our fist, or mete out the universe with our span. Nor are these regions without their proper inhabitants, clothed in exact conformity to the clime: not in swelling wool, or buoyant feathers, but with as much compactness and as little superfluity as possible. They are clad, or rather sheathed in scales, which adhere close and are laid in a kind of natural oil: than which apparel nothing can be more light, and at the same time nothing more solid. It hinders the fluid from penetrating their flesh: it prevents the cold from chilling their blood; and enables them to make their way through the waters, with the utmost facility. And they have each an air-bladder, a curious instrument, by which they rise to what height, or sink to what depth they please. It is impossible to enumerate the scaly herds. Here are animals of monstrous shapes, and amazing qualities. The upper jaw of the sword-fish is lengthened into a strong and sharp sword, with which (though not above sixteen feet long) he scruples not to engage the whale himself. The sun-fish is one round mass of flesh; only it has two fins, which act the part of oars. The polypus, with its numerous feet and claws, seems fitted only to crawl. Yet an excrescence rising on the back enables it to steer a steady course in the waves. The shell of the nautilus forms a kind of boat, and he unfurls a membrane to the wind for a sail. He extends also two arms, with which, as with oars, he rows himself along. When he is disposed to (live, he strikes sail, and at once sinks to the bottom. ‘When the weather is calm he mounts again, and performs his voyage without either chart or compass. Here are shoals upon shoals of every size and form. Some lodged in their shell, seem to have no higher employ, than imbibing nutriment, and are almost rooted to the rocks on which they lie: while others shoot along the yielding flood, and range the spacious regions of the deep. How various is their figure! The shells of some seem to be the rude production of chance, rather than of skill or design. Yet even in these we find the nicest dispositions. Uncouth as they are, they are exactly suited to the exigencies of their respective tenants. Some on the other hand are extremely neat. Their structure is all symmetry and elegance. No enamel is comparable to their polish. Not a room in all the palaces of Europe is so adorned as the bedchamber of the little fish that dwell in the mother of pearl. Where else is such a mixture of red, blue and green, so delightfully staining the most clear and glistering ground But what I admire more than all their beauty, is the provision made for their safety. As they have no speed to escape, so they have no dexterity to elude their foe. So that were they naked, they must be an easy prey to every free-booter. To prevent this, what is only clothing to other animals, is to them a clothing, a house and a castle. They have a fortification which grows with them, and is a part of themselves. And by means of this they live secure andst millions of ravenous jaws. Here dwell mackrel, herring, and various other kinds, which when lean wander up and down the ocean: but when fat they throng our creeks and bays, or haunt the running streams. Who bids these creatures leave our shores when they become unfit for service Who rallies and recalls the undisciplined vagrants, as soon as they are improved into desirable food Surely the fur low is signed, the summons issued, and the point of reunion settled, by a Providence ever indulgent to mankind, ever loading us with benefits. These approach, while those of enormous size and appearance abandon our shores. The latter would fright the valuable fish from our coasts ; they are therefore kept in the abysses of the ocean: just as wild beasts, impelled by the same over-ruling power, hide themselves in the recesses of the forest. One circumstance relating to the natives of the deep is very astonishing. As they are Continually obliged to devour one another for necessary subsistence, without extraordinary recruits, the whole watery race must soon be totally extinct. were they to bring forth no more at a birth than land animals, the increase would be far too small for the consumption. The weaker species would soon be destroyed by the stronger, and the stronger them selves must soon after perish. Therefore to supply millions of animals with their food, and yet not depopulate the watery realms, the issue produced by every breeder is almost incredible. They spawn not by scores, but by millions: a single female is pregnant with a nation. Mr. Lewenhoek counted in an ordinary cod 9,384,000 eggs. By this amazing expedient, constant reparation is made, proportionable to the immense havoc. And as the sea abounds with animal inhabitants, so it does also with vegetable productions: some soft as wool, others hard as stone. Some rise like a leafless shrub, some are expanded in the form of a net: some grow with their heads downward, and seem rather hanging on, than springing from the juttings of the rocks. But as we know few particulars concerning these, I would only offer one remark in general. The herbs and trees on the dry land are fed by the juices that permeate the soil, and fluctuate in the air. For this purpose they are furnished with leaves to collect the one, and with roots to attract the other. Whereas the sea plants, having sufficient nourishment in the circumambient waters, have no need to detach roots into the ground, or forage the earth for subtenance. Instead, therefore, of penetrating, they are but just tacked to the bottom, and adhere to some solid substance only with such a degree of tenacity, as may secure them from being being tost to and fro by the agitation of the waves. We see from this and numberless other instances, what diversity there is in the operations of the great Creator. Yet every alteration is an improvement, and each new pattern has a peculiar fitness of its own. Considered in another view, the sea is that grand reservoir, which supplies the earth with its fertility: and the air and sun are the mighty engines, which work without intermission, to raise t he water from this inexhaustible cistern. The clouds as aquedusts convey the genial stores along the atmosphere, and distribute them in seasonable and regular proportions, through all the regions of the globe. How hardly do we extract a drop of perfectly sweet water from the vast pit of brine Yet the sun draws off every moment millions of tons in vaporous exhalations, which being securely lodged in the bottles of Heaven, are sent abroad sweetened and refined, without the least blackish tincture, or bituminous sediment; sent abroad upon the wings of the wind, to distil in dews and rain, to ooze in fountains, to trickle along in rivulets, to roll from the sides of mountains, to flow in copious streams andst burning deserts and through populous kingdoms, in order to refresh and fertilize, to beautify and enrich every soil in every clime. How amiable is the goodness, how amazing the power, of the world’s adorable Maker! How amiable his goodness, in distributing so largely what is so extensively beneficial ! That water, without which we can scarce perform any business, or enjoy any comfort, should stream by our houses, start up from the ground, drop down from the clouds; should come from the ends of the earth, to serve us, from the extremities of the ocean! How amazing his power! That this boundless mass of fluid salt, so intolerably nauseous to the taste, should be the original spring, which quenches the thirst both of man and every animal! Doubtless the power by which this is effected, can make “ all things work together for our good.” Vast and various are the advantages which we receive from this liquid element. The waters glide on its spacious currents, which not only cheer the adjacent country, but by giving a brisk motion to the air, prevent the stagnation of the vapours. They pass by large cities, and quietly rid them of a thousand nuisances. But they are also fit for more honourable services. They enter the gardens of a prince, float in the canal, ascend in the Jet d’Eau, or fall in the grand cascade. In another kind they ply at our mills, toil incessantly at the wheel, and by working the largest engines, take upon them an unknown share of our fatigue, and save us both labour, time and expense. So forcibly do they act when collected. And how do they insinuate when detached They penetrate the minutest tubes of a plant, and find a passage through all its meanders. With how much difficulty does the labourer push his way up the rounds of a ladder While these carry their load to a much greater height, and climb with the utmost ease. They convey nourishment from the lowest fibres that are plunged in the earth, to the topmost twigs that wave andst the clouds, Thus they furnish the whole vegetable world with necessary provision, by means of which “ the trees of the Lord are full of sap, even the cedars of Lebanon, which he hath planted.” And notwithstanding their vast elevation and prodigious diffusion, not a single branch is destitute of leaves, nor a single leaf of moisture. Besides the salutary and useful circulation of the rivers, the sea has a motion no less advantageous. Daily for five or six hours, it flows toward the land, and for the same time, retires to its inmost caverns. How great is the power that protrudes to the shores such an inconceivable weight of waters, without any concurrence front the winds, often in direct opposition to them! Which bids the mighty element revolve with the most exact Punctuality! Did it advance with a lawless and unlimited swell, it might deluge whole continents. Was it irregular and uncertain in its approaches, navigation would be at a stand. But being constant in its stated period, and never exceeding its appointed bounds, it does no prejudice to the country, and serves all the ends of traffic. Is the sailor returned from his voyage The flux is ready to convey his vessel to the very doors of the owner, without any hazard of striking on the rocks, of of being fastened in the sands. Has the merchant freighted his ship The reflux bears it away ‘with the utmost expedition and safety. Behold, 0 man, how highly thou art favoured by thy Maker! “He hath put all things in subjection under thy feet. All sheep and oxen, all the beasts of the field; the fouls of the air, and the fishes of the sea.” Yea, the surges of the sea are subservient to thee. Even these, wild and impetuous as they are, are ready to receive thy load, and like an indefatigable beast of burden, carry it to the place which thou choose St. What prešerves this vast flood in perpetual purity It receives the refuse and filth of the whole world. Whatever would defile the land and pollute the air, is transmitted to the ocean. How then is this receptacle of every nuisance kept clean, kept from contracting a noisome and pestilential taint It is partly by its incessant motion, and partly by its saitness. By the one it is secured from any internal principle of corruption; by the other it works itself clear of any adventitious defilement. Consider the sea in another capacity, and it connects the remotest realms of the universe, by facilitating the intercourse, between their respective inhabitants. The ancients indeed looked on the ocean, as an impassable gulph. But we find it just the reverse; not a bar of separation, but the great bond of union. For this purpose it is never exhausted, though it supplies the whole earth with rain: nor overflows, though all the rivers in the universe are perpetually augmenting its stores. By means of this we travel farther than birds of the strongest pinions fly. We cross the flaming line, visit the frozen pole, and wing our way even round the globe. What a multitude of ships are continually passing and repassing this universal thorough-fare ! Whole harvests of corn, and vintages of wine, lodged in volatile store-houses, are wafted by the breath of Heaven, to the very ends of the earth: wafted, enormous and unwieldy as they are, almost as speedily as the roe bounds over the hills. Astonishing, that an element SO unstable, should bear so immense a weight! That the thin air Should drive on with such speed those vast bodies, which the strength of a legion could scarce move! That the air and water should carry to the distance of many thousand miles, what the united force of men and machines could scarce drag a single yard! “Great and marvellous are thy works, 0 Lord God Almighty !" How are the mariners conducted through this fluid common, than which nothing is more wide or more wild! Here is no tract, no posts of direction, nor any hut where the traveller may ask his way. Are they guided by a pillar of fire No, but by a mean, and otherwise worthless fossil. Till this surprising stone was discovered, ships crept timorously along the coasts. But this guides them, when nothing but skies are seen above, and nothing but seas below. This gives intelligence that shines clear in the thickest darkness, and remains steady in the most tempestuous agitations. This emboldens us to launch into the heart of the ocean, arid to range from pole to pole. By this means are imported to our islands the choice productions of every nation under Heaven. Every tide conveys into our ports, the treasures of the remotest climes. And almost every private house in the kingdom, is accommodated from the four quarters of the globe. At the same time that the sea adorns the abodes of the rich, it employs the hands of the poor. What a multitude of people acquire a livelihood, by preparing commodities for exportation! And what a multitude by manufacturing the wares imported from abroad! Thus, though it is a false supposition, that the waters themselves are strained through subterranean passages into the inland countries, yet it is true, that their effects are transfused into every town, every hamlet and every cottage.” I beg leave to insert here what could not properly come in under any of the preceding articles. It is a curious remark, which Dr. Cheyne makes concerning fluids in general. “ I take notice, first f the fewness of the original fluids, in respect of the vast number of the compound ones. The primary ones hitherto known are only four: air, water, mercury, and light, three of which are seldom much compounded with others; so that it is water alone, that is the basis of all our mixtures. It is the parts of solid bodies floating in this fluid, that produce all our delightful and useful varieties of liquors: so frugal is nature in principles, and so fruitful in effects and compositions. Take notice, 2dly, Of the great difference between the specific gravities of our fluids, mercury being eight thousand times heavier than air. Now not to mention the many uses of this last fluid in artificer’s work,’ had air been as heavy as mercury it had been altogether useless in respiration: it had choaked us immediately. And had there not, been a fluid of the same weight with mercury, 1. e. a collection of exceeding small, heavy spherules, in the present circumstances of mankind, I do not know what a great part of the world would have done. For the wickedness of mankind, has brought many diseases to that degree. of malignity, that a thorough cure could scarce be made of them without this fluid. But by the gravity of this, a remedy is provided for all these maladies, which are more than two or three. But that which is most wonderful in these fluids is, 3dly, that universal property, the direction of their pressure upon the sides of the containing vessel. In all fluids pf whatsoever kind or nature this pressure is communicated in lines perpendicular to the sides of the containing vessel And indeed this property of fluids, which is so uniform, is the necessary consequence of the sphericity of their constituent particles. Now, could any thing but the almighty power of. God, have rounded these infinite numbers of small particles Or could any thing but his divine wisdom have assigned them their true dimensions, their exact weights, and required solidities We shall allow him to continue in his infidelity, who can demonstrate by what laws of mechanism, all the particles of water were turned of the same diameter, solidity, and weight; and those of air, mercury, and light, turned of different diameters, solidities, and weights from one another; but all of the same diameters, solidities, and weights among themselves. And what a beautiful idea of this fluid do Sir Isaac Newton’s later discoveries present us with! Every ray is endowed with its own colour, and its different degree of refrangibility and reflexibility. One ray is violet, another indigo, a third blue, a fourth green, a fifth yellow, a sixth orange, and the last red. And these are the primary and original colours, from the mixture whereof all the intermediate ones proceed; and white from an equal mixture of the whole; black on the contrary, from the small quantity of any of them being reflected; or all of them in a great measure suffocated. So that it is not properly bodies that are coloured, but the light that falls upon them; and their colours arise from their aptitude, to reflect rays of one colour, and transmit all those of another. The prominent little parts, upon their surface, according to their different degree of density and thinness, are apt to reflect back upon our organ, rays of one colour, and of one degree of refrangibility and reflexibility, and to let others pass through their pores. And this one colour too is less or more intense, according as their prominent parts are of different densities. For the first degrees ol intenseness, in all the primary colours, seem to arise from the degrees of density and thinness; and the subsequent degrees, from the other different degrees of thickness, or thinness of the profninent little parts of the surfaces of bodies. Light, acts upon bodies by heating, dissolving, and putting their parts into a vibrating motion. Bodies act upon light, in drawing its parts to them, and that in lines perpendicular to their surfaces. And as there may be different degrees of attraction in bodies, which produce their different degrees of elasticity and cohesion, so there must be different degrees of attraction in mediums supposed, to account for their different powers, in bringing the refracted rays nearer to, or farther from, the perpendicular. For it is well known all mediums have not the same refractive virtue.. Now what a beautiful, uniform, and simple theory of light is here! This is so very like the frugal simplicity, and yet the manifold variety of nature, that one would be almost tempted to believe it true, were there no experiment to confirm it. We may observe one more instance of the wonderful wisdom of nature, in the propagation of light, viz. That a ray of light in passing from a luminous point, through two differently refracting mediums, to illuminate a given point, spends the least time (the refracting powers of the several mediums considered) possible; and consequently when a ray passes through one medium, from a luminous point to reflect upon a given point, it takes the shortest way possible. This the geometers have demonstrated. Now is not this an instance of counsel and design Is not this like the methods of wisdom, which will not spend more time on a thing than just what is necessary to do the business; which will not go about, but take the shortest course possible that will bring it to the place designed The islands of Scilly have been so noted among the ancients, one might expect to find among the inhabitants some consciousness of their own antiquity, and of their appearance in history before the other parts of Britain were at all known. But there is nothing of this kind; the inhabitants are all new corners, not an old habitation worth notice, nor any remains of Phoenician, Grecian, or Roman arts, either in town, castle, port, temple, or sculpture. We. are not to think, however, but Scilly was inhabited, and was frequently resorted to anciently, as the old historians relate. All the islands (several of which are now without inhabitants) by the remains of walls, foundations of many contiguous houses, and a great number of sepulchral burrows, shew, that they have been fully cultivated and inhabited. That they were inhabited by Britons, is past all doubt, not only from their neighbourhood to England, but from the Druid monuments. Several rude stone pillars, circles of stone erect, rock basons: all monuments common in Cornwall and Wales, are equal evidences of the antiquity, religion, and original of the old inhabitants. How came these ancient inhabitants then (it may be asked) to vanish, so as that the present have no pretensions of any affinity of any kind with them, either in blood, language, or customs How came they to disappear, and leave so few traces of plenty, arts, and no posterity behind them From two ases, the manifest encroachments of the sea, and as manifest a šubsidenc of some partš of the land. The sea is the insatiable monster which devours islands, gorges itself with the earth, sand, clay and all the yielding parts, and leaves nothing where it can reach, but the skeleton, the bared rock. The continual advances which the sea makes upon the low lands, are plain to all people of observation. What we see happening every day may assure us of whae has happened in former times; and from the banks of sand and earth giving way to the sea, and the breaches becoming still more open, and irrecoverable, it appears, that repeated tempestshave occasioned a gradual dissolution of the solids for many ages. Again, the flats which stretch from one island to the other, are plain evidences of a former union between many now distinct islands. The flats between some of them are quite dry at a spring-tide, and men easily pass dry-shod from one island to the other, over sand banks, where, upon the shifting the sands, walls and ruins are discovered frequently, upon which at full sea there are ten or twelve feet of water. All strong arguments that these islands were once one continued tract of land, though now as to their low lands over-run with the sea and sand. History confirms their former union. “The isles Cassiterides (says Strabo).are ten in number, close to one another; one of them is desert and unpeopled, the rest are inhabited.” But see how the sea has multiplied these islands! There are now reckoned one hundred and forty. Into so many fragments are they divided, and yet there are left six inhabited. But no circumstance can šhew the great alterations, which have happened in the number and extent of these islands, more than this, viz, that the islc of Scilly, from which the little cluster takes its name, is no more at present than a high rock of about a furlong over, whose cliffs hardly any thing but birds can mount, and whose barrenness could never suffer any thing but sea-birds to inhabit it. How then came all these islands to have their general name from such a small and useless plot Doubtless Scilly, which is now a bare rock, .and separate from the lands of Guel and Brehar, by a narrow firth, was formerly joined to them by low necks of land, being the rocky promontory of one large island now broken into seven. This promontory,(at present called Scilly Island) lying westermost of all the highlands, was the first land of all the islands discerned by the traders from the Mediterranean and Spanish coasts, and, as soon as discovered was said to be Scilly, nothing being more usual with sailors, upon their first seeing land, than to call the part by the name of the whole. But when this considerable island called Scilly was broken to pieces, the, greatest portions became inhabited, and had first British names, as Brehar, Trescaw, Enmor; but afterwards were called according to the religion of the times, after the names of particular saints. The chief division was entitled St. Mary’s, the others dedicated to St. Nicholas, St. Martin, St. Theon, and so on; but this remarkable promontory being in no wise fit for habitation or devotion, was dedicated to no saint, but left to enjoy its ancient name; and notwithstanding the modern christian dedications, sailors went on in their old way. This high land is still called Scilly, and the islands in general are still denominated Scilly-isles.. It must have been a dispiriting circumstance to the old inhabitants, to see the ocean so continually eating away their low lands, in which they had their treasures of tin, their houses and ports: but this gradual decay was not the only misfortune which attended them. From the island of Sampson, one may see the foundations of stone fences running on in a straight line across the firth, towards Trescaw-isle, till they are hid in the sand; which sand, when it is full tide, has from ten to twelve feet water on it. Now we can not suppose that the foundation of these fences was laid as low as high water mark: for who could build fences upon so dangerous a level At a medium we may suppose them to have been laid six feet above the full tide. Here then we have the foundations, which were six feet above the high-water mark, now ten feet under, which together make a difference as to the level of sixteen feet. Here then was a great subsidence, which must have been followed by a sudden inundation, and this inundation is likely not only to have destroyed a great part of the inhabitants, but to have terrified others, who survived, into a total desertion of the shattered islands. By this means that considerable people, who were the aborigines, and carried on the tin-trade with the Phoenicians, Greeks, and Romans, were reduced to the last gasp. The few poor remains of this desolation, by their necessary attention to food and raiment, must soon have lost sight of their ancient prosperity, and the faint remembrance that was left of what the islands had been before, expired of itself in an age or two, through the indigence of the inhabitants. That such an inundation has happened here, is still more plain, because these islands are no longer what they were anciently, fertile in tin: nor are there any remains of so many ancient workings as could maintain a trade so greedily coveted by the ancients. But what is become of those mines How shall this question be answered, but by confessing that the land, in which they were. is now sunk and buried under the sea. I am not fond of introducing earthquakes; but where there has been evidently a great subsidence of the earth’s surface, can it be accounted for at all without a previous concussion of the earth And what nature declares in this case, tradition seems to confirm; there being a strong persuasion in the western parts of Cornwall, that formerly there existed a large country between the Land’s-End and Scilly, now laid many fathoms tinder water. Indeed there are no evidences of any ancient connexion of the Land’s-End and Scilly. Yet that the cause of that inundation, which destroyed much of these islands, might reach also to the Cornish shores, is extremely probable; there being several evidences of a like subsidence of the land in Mount’s-Bay. The principal anchoring place, called a lake, is now a haven or open harbour. The Mount, from its Cornish name, we must conclude to have stood formerly in a wood; but now at full tide, it is half a mile in the sea, and not a tree ‘near it; and in the sandy beach betwixt the Mount and Penzance, when the sands have been dispersed by violent high tides, there have been seen the trunks of several large trees in their natural position, the surface of their section worn smooth by the agitation of the water, sand, and gravel, as if cut with an axe, upon which at every full tide, there ‘must be twelve feet Water; so that the shores in Scilly, and the neighbouring shores of Cornwall are concurrent evidences, of such a subsidence, and the memory of the inundations, ‘which were the necessary consequences of it, is preserved in tradition: though like other traditions, in proportion to their age, obscured by fable. That there has been such a subsidence of the lands, belonging to these islands, the present ruins of the islands testify. And this subsidence reached even to Mount’s-Bay, and laid under water a great part of the low lands then woody, there being now-ten feet water: so that the shores in Scilly and the shores in Cornwall, are equal proofs of such an inundation. When this inundation happened, we know not; but two pieces of history possibly lead us near the time. In the time of Strabo and Dio dorus Siculus, their commerce was in full vigour. “Abundance of tin was carried in carts,” says Diodorus Siculus. “ But ten islafids in all (says Strabo) and nine of those inhabited.” The. destruction therefore of Scilly must be placed after the time of these authors; that is, after the Augustan age. Now Plutarch hints, that the islands round Britain were generally unpeopled in his time. If he includes Scilly among them, then this desolation must have happened between the reign of Trajan, and that of Augustus. 15. At the mouth of the river Ness, near Burgespu, in Flanders, at the depth of fifty feet, are found great quantities of trees lying as close to each other, as they do; in a wood; the trunks, the branches, and the leaves are in such perfect preservation,, that ‘the particular kind of each tree may be known. About five hundred years ago this very ground was known to have been covered with the sea; nor is there any history of its having been dry ground, which no doubt must have been the case. Thus we see a country flourishing in verdure, producing large forests, and trees of various kinds, overwhelmed by the sea. We see this element depositing its sediment to the height of fifty feet; and its waters must, therefore, have risen much higher. We see the same after it has thus overwhelmed and sunk the land so deep beneath its slime, capriciously retiring from the same coasts, and leaving it habitable once more. All this is wonderful, and perhaps instead of attempting to inquire after the cause, it will best become us to rest satisfied with admiration. At the ‘city of Modena, in Italy, and about four miles round it, whenever they dig, when the workmen arrive at the depth of sixty-three feet, they come to a bed of chalk, which they bore with an auger five feet deep. They then withdraw from the pit, before the auger is removed, and upon its extraction, the waters burst up through the aperture with great violence. That which is most remarkable in the operation is the layers of earth, as we descend. At the depth of fourteen feet are found the ruins of an ancient city, paved streets, houses, floors, and different pieces of mosaic. Under this is found a solid earth, that one would imagine had never been removed; however, under it is found a soft, oozy earth, made up of vegetables: and at twenty-six feet deep, large trees entire, such as walnut-trees, with the walnuts still sticking on the stem, and their leaves and branches in exact preservation. At twenty-eight feet deep, a soft chalk is found mixed with a vast quantity of shells, and this bed is eleven feet thick. Under this, vegetables are found again with leaves and branches of trees as before; and thus alternately chalk and vegetable earth, to the depth of sixty-three feet. These are the layers whenever (lie workmen bore; while in many of them they also find pieces of charcoal, bones, and bits of iron. From this description it appears, that this country has been alternately overflowed and deserted by the sea, one age after another: nor were these overflowings and retirings of trifling depths, or of short continuance. When the sea burst in, it must have been a long time in overflowing the branches of the fallen forest with its sediment; and still longer informing a regular bed of shells, eleven feet thick over them. It must therefore have taken an age, at least, to make any one of these layers: and we may conclude, that it must have been many ages employed in the production of them all. The land also, upon being deserted, must have had time to grow compact, and to be drained of its waters before it could be disposed to vegetation. Likewise in cutting a channel for the canal of Newry, in Ireland, a great multitude of fallen trees was discovered, lying near two miles in length, and in many places, six or eight feet deep. Many of these are very large, and are tumbled down one over another, some lying in straight lines, and others in an oblique or transverse position. If trees thus found had been felled by the deluge, as undoubtedly others were they would all lie in one position. But this is not the case. We muse therefore seek for. other causes. And one cause seems to have been this. If water flowing either from springs or streams be stopt, it naturally softens and loosens the earth; and in a course of time, even. to the roots’ of trees, which are then subject to be overturned by any violent storm. This doubtless was the. case with most of those trees that are found in bogs with the roots adhering to them. Trees thus falling sink into the yielding ‘soil, and cause a farther stoppage in the course of the waters. Hence the loose earth is increas ed, by a yearly accession of scurf, moss, grass, and weeds. Add to this, that the higher lands being gradually dissolved by repeated rains, and washed down by floods, in a long course of years, cover the lower grounds with fresh layers of earth. This being so, it is not strange to find trees buried eight or ten feet under the earth. Another cause may be this. Various colonies from time to time arriving in the then uncultivated country of Ireland, would naturally make room for tillage and pasture, by clearing the ground of its forests. This was certainly the case, where we find in bogs, trees partly burned, and others bearing the mark of the axe. But sometimes these colonies were driven by the natives. from their intended settlements, leaving the trees they had felled strewed over the plain, which stopping the waters, of course created bogs, that in process of the covered those trees to a considerable depth. Nay, as late as 1561, Tyrone and O’Donnel marching toward Kinsale, through Connaught, and laying the country waste, there is a great tract of ground, now a bog, which was then ploughed land. That bogs in general grow but slowly may be gathered from a lump of coins of Edward the IV. (probably lost in a purse which rotted away) taken up in a bog in Yorkshire, eighteen feet deep. This was about 300 years before. So the bog had grown about a foot in eleven years; that is, somewhat above an inch in a year although some seem to grow much faster. Much more ancient is the Great Level, or fenny ground, which contains about 300,000 acres, lying in the counties of Norfolk, Suffolk, Cambridge, the isle of Ely, Huntingdon, Northampton, and Lincoln. This was once firm land. There have been found therein, stones, bricks, and other materials for building. In setting down a sluice, there was found, sixteen feet deep, a smith’s forge,. and all the tools thereunto belonging. William of Malmsbury, who lived 1200 years ago, says, that in his time “The trees which grew there, smooth and straight, were so tall that they seemed to touch the stars. A plain there is, as even as the sea,. which, with. the green grass, allures the eye: and there is not the least parcel of ground that lies waste and void. Here you see plantations of fruit trees; there a field set with vines, part creeping on the ground, part mounting on high poles.” But how cab it be reduced to so very different a state It seems the ocean broke in upon it, with such resistless violence, that the buildings throughout the whole space were overturned, and the trees torn up by the roots.. The amazing quantity of filth thrown up at the same time, covered the whole country, even to the verge of the highlands, seven, eight, and even ten feet deep. Hence, a few years since in digging a pool, there was found at the upper skirts of the level, the skele— ton of a large fish, near twenty feet long, lodged in filth above six feet below the surface of the ground. Yet how or when this inundation was, we are not able to determine. Whenever it was, it was probably occasioned by a violent earthquake. 16. A late writer gives the following account of the natural origin of hogs in Ireland. Some of these have vast quantities of timber under them: others have very little. But the surface of all is covered with a short, thick, and matted kind of heath. This as it grows and thickens at the top, vegetates at the bottom into a close texture, which being replete with moisture, throws out annual growths of this ramified heath, part of which dies every winter, and moulders at the bottom, where it forms another stratum, from which at spring comes a new crop of heath. And thus as these strata of mouldered heath are anually repeated, the roots increase, and at once extend higher, and are more consolidated at-the bottom. Hence the turf is always found of a closer texture, as we descend deeper in the bog. The turf is itself ‘only a closely concreted combination of the roots of this heath, which universally grows on the surface of these bogs: not the produce of the trees which are at the bottom. Wherever these were thrown down, some earth would be washed down upon them from the adjacent grounds, the surface of which every where produces this heath. And this being now supplied with constant moisture, would throw out a more plentiful growth. The same cause produces these bogs on the sides and even tops of mountains. But it is ever in wet grounds, or in flats on the side of hills, where the water settles, and supplies them with moisture. There seems indeed to be a spungy quality in this heath, which prevents the moistures sinking away from it, by an attraction of the fluids, by an infinite number of capillary fibres, which are the very substance of it. At the bottom of these mountain-bogs, no trees are found. And very few in the largest bogs, unless on the skirts of them. The turf then from top to bottom is entirely the produce of a vegetation from itself. And the reason why Ireland produces so many turf-bogs, is because it so abounds with the seeds of this heath, which is every where found where the land is uncultivated, and forms bogs, wherever it has proper moisture. Our marie is found only in the bottom of low bogs, at the depth of seven, eight, or nine feet. For three feet is a spungy sort of earth, then gravel for about half a foot. For about three feet more is a spungy earth, mixed with timber, but so rotten, that it cuts like earth. Next this for the depth of three inches we find leaves, that are fair to the eye, but will not bear a touch. With these are sometimes mixed heaps of seed, which seem to be broom or furze seed: nay, in one place what seemed to be gooseberries and currants was found, and sea-weed in others. Under this was blue clay half a foot thick, thoroughly mixed with shells, as was also the marie, which lay next, three or four feet deep. They are shells of periwinkles: and among these are large horns and bones answerable thereto. But it is not only in bogs that subterraneous trees are found; nor in Ireland only, but in many parts of England. At Youle, about twelve miles from York, near the place where the Dun empties itself into the Humber, abundance of them have been dug up from time to time; all of which are a species of fir. In the Isle of Axholme, in Lincolnshire, not firs only, but abundance of oaks are found in the moor, whereof some are five yards in compass, with quantities of acorns near them. The first lie somewhat deeper than the oaks: one of them was thirty-six yards long. The adjoining levels (about 180,000 acres) were half of them yearly covered with water, till king Charles I. sold them to sir Cornelius Vermuyden, who drained them at the charge of above 400,0001. In the soil of all this land, through all Marshland, and on the skirts of all the Lincolnshire and Yorkshire wolds, are found millions of roots and bodies of trees, firs, oaks, birch, beech, yew, willow, and ash. The roots stand in their natural postures, as thick as ever they could grow. The bodies of most of the great trees lie all their length about a yard from their roots with their tops north-east. The smaller lie across in every direction, some under, some above them. Some of the oaks are thirty, some thirty-five yards long, yet wanting some yards at the small ‘ends. They are firm, lasting, and as black as ebony. Many of them have been burnt, some quite through, some on one side. Some have been found chopped and squared, some bored through; -some half cleft with great wooden wedges in them, and broken axe-heads, shaped not unlike the sacrificing axes. And all these were in such places, and at such depths, as could not have been opened, from the time the forest was destroyed until the ground. was drained. Near a great root in the parish of Hatfield, were found eight or nine Roman coins: and at the bottom of a new drain, were found trees squared and cut, rails, bars, a kind of battle-axe, and two or three coins of the emperor Vespasian. Nay, the ground at the bottom of the river was found to lie in ridge’ and furrow, manifesting that it had been ploughed. In an old drain, an oak was found forty yards long, four yards in diameter, at the great end, three yards and a foot in the middle, two yards at the small end; so that by a moderate computation, it seems to have been as long again. Yea, about fifty years ago, there was found, several feet deep, a man laying at his full length, with his head upon his arm as asleep. His skin, tanned as it were, by the moor-water, preserved his shape entire; but his flesh and most of his bones were consumed. These stately trees formerly composed one of the most beautiful forests in the world. But how came it to be destroyed %Vhen the Romans pursued the Britons, they always fled into the woods. On this ‘the Roman generals ordered them to be cut down; this vast forest in particular. The trees falling across the riverš which ran through the country, soon dammed them up, turned the ground into a lake, and gave rise to the moors, that increased continually, by earthy matter washed down, the consumption of rotting branches and leaves, and the growth of water-moss, which wonderfully flourishes on rotten grounds. Hence it is, that so many Roman coins have been found at the bottom of these levels; that so many trees are found burnt or chopped; anti that the soil of the country in general is two, three or more yards higher than formerly. Some similar alteration seems to have happened, many centuries ago, to that whole tract of land, near Newbury in Oxford-shire, out of which they dig their peat. There is a stratum of this several miles which lies many feet under the surface. The best peat has very little, if any, earth in it, but is a com position of wood, branches, twigs, leaves, and roots of trees, with grass, straw, plants, and weeds. The colour is of a blackish brown: and if it be chewed between the teeth it is soft, and has no gritty matter in it. It is indeed of a different consistence in different places, some being softer and some harder: which may arise perhaps from the different sorts of trees it is composed of. Great numbers of trees are visible in the true peat, lying irregularly one upon another, and sometimes even cart loads of them have been taken out: but the nearer these trees lie to the surface, the less sound is the wood; and sometimes the small twigs which lie at the bottom are so firm as not to be easily cut through: these trees are generally oaks, alders, willows, and firs, besides some others not easily known. The small roots are generally perished, but yet have sufficient signs to shew that the trees were torn up by the roots, and were not cut down; there being no sign of the axe or saw, which, had they been felled, would have been plainly visible. A great many horns, heads, and bones of several kinds of deer, horns of the antilope, heads and tusks of boars, and heads of beavers, are also found in it, and some human bones. Before we dismiss this subject, it may not be improper to subjoin as strange an account as any age can parallel. June 7, 1697’, near Charleville in Ireland, a great rumbling was heard in the earth. Soon after, in the bog of Kapanihane, stretching north and south, some meadow and pasture land, that lay on the side of the bog, separated by a large ditch, and other land, on the further side adjoining it, began to move: and a little hill in the middle of the bog, sunk down. This was at seven in the evening, the ground fluctuating in. its motion, like the waves of the sea. The pasture land then rose up, over ran the ground beneath, and moved upon its surface: rolling on with great violence, till it had covered the meadow sixteen feet deep. It drew after it the body of the bog, part of it lying on the place where the pasture land was before, leaving great breaches behind it, and currents of water, which cast up noisome vapours. There are still cracks and chasms through the whole surface of the bog, which contains forty acres. But we have a later incident of the same kind. On Saturday, January 26, 1745, a part of Pilling-Moss, lying near Hescmb houses, was observed to rise a surprising height. After a short time it sunk as much below the level, and moved slowly toward the south side. In half an hour it covered twenty acres of land. The improved land, adjoining to that part of the bog, is a concave circle, containing near a hundred acres, which is well nigh filled up with bog and water. In some parts, jt is thought to be five yards deep. An intense frost retards its progress for the present, but it is likely to spoil a great deal more land. That part of the Moss, which is sunk like the bed of the river, runs north and south. It is above a mile in length, and near half a mile in breadth. Perhaps some morasses have been ever since the deluge. In some of these are found, many feet deep, whole forests of timber, and frequently of sucim sorts as have not grown in those countries for many ages. But some morasses are only of late date. Lord Cromartie gives a remarkable account, of what he himself observed with regard to the generation of such a morass. In the parish of Lockburn, he saw, near the top of a very high hill,a plain about a mile over. It was then covered with a standing wood, but so old, that the trees had neither leaves nor bark left. When he came by the place fifteen years after, he observed all the trees were fallen. A few years after that, they were quite covered over with a soft, spungy earth, which formed a proper bog or morass. Many have been formed the same way. The discovery of the bones of elephants at the bottom of some of our English bogs, seems a convincing proof, that the earth has undergone some very extraordinary alterations. For the remains of animals of quite different climates, which, in the present situation of the world, could never possibly come over hither, must imply, their, having been originally here, or that England was once joined to the continent. But, since we find these creatures only in the very hot countries, it is highly probable, they were not originally here, unless we suppose the temperature of our climate to have been greatly altered. And without such ‘a supposition, we cannot suppose they would have wandered hither, though all parts of the globe had been contiguous. But what changes have happened to our earth, no human wisdom can find out. Suppose only the axis thereof to have been shifted at any time but a few degrees, what convulsions in nature, what an universal change in the face of things ‘must have ensued! What inundations of water, bearing everything before them! ‘What breaches in the earth, what hurricanes and tempests, must have attended such an event! For the waters must have rolled along, till an equipoise was produced. And all parts of the world must acquire different degrees of heat and cold from what they had before. Seas would be formed, where continents had been; continents torn in pieces, or split into islands. Such would have been the fate of inanimate things. And as to living creatures, they must have been destroyed and buried in the ruins of the world, as perhaps these elephants were. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 25: PART 04 - CHAPTER 2 - OF FIRE ======================================================================== Chapter 2 - Of Fire The effects of fire* are various, It heats, it shines, it expands, it dissolves other bodies, either by melting or reducing them to ashes or calx. Most of these argue a vehement motion of its particles, which tears asunder whatever it seizes. It seems to be a most subtle matter, dispersed throughout the universe. Yet this, even when collected, soon scatters again, unless it be detained by some inflammable matter, Not that fire will spring from every motion: it must be circular, as well as rapid. For if particles move ever so swift in a strait line, no fire will follow. * It should here be understood, that by the terms fire, pure fire, elementary fire, &c. as they are here used, is meant, the basis or matter of heat, fire, flame, &c. which in the new chemical nomenclature is termed caloric. This is an elementary substance of so subtle a nature, that it penetrates all bodies, but in different quantities, and under different circumstances, according to the quantity present, and according to the capacities of bodies to receive it. It may be concentred in such quantities, and consequently to such degrees of intensity, as to destroy or dissipate all known substances. All bodies are capable of sustaining a certain quantity without their destruction. Indeed a certain proportion is necessary, and indispensable to the existence of all bodies; and it is highly presumable, that it could not be entirely eradicated from any body, under any possible circumstances. These facts, however, are well known ; that it can be concentred in most intense degrees, that it can occupy all bodies in vastly different proportions; that different bodies demonstrate very different capacities for it; that some are more powerful conductors of it than others; and that all bodies can endure a certain degree of it, and still retain their coherence: but beyond that degree, they suffer disorganization and destruction, and are reduced to calces, ashes, or vapour. Caloric is a substance which pervades all bodies, even every particle of the air, and the earth; and it rushes with a velocity proportioned to its degree of intensity, to supply an equal temperature. It remains fixed in all bodies, and perhaps the degree of its fixidity constitutes the capacity of combustion, and the capacity of enduring it in certain degrees of intensity; and would it not hence appear plausible that those substances wherein this capacity existed in the least degree, would become the most powerful conductors of it. It exists abundantly in wood, hence wood is a poor conductor. It exists abundantly less in metals, hence metals are more powerful conductors of it, and this would appear in proportion to the sense of different degrees of coldness, in the different substances, as metals feel so much colder than wood. Heat seems to be nothing but motion: but this motion has some peculiar circumstances. 1. It is expansive motion, whereby a body endeavours to dilate itself. 2. This motion is upward, and toward the circumference. 3. It is not an equable motion of the whole, but only of the smaller particles of the body. 4. It is a rapid motion. Heat may therefore be defined, an expansive, undulatory motion in the minute particles of a body, whereby they rapidly tend to the circumference, and at the same time upward. Fire has some effect on most bodies, even in an exhausted receiver. One placed a black ribbon therein, and then applied a burning-glass. Abundance of smoke issued out of it, which fell by little and little, and Caloric cannot be confined by any means, hence it is ranked among the unconfinable elements. Its exclusive office seems to be to unite with other bodies, to capacitate them; to give them the powers of motion, and to qualify them for their infinite variety of operations in nature. It cannot exist in an independent state, but it is observable, that it has its degrees of affinity. It naturally exists in smaller quantities in some bodies, than others, and probably it approaches more towards an abstract and independent character in electricity, than in any other state; though it appears to be a physical impossibility to separate it entirely from other elementary matter, yet by what subtle substances it is retained in the Leyden phial, it appears an equal impossibility to ascertain; however, we may safely conclude that light is one of those substances, but there appears to be a third substance something like magnetism, which gives polarity to electricity. Whatever it may be, it appears to be a latent gass combined with oxygen, and which is set at liberty by its decomposition, and we constantly observe in electricity the correspondent characteristics of the tripple compound, the effects of caloric, the velocity of light, and the power of magnetism. Hot and cold we say, and apply the epithets on various occasions, but these are mere local circumstances of comparative quantities: there is neither heat nor cold in equal temperature, lithe one body in contact, is charged with a greater quantity of caloric than the organs of sensation, or the other body, the consequent sensation or effect, we term heat, or the effect of heat to that body. But it should be remembered, that it is cold, or the effect of cold, to the other body; for the reciprocal effect is in a duplicate ratio. If we instance the effects of caloric in water, we shall be presented with an illimitable gradation of consequences. It may be so abundantly charged with caloric beyond its capacity, as to be thrown into the most violent agitations, and fly off in prodigious quantities, in the form of vapour, with astonishing powers. It may be charged in other variable degrees, so as to be what we term hot, warm, lukewarm, &c. It may be reduced to an equal temperature, and then it will be neither hot nor cold; it may be reduced in degrees on the other extreme, from the mean of equal temperature, and then it will be cold very cold, intensely cold, &c. and this diminution may be carried on to still greater degrees, insomuch that the particles of water will be distended, and reduced from their calorific menstruation, to actual cohesion, and become a solid body; which from the distension of its particles, will occupy a greater space than in the liquid form. Water thus reduced to a state of solidity we call ice; even in this state it is not to be supposed that the water is entirely divested of caloric, but that the quantity of caloric as a cause, is so variously reduced, as to produce the various effects. the ribbon appeared not at all changed. But when it was touched, after the re-admission of the air, it presently fell into ashes. The glass being applied to gunpowder so enclosed, it burnt grain by grain, but none of the grains kindled. Another time when the sun had less force, they would not burn, but only boiled and emitted smoke. This smoke failing on the board on which the powder lay, was of the colour of brimstone. The powder that remained, being put on coals, burned like saltpetre, inasmuch as the brimstone had exhaled. Tin and copper melted together weigh more than both bodies did before. Yea, orpin being mixed with salt of tartar, is heavier by a fifth part. To account for this, it has been commonly supposed. that fire adds to the weight of bodies. But fire has itself no weight at all: therefore it can give none. Pure fire, as Dr. Hillary observes, is a body without gravity, and has no more tendency to any one part of space, than to another. Is not then this alteration of weight rather owing to an alteration of the inward texture of the particles in the body calcined The lighter particles being removed by exhalation, do not those remaining approach nearer each other And must not then the weight, which is always as the solidity, increase accordingly * It seems strange, to talk of heating cold liquors with ice. Yet it may easily be done thus. Out of a basin of cold water, wherein several fragments of ice are swimming, take one or two, and plunge them into a wide-mouthed glass of strong oil of vitriol : this quickly melts the ice, and by two or three shakes, the liquor grows so hot, that frequently you cannot endure to hold the phial in your hand. It may seem as strange, that those parts of the earth which are nearest the sun should be intensely cold. Yet so it is. For the higher you ascend on mountains, the colder is the air. And the tops of the highest mountains in the most sultry countries are eternally clothed with snow. This is partly owning to the thinness of the air, and partly to the little surface of earth there to reflect the solar rays * It is now ascertained, that bodies in combustion, absorb oxygen, and that the increase of their weight is exactly equal to the quantity of oxygen decomposed. Metals by fusion are reduced to oxide, and they are restored to the metalic state by fusion with substances which have a more powerful attraction for the oxygen than the metals. Charcoal is of this description. In this case the oxides lose that proportion of weight which they had gained by the process of oxydation. Oil of vitriol, or as is more properly termed in the new nomenclature, sulphuric acid, has so powerful an attraction for water, and decomposes it with such facility, as to give out a prodigious quantity of heat, insomuch as to make the water boil furiously if mixed in the due proportions, which is about 1 to 3. This is a fact, which shows that heat does not travel to us from the sun. Caloric is unquestionably a constituent elementary part of our globe, and is attached to it, and does not travel far into the atmosphere; it is an elementary substance Very different degrees of heat, obtain in the same latitude, on the different sides of the South American continent: which shows that the temperature of a place depends much more upon other circumstances, than upon its distance from the pole, or nearness to the equinoctial. Thus though the coast of Brazil is extremely sultry, yet the coast of the South seas, in the same latitude, is quite temperate, and in ranging along it, one does not meet with so warm weather, as is frequent in a summer’s day in England : which is the more extraordinary, as there never falls any rain to refresh and cool the air. On the coast of Peru, even under the line, every thing contributes to make the day agreeable. In other countries, the scorching sun in summer, makes the day unfit either for labour or amusement: and the rains are no less troublesome, in the cooler parts of the year. But in this delightful climate the sun rarely appears; for there is constantly a gray, cheerful sky, just sufficient to screen the sun, without obscuring the air. Thus all parts of the day are proper for labour, while the coolness produced elsewhere by rains, is here brought about by fresh breezes from the cooler regions. This is chiefly owing to the Andes, which running not far from, and nearly parallel with the shore, and rising immensely higher than any other mountains in America, form on their sides a prodigious tract of land, where, according to their different heights, all kinds of climates may be found, at all seasons of the year. These mountains intercept great part of the eastern winds, which generally blow on the continent of America, coal that part of tile air which comes over their tops, and keep it cool by the snows, with which they are always covered. Thus by spreading the influence of their frozen crests, to the neighbouring coasts and seas, the cause the temperature and equability which constantly prevail there. But when they leave these mountains, they experience in a short time an entire change of climate, and in two or three days pass from the temperate air of Peru, to the sultry atmosphere of the West Indies. The sparks which appear on striking fire with a flint and steel, are discovered by the microscope, to be so many spherical balls of iron, detached by the blow from the mass. They are then red hot. After they cool, they are a sort of scoriae or dross. 2. Fire is generated chiefly, either by collecting the sunbeams by a glass., or by rubbing hard bodies against each other. Either way, the subtle matter is collected from all sides, and put into a rapid, circular which is put in motion by the force of attraction, and consequently it will be the most concentred in the atmosphere, where that force is greatest, and that is under the equator; but even here its degrees of concentration will depend on the degrees of elevation from the surface of the earth, for that may be so great as to penetrate the regions of intense cold. motion. This continues together, as long as it is supplied with inflammable substances. The particles of these being divided by the fire, are scattered hither and thither, and the fire goes out unless fresh fuel be brought: as it does if air be wanting. For as that subtle matter is dissipated continually, it soon fails, unless recruited from the air. If water or dust be thrown upon fire, it is likewise quickly extinguished. For these interrupt that internal motion which is essential to it. That fuel cannot consume without air, is clearly proved by an easy experiment. Let a strong hollow cylinder of iron, be fitted with a firm screw at each end. Enclose in this a piece of charcoal: then screw up both ends, and place it in a strong fire. Let it stay there as long as you will. Open it when cool, and the charcoal is no way diminished.* It is plain from this, that the consumption of fuel depends upon the rarefaction and agitation of its parts by fresh air. And hence when we have the reason of the known method of extinguishing fires by smothering them. 3. The watery parts of the fuel being rarified by the heat, ascends in the form of smoke, carrying with it many of the lighter particles which, adhere as soot to the chimney. The grosser and more compact the contexture whereof the fire cannot wholly destroy, remain and constitute ashes, which are of consequence extremely porous, all that was combustible in it being consumed. To enlarge a little on this subject. Fire is a body, and a body in motion. It is in motion: for it expands the air, which can no otherwise be done, than by communicating motion to it. - And that it is a ‘body appears hence. Pure mercury enclosed in a phial, and kept in a gentle heat for a year, is reduced into a solid; and its weight is considerably increased, which can only spring from the accession of fire. Fire is the instrument of all the motion in the universe. Without it all bodies would ‘become immoveable. Men would harden into statues: and not only water, but air cohere into a firm, rigid mass. As it is in itself, it is termed ELEMENTARY FIRE: joined with other bodies, it is called CULINARY. The minute particles of this, joining with those of the pure fire, constitute what is termed FLAME. Pure fire, such as is collected by a burning-glass, yields no flame, smoke, or ashes. In itself it is imperceptible, but is discovered by its effects. The first of these is HEAT, which arises wholly from fire, and the mea * The coal in this situation could not consume, because it is deprived of oxygen, the air, which abounds with oxygen, being excluded, the coal must remain una]tered even in the most intense heat; but convey a stream of pure oxygen gass into the tube, and its consumption would be more rapid than by the common atmospheric air. Oxygen is a grand, constituent, elementary principle of lire, and no combustion could possibly take place without it. By all these expressions is evidently meant the basis of fire, flame, heat. smoke. &c. which, as already observed, is termed caloric. sure of heat is always as the measure of fire. The second is DILATATION in all solid, and RAREFACTION in all fluid bodies, So an iron rod, the, more it s heated, increases the more in all its dimensions; and by the same degrees that it cools, it contracts, till it shrinks to its first magnitude. So gold, when fused, takes up more space than it did before. And mercury ascends in a hollow tube over the fire, to above thirty times its former height. The same degree of heat rarefies fluids sooner, and in a greater degree, than it does solids; and the lighter the fluid, the more it is dilated. Thus air, the lightest of all fluids, expands the most, The third effect of fire is MOTION: for in dilating bodies, it must needs move their parts. All motion springs from it. Only take fire away,, and all nature would grow into one concrete, solid as gold, and, hard as diamond, Pure fire needs no air to sustain it. Put calx of tin into an exhausted receiver, and if you apply a burning-glass, the calx will be so vehemently dilated, as to break the receiver into a thousand pieces. All the effects of elementary fire may be increased. 1. By rubbing one body against another. And the more hard and solid the bodies are, the more heat is produced. So sponges rubbed together, acquire little or no heat: but two pieces of iron, an intense heat. 2. By mixing certain bodies together. So steel filings, mixed with oil of cloves or spirit of nitre, grow exceedingly hot; yea, burst into a violent flame. Yet it does not appear that any new fire is generated in any of these ways. Friction does not create fire, but only collect what was before dispersed. It is present every where, in all bodies, in all space, at all times, and that in equal quantities.5 Go where you will, to the highest mountain, or the deepest cavern, by one or other of these ways lire may be collected. Yea, there is no place in the world, where the attrition of two sticks will not make it sensible. But in what manner soever fire is collected, if the collecting cause cease, it disappears again, unless it be supplied with fuel, and then it * The element of lire does not appear to be uniformly diffused; though it has an invariable tendency to diffuse itself uniformly; but it appears to be diverted from this tendency, by its affinities to the variable capacity of matter. Caloric has been known to be concentred so abundantly in the air, as spontaneously to set on fire combustible bodies. We have instances on record, of the ripe harvest being set on fire by the excessive heat of the weather. In Africa and some parts of Asia, where certain winds blow, it concentres in streaks of liquid fire, and whatever animal breathes the ethereal flame it instantly dies. All the animals in the district give notice of its approach by cries of distress, and they stand with their noses to the earth to avoid the deadly blast. The inhabitants shut themselves up in their houses, and dare not venture abroad, until the flaming breeze has past. Hence it appears, that caloric is variously concentred, by various circumstances and is not uniformly diffused through nature. becomes culinary fire. By fuel we mean whatever receives and retains fire, and is consumed thereby. The only fuel in nature is oil or sulphur, and bodies are only fuel, as containing oil. Hence, 1. Alt vegetables,, not too moist or too dry, affords fuel, particularly those which contain much oil, as balsamic and resinous woods. 2. All vegetable and animal coals, being those parts which have exhaled their water and salt, and retained the oil alone inhering in the earth. 3. All bituminous earth. 4. All mineral sulphur, whether pure or joined with other things. 5. The fat and dung of animals: and, 6. Chemical oil and spirits. On the removal of air, this fire goes out. Yet it does not immediately bear the air, but repels it, and by that means forms a kind of vault, which by its weight, and the pressure of the incumbent air, confines the particles that would otherwise. escape, and applies them to the combustible matter. Hence the heavier the air, the fiercer the fire; which therefore is fiercest in still, cold weather. The fire in’ burning combustible matter, affords a shining fire or flame, or both and frequently too, smoke, soot and ashes. Shining fire seems to be elementary fire, so strongly attracted toward the particles of the fuel, as to whirl, divide, attenuate them, and thus render them volatile, and just fit to be expelled. Flame seems to be the most volatile part of the fuel, greatly rarefied and heated red hot. Soot is a sort of coal, consisting of a thick sulphur, and an attenuated oil, with earth, and salt. Smoke is the earthy and watery particles of the fuel, so rarefied as to break through into the atmosphere. Ashes are the earth and salt, which the fire leaves unchanged. Fire increases the weight of some bodies. Thus if antimony be placed under a burning-glass, the greatest part of it will seem to evaporate in fumes, and yet if it is weighed, it will be found to have gained in weight. But beside the solar, there is a subterraneous lire. The earth is only cold to the depth of forty or fifty feet. Then it begins to grow warmer; and at a great depth it is so hot as to destroy respiration.* Hence we learn that there is another source of fire, or as it were another sun in the bosom of the earth. Upon the application of fire to water, it boils: that is, the particles of fire, passing through the pores of the vessel, strike on the lowest particles of the water, impel them upwards, and render them lighter than before, both by inflating them into little vesicles, and by breaking and separating their spherules. There will of consequence be a constant flux of water, from the bottom of the vessel to the top. And hence we see, why the water is hot at the top, sooner than at the bottom. *This consequence is not uniform, for it is found, by experience, that there are as well as hot currents of air, and water, in the bowels of the earth; and that the absence of oxygen is the cause of the destruction of respiration. Farther, the air contained in the interstices of the water being dilated, and its spring increased by the heat, it ascends through the water into the air, carrying with it the contiguous particles of water. And by this means much of the water will be heaved up, and let fall alternately, as the air has no power to carry away into the atmosphere more than that small part that rises in the steam. 4. That this subtle matter is plentifully collected in the bowels of the earth, appears from burning mountains. It is observed, that there is always in the neighbourhood of these, plenty of sulphur or bitumen, the stench whereof spreads far and near, especially before any great eruption. This feeds the fire, which maybe kindled by various means, so as to continue for many centuries. AEtna and Vesuvius have burned for above two thousand years, and probably will till the end of time. 5. Mount Aetna is divided into three distinct regions, called La Regione Culta, the Fertile Region; La Regione Sylvosa, the Woody Region; and La Regione Deserta, the Barren Region. The three are as different, both in climate and productions, as the three zones of the earth: and perhaps with equal propriety might have been styled the torrid, the temperate, and the frigid zones. The first region surrounds the foot of the mountain, and constitutes the most fertile country in the world, on all sides of it, to the extent of about forteen or fifteen miles, where the woody region begins. It is composed almost entirely of lava, which, after a number of ages, is at last converted into the most fertile of all soils. Every eruption generally forms a new mountain. As the great crater of Aetna itself is raised to such an enormous height above the lower regions of the mountain, it is not possible that the internal lire raging for vent, even round the base, and no doubt vastly below it, should be carried to the height of twelve or thirteen thousand feet to the summit of Aetna. It has therefore generally happened, that after shaking the mountain and its neighbourhood for some time, it at last bursts open its side. At first it only sends forth a thick smoke and showers of ashes, that lay waste the adjacent country: these are soon followed by red hot stones, and rocks of a great size, thrown to an immense height in the air. The fall of these stones, together with the quantity of ashes discharged at the same time, at last form one of these spherical and conical mountains. Sometimes this process is finished in the course of a few days: sometimes it lasts for months, which was the case in the eruption in 1669. In that case the mountains formed are of a great size; some of them are not less than seven or eight miles round, and upwards of one thousand feet in perpendicular height; others are not more than two or three miles round, and three or four hundred feet high. After the new mountain is formed, the lava generally bursts out from its lower side; and bearing away every thing before it, is for the most part terminated by the sea. This is the common progress of an eruption! however, it sometimes happens, though rarely, that the lava bursts at once from the side of the mountain, without all these attending circumstances: and this is commonly the case with the eruption of Vesuvius, where the elevation being so much smaller, the melted matter is generally carried up into the crater of the mountain, which then discharges showers of stones and ashes from the mouth of the volcano, without forming any new mountain, but only adding considerably to the height of the old one; till at last the lava, rising near the summit, bursts the side of the crater, and the eruption is discharged. This has been the case with two eruptions lately; but Aetna is upon a much larger scale, and one crater is not enough to give vent to such oceans of liquid ‘fire. A Sicilian gentleman saw, in an eruption of that mountain, large rocks of fire discharged to the height of some thousand feet, with a noise more terrible, than that of thunder. He measured, from the time ‘of their greatest elevation till they reached the ground, and found they took twenty-one seconds to descend, with (the spaces being as the squares of the times) amounted to upwards of seven thousand feet. After contemplating these objects for some time, says a late traveller, we set off, and soon after arrived at the foot of the great crater of Aetna. This is of an exact conical figure, and rises equally on all sides. It is composed solely of ashes, and other burnt materials, discharged from the mouth of the volcano, which is in its centre. This conical mountain is of a very large size; its circumference cannot be less than ten miles. Here we took a second rest, as the greatest part of our fatigue still remained. The mercury had fallen to 20. 4 1/2 We found this mountain excessively steep; and although it had appeared black, yet it was likewise covered with snow; but the surface, luckily for us, was spread over with a pretty thick layer of ashes, thrown from the crater. Had it not been for this, we never should have been able to come to the top. The circumference of this zone, or great circle on AEtna, is not less ‘than seventy or eighty miles. It is every where succeeded by the vineyards, orchards and corn fields, that compose the Regions Cults, or the Fertile Region. The last zone is much broader than the others, and extends on all sides to the foot of the mountain. Its whole circumference is 183 miles. The present crater of this immense volcano is a circle of about three miles and a half in circumference. It goes shelving down on each side, and forms a regular hollow, like a vast amphitheatre. From many places of this space, issues volumes of sulphureous smoke, which being much heavier than the circumambient air, instead of rising in it, as smoke generally does, immediately on its getting out of the crater, rolls down the side of the mountain like a torrent, till coming to that part of the atmosphere of the same specific gravity with itself, it shoots off horizontally; and forms a large tract in the air, according to the direction of the wind: which, happily for us, carried it exactly to the side opposite to that where we were placed. The crater is so hot that it is very dangerous, if not impossible, to go down into it: besides the smoke is very incommodious, and in many places the surface is so soft,, there have been instances of people sinking down into it, and paying for their temerity with their lives. Near the centre of the crater is the great mouth of the volcano, that tremendous gulf so celebrated in all ages. We beheld it with awe, and with horror, and were not surprised that it had been considered as the place of the damned. When we reflect on the immensity if its depth, the vast cells and caverns whence so many lavas have issued; the boiling of the matter, the shaking of the mountain, the explosion of flaming rocks, we must allow that the liveliest imagination hardly ever formed an idea of hell more dreadful. Kircher pretends to have measured it, and to have found it four thousand French toises in height; which is more than any of the Andes are. The Italian mathematicians are still more absurd. Some of them make it eight miles, some six, and some four. Arnici, the last, and I believe the best who has made this attempt, reduces it to three miles two hundred and sixty-four paces; but even this must be exceedingly erroneous, and probably the perpendicular height of Aetna is little more than two miles. It is a curious consideration that this mountain should re-unite every beauty and every horror: and, in short, all the most opposite and dissimilar objects in nature. Here you observe a gulf, that formerly threw out torrents of fire, now covered with the most luxuriant vegetation; and from an object of horror becomes one of delight. Here you gather the most delicious fruits, rising from what was lately a black and barren rock. Here the ground is covered with every flower; and we wander over these beauties, and contemplate this wilderness of sweets without considering that hell and all its terrors are immediately under our feet, and that but few yards separate us from lakes of liquid fire and brimstone. But our astonishment still increases, on casting our eyes on the higher regions of the mountain. There you behold in perpetual union, the two elements that are at perpetual war; an immense gulf of fire, for ever existing in the midst of snows, which it has not power to melt; and immense fields of snow and ice for ever surrounding this gulf of lire, which they have not power to extinguish. The quantity of matter discharged from Aetna is supposed, upon a moderate computation, to exceed twenty times the original bulk of the mountain. The greatest part of Sicily seems covered with its eruptions. The inhabitants of Catanea have found, at the distance of several miles, streets and houses, sixty feet deep, overwhelmed by the lava or matter it has discharged: nay, the walls of these very houses have been built of materials evidently thrown up by the mountain. The inference is obvious: that the matter thus exploded cannot belong to the mountain itself: otherwise it would have been quickly consumed; it cannot be derived from moderate depths: since its amazing quantity evinces that all the places near the bottom, must have long since been exhausted: it must therefore be supplied from the deeper regions of the earth, the undiscovered tracts, where the Deity performs his wonders in solitude. An eruption of Mount Aetna, in 1669 was preceded, for eighteen days, with a dark, thick sky, thunder, lightning, and frequent tremblings of the earth. The place of eruption was twenty miles from the old mouth: the matter of it was a stream of melted minerals, boiling up and gushing out, as water does at the head of a great river. Having run thus for more than a stone’s cast, the extremeties began to crust, anti turn into porous stones, resembling, huge cakes of sea coal, full of a fierce fire. These came rolling over one another, and where any thing opposed, filled up the space and rolled over. But they bore down any common building, and burnt up all that was combustible. This inundation went on about a furlong a day, for nineteen or twenty days. It overwhelmed fourteen towns and villages. The noise of the eruption was heard sixty miles. On Sunday, March 9, 1755, about noon, Mount Aetna began to cast from its mouth a great quantity of flame and smoke, with a most horrible noise. At four o’clock the air became quite dark and covered with black clouds. At ‘six a shower of stones, each weighing about three ounces, began to fall all over the’ city of Mascali and its territories. This shower lasted till a quarter past seven; and was succeeded all night by a shower of black sand. On Monday morning at eight, there sprang from the bottom of the mountain a river of scalding hot water, which, in half a quarter of an hour, overflowed all the rugged land that is near the foot of the hill, and suddenly going off, left the whole a large plain of sand. The stones and sand which remain wherever this water reached, differ in nothing from the stones and sand of the sea, and have even the same saltness. After the water was gone there sprang from the same opening a small stream of fire, which continued for twenty. four hours. On Tuesday, about a mile below this opening, there arose another stream of fire, which being in breadth about four hundred feet, overflowed all the adjacent country. 6.On the 3d of December, 1754. a stream of liquid fire began to run down the side of Mount Vesuvius, from an opening on the east side. But it soon ceased running from this orifice, and burst out from a much larger one, about two hundred yards below it. Afterward it burst out from a third orifice, and having ran for some space with great fury, the surface then began to cool and incrust, as it ran over gently declining ground, till it came within about ten yards of the top of a steep declivity. Here the fire collected, as in a reservoir, to supply a cascade, which rushed down from thence in a channel of more than twenty feet wide, and about two hundred yards in length, with a fall of at least fifty feet. After this the stream was less rapid, but grew wider, and spread several miles from its source. It now presented a very different scene from what it afforded before. The cascade, says an eye witness, looks like melted gold, and tears off large bodies of old lava (so they term the incrustation) which float down the stream, till the intenseness of the heat lifts them from the bottom. But in the lower country, it divides into smaller streams, running with less rapidity: and yet with such violence, that it drives the strongest stone fences before it, and lighting the trees like torches, afford a most extraordinary, though dismal spectacle. On December 23, 1760, about two in the morning, a violent shock of an earthquake was felt near Mount Vesuvius. Some time after, some countrymen being at work, four or five miles from it, perceived the ground near them on a sudden heave and gape, like dough that is rising. At the same time they observed smoke issuing from the clefts. They immediately fled, till they thought they were out of danger And then looking back, saw the water of a cistern, near which they had been at work, spout out to a great height. This was succeeded by a large discharge of fiery matter from the mouth of the cistern, and from four other openings, attended with a dreadful noise and explosion of burning stones. On a sudden all the fiery streams united in one, flowed impetuously down the mountain, and gliding quick as lightning, presently covered all the adjacent lands. Meantime the whole mountain shook greatly, and a fixed pillar of smoke issued out of the main aperture, which rising to a certain height, then dissolved into ashes, and fell like rain all over the mountain. At the same time an immense quantity of burning stones was thrown out. The fiery stream continues running down the mountain, the whole night between the 23d and 24th. Houses, gardens, and every thing in its way, were consumed. And ashes were still thrown out, which lay deep on the ground for several miles about, and reached as far as the sea coast. On the 25th, also, there was an eruption of liquid lire, with a shower of stones and a huge noise. In several parts this stream was fifty spans deep. The mountain meantime continued to roar, and thick ashes fell like rain over the whole country. On the 26th, both the mountain itself and the hills lately produced, sent forth stones and ashes, the bellowings were still heard, but with intermissions : and out of the five apertures, two only continued to emit stones, ashes, and fire. On the 27th, only one fiery stream remained, and that began to cool, and to lose its brightness, appearing more dusky, like burning coals ready to go. out. On the 28th, the stream ran much slower, and no more burning stones were cast out. The height of the chief hill raised thereby was about two hundred spans; and its circumference about two hundred paces, The motion of the lava in front was very slow; it gained ground only on the sides. The hill where the last aperture was, burst, and fire issued from all the fissures. On the 29th, the lava having ceased, appeared to have reached about one mile in breadth, and four miles in length The new raised bills were now quiet; but the top of Vesivius still cast out ashes and smoke, and some showers of stones. About eight at night the bill was overturned with a great crack, and on the 30th emitted nothing. But from the mouth of Vesuvius, clouds and ashes came in great abundance. From the whole it appears, that the inflammatory contents take fire at a great depth in the cavern, and it is highly probable, it is the sea water which feeds this subterraneous fire, by means of some communications which the volcano has with the Mediterranean. Although the fiery eruptions of Mount Vesuvius strike the neighbourhood with horror; yet as even noxious things bring some advantage with them, so this mountain, by the sulphureous and nitrous particles with which it manures the ground, and the heat of its subterraneous passages, much contributes to its common fertility. And wherever these inflammable substances abound, it is better they should have avent than not. So experience shows, that their country has had fewer earthquakes, and those less fatal in their effects, since the eruption of the subterraneous matter, through the mouth of Vesuvius. And the inhabitants are not much alarmed at seeing the usual vernal explosions. ‘ The distance from Naples to the foot of Vesuvius, is five Italian miles, from whence to the top is near three miles further. It properly consists of two hills, though only one of them emits fire and smoke. The valley between them is about a mile long, and extremely fertile. The burning summit, which is the lowest of the two, is eleven hundred fathom above the surface of the sea. From Resina, the ascent grows steeper, and many stones are scattered about as memorials of its former devastations. It is astonishing to think of the force, by which such bulks of four or five hundred weight have been thrown several miles from the hill. This being steep, and covered with black ashes, the ascent is very difficult. From the mouth frequently issues a flood of lava, or composition of sulphur, metals, and minerals. This ejected matter lies still, one layer above another, with large stones projecting above the surface, which in their course along the fiery river, were stopped by their inequalities, and fixed in the melted matter, gradually hardened. These streams are not thrown up from the mountain,, like the stones, but pour down as from an inclined vessel, proceeding, it seems, from the whole cavity, which is then full of melted substances. About half way up the mountain, says Mr. Keysber, we met with stones of above a hundred weight, glowing hot, which when broken had exactly the appearance of red hot iron. As we went on, we beard a most horrid noise, resembling the discharge of a whole battery of cannon, and under our feet we perceived a rumbling, like the boiling of a large caldron. At last we reached the place where the largest volcano was formerly mated. But it is now not only choaked up, but covered with a round pile of ashes and lava. Thirty years since there was a plain about three thousand yards to cross, before you came to the skirts of this new mountain. But it is now so enlarged, that in most places, the plain is but about thirty yards broad. Probably in a few years it will be quite filled up, and the two mountains joined in one. Here the increase of heat was very sensible, especially at every explosion, when the ashes flew so strongly in our faces, that we were obliged to cover our eyes. The ground also was so hot under our feet that it burnt the soles of our shoes. Every eruption was attended with a whizzing noise, like that of many rockets thrown up at once. The clouds of smoke, and the multitude of stones thrown into the air, totally obscured the sky. Most of the stones, especially if large, fell again into the abyss from which they were projected. Great quantities however fell on the sides of the mountain, and rolled down with a hideous noise. Even when all is still, the bottom of the cavity is seldom seen, by reason of the smoke. When it is, it is subject to great variation. Sometimes it is of a prodigious depth: at other times hardly more than a hundred feet, according to the rising or falling of the melted matter, since the last eruption, by the hardening of which this bottom is formed. Since the birth of Christ, there are recorded upwards of twenty memorable eruptions of Vesuvius. One of the most violent was, that which happened in the reign of Titus Vespasian, and destroyed the cities Herculaneum, Stabice and Pompeii, which then stood near Naples. During that eruption the ashes were driven as far as Africa, Syria and Egypt, and even at Rome, the sun was darkened by them. These cities were partly swallowed up, partly buried in the burning lava, so that not the least remains of them were to be seen. But within a few years many things have been dug out of Hercularieum, near Portici, the king of Naples’ palace. Among these are many paintings done in stucco, in water colours in fresco. They have been taken from the walls of an amphitheatre, a temple, and several houses, and are in great variety, some perfectly well preserved. Four capital pieces are so extremely well executed that Don Francesco de la Vega, a painter, whom the king of Naples sent for from Rome, to take draughts of these paintings, said, "if Raphael were alive, he would be glad to study these drawings, and perhaps take lessons from them.” Nothing can be more just and correct. The muscles are exactly and softly drawn, every one in its own place, without any of that preternatural swelling seen in the works of some of the best Italitan masters. And it is surprising to see how fresh the colours are, considering they have been under the ground above sixteen hundred and fifty years. The matter thrown out at Vesuvius, shows whence its fiery eruptions arise. For, pour water on sulphur, mixed with filings of iron, and it soon breaks out into a dame. That abundance of sulphur and iron is contained in Vesuvius, appears not only from what is ejected, but also from the mineral water, issuing from the foot of the mountain. The neighbouring sea both supplies moisture to these inflammable substances, as also salt and bitumen. That Vesuvius has a communication with the sea, experience shows, the waters being surprisingly absorbed, in 1681, before the eruption, so that several vessels before afloat were left dry. Likewise. in 1698, the sea suddenly ebbed twelve paces and the mountain discharged a torrent of bituminious matter. When the discharge ceased, and the sea returned to its former height, great quantities of shells, half burnt, and emitting a sulphurous smell, were found along the shore In another violent eruption, not only shells, but sea weeds, and hot sea water were ejected. This volcano, however, affords several fresh springs, some of which are conveyed to Naples, by a beautiful aqueduct. These waters have not the least heat in them. Nay, a cold wind is felt to blow from several fissures and chasms of the mountain. The whole country for twenty miles or more round Naples, is the product of subterraneous fires. Probably the sea reached the mountains that lie behind Capua and Caserta. These tires seem to have worked under the bottom of the sea, as moles in a field, throwing up here and there a hillock. And the matter thrown out of some of these hillocks formed into settled volcanos, tilling up the space between them, has composed this part of the continent, and many of the islands adjoining. Were the matter carefully examined, it would be found, (just contrary to the common opinion) that most mountains which are or have been volcanos, owe their existence to subterraneous fire.* * If we seriously consider the structure of our globe, and reflect on the capacities of the materials of which it is composed, we shall be very apt to discover, that it is not more wonderful that there should be seas, and torrents of liquid fire, than that there should be oceans of water, and tracts of land; that it is not more wonderful, that there should be streams of liquid fire in the bowels of the earth, than that there should be streams of liquid fire in the regions of the air. We should find equal cause of admiration in contemplating the process of the combustion of It cannot be denied that Herculaneum and Pompeii once stood above the ground, though now the latter is buryed ten or twelve feet deep; the former in no part less than seventy, in some parts a hun fuel; in the inflammation of a stream of hydrogen gass; in the lava of the skies that streams in fiery meteors to the earth; or in the torrents of liquid fire that belch forth from the yawning mouth of a volcano. The globe of our earth consists of certain proportions of elementary matter, and proportion of the proper constituent elements, forms atmospheric air; a due pro portion of other elements form water, a due proportion of others fire; and certain ratios of various elements, constitue the various earths, &c. and these elements are so proportioned, that they shall be a check upon each other, so that one shall not exceed its proper limits of action. And it is so ordained by the wisdom of the Creator, that those portions of compound matter, which are indispensable, and essential to the production, support, and nourishment of life, more especially abound at the surface of the earth: and those which are inimical, and destructive, are removed to remoter regions. Thus air, earth, and water are more immediately essential, and conducive to the existence of animals, arid vegetables; therefore their situations are assigned to reciprocal convenience. Fire is a: secondary convenience to man, its elements therefore are made to consist in a dormant state, at his disposal, and discretion. But the great laboratories of spontaneous fire are removed to a distance from his habitation; locked up in the deep caverns of the earth, or suspended aloft in the regions of the air, and bound in chains of adamant, that they should not disturb the intermediate habitable region. But sometimes the accumulations of their volumes are so great, as to burst the bolts of their imprisonment, and shoot in spouting columns to the skies, or descend in flaming balls to the earth. The elements of fire may be more abundantly concentred in one district of the globe than another, those districts therefore will be more subject to its concomitant phenomena. This appears to be the case about the mid-districts of the Mediterranean, in the neighbourhood of Aetna, and Vesuvius, its two awful and memorable mouths; about the coast of Japan; in the districts of the Andes and Cordileres, of South America; about the sold regions of Iceland; and in the sultry region of Gadaloupe, &c. where fiery eruptions, and earthquakes more frequently occur. But no part of the globe is exempt from its destructive inroads, and sometimes it bursts forth in new district,, without any previous warning, laying waste the habitations of man, involving vegetables and animals in promiscuous ruins; alternately heaping up, and levelling huge mountains; presenting new boundaries to the ocean, converting beautiful countries into inhospitable worlds; raising up new islands in the seas; reducing old ones to their bottom; breaking up old continents; and in short, giving a new aspect to nature, like a new creation burying in one fatal moment whole ages of human industry. Such are the dreadful consequences of these tremendous cataracts of fire: but the directions of such mighty revolutions are in the hands of that God who created all worlds, and who alone can controul the raging elements. The number of volcanos is very great: there are reported considerably more than one hundred. In Eurone there ire, Aetna, Vesuvius, Hecle, Strornboli, Vulcano; in Asia, one in Mount Tarus, three in Kamtschat Ira, five in Japan, two in the Philippines, and a great number more scattered through the islands in the Sooth sea; in Africa, one in Fez, one in the island of Bourbon, one in Fuego, one of the Cape de Verd Islands; and in America, several in the Andes, Morno Garou in St. Vincent, two in Gaudaloupe, in the West Indies, and two discovered by Capt. Cook on the West Coast of North America. These are those of most note. dred and twelve. As these were buryed by an eruption of Vesuvius, A. D. 79, it must, be allowed, that whatever matter lies between them and the surface of the earth over them, must have been produced since this time. Pompeii, being farther off, felt the effects of a single eruption only. It is covered with white pumice stones, mixed with fragments of lava and burnt matter. Over this there is a stratum of good mould, about two feet thick. The shower of pumice stones covered also the town Stabiae, with a tract of country thirty miles in circumference. It is observable, the pavement of the streets of Pompeii is of lava: nay under the foundation of the town, there is a deep stratum of lava and burnt matter: hence it is clear, there have been eruptions before that of 79, the first which is recorded in history. The matter which covers Herculaneum is not the produce of one eruption only. From the strata of mould intermixed, it appears, that five or six eruptions have taken their course over that which lies immediately above the town, with which tile theatre, and most of the houses tire filled. This is not vitrified lava, but a sort of soft stone, composed of pumice, ashes, and burnt matter, It is of the same nature with what the Italians call tufa, and is in general use for building, and is met with only in those countries that have been subject to subterraneous fires. As water frequently attends eruptions of fire, doubtless the first matter that issued from Vesuvius, and covered Herculaneum, was in a state of liquid mud. Braccini descended into the crater (or hollow on the top) of Vesuvius, a, little before the eruption in 1631. He observes, it was then five miles in circumference, and about 1000 paces deep. Its sides were covered with brush-wood, and at the bottom there was a plain on which cattle grazed, and in the midst of this plain was a narrow passage, through which by a winding path he descended among rocks and stones into a more spacious plain, covered with ashes. In this were three little pools, one of hot water, bitter and corrosive beyond measure; another of water saltier than that of the sea ; the third hot, but tasteless. The great increase of the cone of Vesuvius, from that time to this, naturally induces one to think, that the whole cone was raised in like manner, as was also that part of it now called Somma. It seems, that this was what the ancients termed Vesuvius, and that the conical mountain, at present called by that name, lies been raised by the succeeding eruptions. From repeated observations, it appears, that all the soil in the neighbourhood of Vesuvius, is composed of different strata of erupted matter, to a great depth below the level of the sea. And undoubtedly this volcano took its rise from the bottom of the sea. The soil from Capreae to Naples is of the same sort. And that on which Naples stands, has been evidently produced by explosions, some of them on the very spot whereon the city is built. All the high grounds round it, with the islands of Prochyta and Ischia, appear likewise to have been raised in the same manner. Such wonderful operations of nature, are certainly intended for some great purpose. They are not confined to one country; volcanos exist in the four quarters of the globe. We see the fertility of the soil occasioned thereby, in what was thence called Campania Felix. The same is evident in Sicily, justly esteemed one of the most fertile spots in the world. May not subterraneous fire be considered as the great plough (if we may be allowed the expression) which nature makes use of to turn up the bowels of the earth, and afford us fresh fields to work upon, when the former are exhausted Perhaps, likewise, many precious minerals might have remained unknown to us, had it not been for these operations of nature. There is great reason to believe that the whole island of Madeira was at some remote period thrown up by the explosion of subterraneous lire, as every stone, whether whole or in fragments, that is seen upon it, appears to have been burnt; and even the sand itself to be nothing more than ashes. And it is certain, that part of the country near the sea is a very exact specimen of the rest. 7. Near Puzzuolo lies Monte Secco, which is Vesuvius in miniature. Its summit, formerly a cone, is now sunk into a concave oval, whose shortest diameter is about one thousand feet. the longest, one thousand two hundred and forty-six. It is generally known by the name of Solfatara. Though Vesuvius is twelve miles distant, yet they have a communication with each other. Hence the subterraneous fire is quiet at Solfatara, when it has a vent at Vesuvius : whereas the heat at the former increases, when the latter is at rest. On this mountain are many cracks emitting smoke; the heat issuing from them is sometimes insupportable. Hold a piece of iron over one of these cracks, and a sweetish fluid will drop from it: but a piece of paper, instead of being moistened, grows quite dry and still. The stones near these cracks are in continual motion ; and small stones dropped into them are ejected to the height of twelve feet, like the ponderous masses from Vesuvius. In some places the sand, by the force of the vapours, springs up and down like the sparkling of cider. Out of Solfatara they extract besides sulphur, blue vitriol, and the best kind of alum. The large leaden kettles used therein, are not heated by a culinary fire, but by the natural heat, issuing through holes in the ground, over which the vessels are placed, 8.Not far from Puzzuolo is Monte Nuovo, which rose suddenly in the night, between the 19th and 20th of September, 1636. During a dreadful earthquake, that laid the whole neighbourhood in ‘ruins, the subterraneous fire opening a large chasm in the ground, threw out such quantities of stones, ashes, bitumen and sand, as in twenty-four hours formed this mountain. Its perpendicular height is 400 rods, its circuit three miles. The edge of the first aperture is still visible, a mile in circuit, though it is now entirely filled up. 9.An event similar to this occurred more lately. After a shock of the earth, there was seen from Santorini, (an island in the Archipelago, on the coast of Natolia) on the 23d of May, 1707, as it were a floating rock. Some were so bold, as to go down upon it, even while it was rising under their feet. The earth of it was very light, and contained a small quantity of potter’s clay. It increased daily, till it was half a mile in circumference, and twenty or twentyfive feet high. ,At this time a great ridge of rocks, dark and black, rose out of the sea, and joined to the new island. Then there issued out of it a thick smoke, with a noise like constant thundering, or a discharge of many cannon at once. The sea water continually bubbled up; and in a short time the new land presented nothing to view for whole nights, but a great number of stoves, which cast forth flames, with showers of ashes, and innumerable small stones, red hot. Rocks were also darted out of these burning furnaces, which mounted up like bombs. This continued till November. There is likewise an island among the Azores, which had the game originial. On the night between the 7th and 8th of December, 1720 there was felt a shock of an earthquake at Tercera: and, presently after an island rose, from the midst of boiling hot water. it was nearly round, and high enough to be seen seven or eight leagues off. But after a little while it sunk, till it became level with the water. 10. On June 4th, 1693, the mountain on the island Torca, in the East Indies, began about daybreak to cast out more fire than usual, which continued five or six days., till at last it poured forth, not only a prodigious name, but likewise such a black and sulphurous vapour, that the inhabitants of Hislo (a village in the western part of the island, and nearest to the opening) were wholly covered by it. Quickly followed a stream of burning brimstone, which consumed many that could not escape. Afterwards the inhabitants perceived a great part of the mountain was sunk down. Another part sunk three or four days after, and so from time to time, till the burning lake covered near half the island. Wherefore they went on board their boats : from whence they perceived huge. pieces of the mountain fill into the fiery lake, with a prodigious noise, as if a whole battery of cannon was discharged. The inhabitants of another town on the east side of the island, not thinking themselves in so great danger, remained a month longer. But the fiery lake approaching nearer and nearer, so that there was no doubt but it would swallow up the whole island, they too fled for their lives, and arrived at Amboyna, July the 18th, 1693 . In the mountains of Ternata, a terrible noise is continually heard. The fire frequently casts out stones, and lies exceeding deep. Probably the burning mountains in the Molucca islands are consumed beneath by the same fire. Manilla is one of the largest of the Phillippine islands. The city is much larger than Oxford, is an university, and is inhabited only by Spaniards. The houses are large, and built very strong. The lower walls are stone, and of a prodigious thickness. All above is wood, and every piece of timber has a connexion with the others, and all are joined together, that the earthquakes, which are very frequent, may not throw them down. In 1750, they had an earthquake with almost continual tremblings for three months., Then followed an eruption in a small island, surrounded by a large lake, which is unfathomable. The third day after the eruption began, there arose in the lake four more small islands, all burning. About a mile from one of these, there is a fire rising continually of the water, in a part where there is no ground for above a hundred fathoms. 11. A particular account of a journey to Mount Hecla, is given by a late author. We travelled, says he, two days in rugged and unfrequented roads. Then we came within six miles of the mountain, and perceived the ground strewed with ashes and pumice stone, over which we passed to the foot of it. The weather being serene and calm, and no flames issuing out of the volcano, we resolved to get to the top; till being informed by our guides, that if we went any further we should be in danger of falling into pits, where we might be suffocated by the fumes rising Out of the earth, all my company declined it. I told them, if they would stay for me, I would go alone. They promised they would. So I alighted and prepared to go up, when one of them offered to go up with me. Having given our horses to our guides, who stayed with the rest of our company, we ventured forward, resolving to reach the top, and in a short time saw a large flight of crows and vultures, that had their nests in the top of the mountain. Having ascended about half a league, we felt the ground shake under us, and heard a terrible noise in the bowels of the earth, just as if it were going to burst open. At the same time there appeared on all sides chinks, out of which issued bluish flames, with a strong suffocating smell. This made us turn back, for fear of’ being burnt to ashes. But we had scarce proceeded thirty yards back, before a black cloud of smoke ascended out of the mountain, obscured the light of the sun, and covered us so thick, that we could not see. each ether. Our fears increased every step we took: for behind us name flames of fire, with showers of ashes and pumice stones, which fell’ as thick as hail. This dreadful storm was attended with horrible noises, and we expected every moment, that earth would open and swallow us up. This added wings to our flight, so that in a quarter of an hour we got to the bottom of the mountain. There are volcanos likewise in many of the American islands: and a very eminent one in Gaudaloupe. The summit of this constantly emits smoke, and sometimes flames. It rises very high, in the form of a cone, above the chain of mountains that occupy the centre of the island. Near ‘the foot of it there are springs, the water of which are so hot as to boil eggs in three minutes. The neighbouring ground smokes, and is full of brown earth like the dross of iron. But he chief place where the smoke issues out, is higher up at the foot of a steep bank, about fifty yards in breadth. Here no grass is to be seen; ‘nothing but sulphur and calcined earth. The ground is full of deep cracks, which emit much smoke, and where you may hear the sulphur boil. But the stench of it is intolerable. The ground is loose,’ so that you may thrust a cane up to the head. And when you draw it up, it will be as hot as if you had plunged it into slacking lime. On the plain top of the hill is another funnel, that opened some years since, and emits nothing but smoke. Here are abundance of large and deep chinks, which doubtless burned in former times. In the middle of this plain is a very deep abyss. It is said there was Once, a great earthquake in the island, and that the Brimstone Hill (so they call it)’ then took tire. It was probably then this abyss was opened. It is between two crags that rise above the mountain, and on the north side answers to the great cleft, which goes down above a thousand feet perpendicular, is more than twenty feet broad, and penetrates above a hundred paces in the flat. So that in this place the mountain is fairly split, from the top down to the basis of the cone. On this plain you may see the clouds gather below, and hear the thunder rumble under your feet. The great cavern is under the cleft, and was doubtless formed by the same earthquake that split the mountain in two parts nearly equal. The parting goes north and south. To the north is the cleft and cavern, in the middle the abyss. and to the south the burning gulph, The cavern is about twenty-five feet wide, as much in height, and about sixty paces deep. Within this is a second cave, about sixty feet in length, as much in breadth, and forty in height. Here the heat is moderate: but there is a third cave within this, where it is so hot, that a torch will give no light therein, and a man can scarce fetch breath. Yet on the left is a great. hollow, which is sufficiently cool. And the space of one fathom makes the difference. It seems strange, that in the same cave, three hundred feet under ground it should be so hot on one side, and so cool on the other. Perhaps the cool side has some vent into the great cleft, and receives fresh air thereby. ‘ 13. Another surprising eminence, which may be ranked among burning mountains, is the Peak of Teneriffe. On the summit of it is a hollow, twelve or fourteen feet deep: the sides sloping down to the bottom, form a cavity like a truncated cone, with its base uppermost. This cavity is nearly circular, about forty fathoms across. The ground is very hot, and from nearly twenty vents, issues a smoke of a strong sulphurous smell. The whole soil seems powered with brimstone, which forms a beautifully coloured surface. Almost all the stones thereabouts are of a greenish colour, sparkling with yellow. like gold. On the middle of one of the rocks is. a hole, about two inches in diamater. Hence proceeds a noise like that of a great body’ of liquors boiling very strongly. And so hot a steam comes from it, as will burn the hand, even at a quarter of a yard’s distance. A small part of the sugar-loaf is white like lime; another small part is covered with salt. But the far greatest part is covered with snow, almost throughout the year. The accounts given of its height are exceeding various. But a gentleman some years ago, who measured it exactly, found a perpendicular height to be two thousand five hundred and sixty-six fathoms. 14. When it happens that any inflammable substance takes fire in the caverns of the earth, the air contained therein is rarefied and exploded with an immense force. Hereby not only the arch which covers it, but the whole body of incumbent earth is shaken. And this is one species of earthquakes. In this case, the deeper the cavern is, and the larger the quantity of matter which takes tire, the more extensive and the more violent the earthquake. If the cavern is near the surface of the earth, the tire often issues out of it: and the lower parts being eaten away, the ground sinks in, and swallows up houses or whole cities. But, to consider this point a little more minutely. As some earthquakes are owing to tire, so are some to air, others to water, and others to earth itself. 1. The earth itself may be the occasion of its own shaking, when the root or basis of some large mass being worn away, the mass sinks in by its own weight, and causes a concussion of all the neighbouring parts. 2. Subterraneous waters wash way the foundations of hills, and eat far under the earth. By this means many earthquakes have been occasioned, and whole cities swallowed up. This was undoubtedly the cause of the great earthquake at Port Royal, and of that which swallowed up Lima. 3. Air pent up in the bowels of the earth, if it be at any time rarefied and expanded will struggle for vent with incredible force, and thereby and tear the earth. 4. But the usual cause of the most violent earthquakes, is sulphur, or some other inflammable matter taking fire in the cavities of the earth, and bursting through whatever There are scarce any countries that are much subject to earthquakes, which have not some burning mountain. And whenever any earthquake happens, this is constantly in flames. Indeed were it nut that these vents thus disgorge the fire, it would make far greater havoc than it does ; probably it would make the whole country for a vast space round quite uninhabitable. Yea, so beneficial are these, that we do not want instances of countries frequently annoyed by earthquakes, winch, upon the breaking out of a volcano, bare been wholly delivered them. Perhaps what causes most earthquakes of this kind, is the pyrites, or iron stone, which will take fire of itself. The earth, we know, in cavities, which are at certain times full of inflammable vapours. This the damps in mines show, which being fired, do every thing as in an earthquake, only in a less degree. And the pyrites only, of all known minerals, yields this inflammable vapour. Nor is any mineral or ore, however sulphurous, but what is more or less mixed with the pyrites. But probably the pyrites of the burning mountains, is more sulphurous than ours. It is likewise in far greater quantities in all the countries round the Mediterranean than in England: a plain reason why earthquakes are so much more frequent and more violent there. All artificial earthquake may be made thus: add twenty pounds of twenty of iron filings; mix and temper these with water, so as to form a mass of the consistence of a firm paste bury this three or four feet under ground. In six or seven hours time, the earth will bean to tremble, crack and smoke, and fire and flame will burst through. So that there only wants a sufficient quantity of this matter to produce a true Aetna. lf it were supposed to burst out under the ads, it might occasion a new island. To explain this point a little farther. This globe of earth is bored through with infinite cavities, which branching out like the veins, arteries and nerves, in our bodies, pass under the very bottom of the some of them serve to convey water, others a more unctuous substance, others an ingenious matter, that gives motion to the whole frame. Thus the exterior sea communicates with the inmost abyss, and passes to the roots of the hills and mountains. Mean time a constant air or wind, forces the water into the dark caverns, and receives and keeps alive a perpetual fire. Have we not indubitable examples of these things Does not the vast river Wolga, pour such a quantity of water into the Caspian within the space of one year, as would be sufficient, were there not some invisible outlet, to cover the whole earth. This invisible outlet is a huge cavern that passes under Mount Caucasus into the Euxine Sea. Hereby the waters of the one sea, discharge themselves into the other. And the whole kingdoms of Georgia and Mengrelia, are as it were •a bridge over those subterraneous waters. When the Caspian Sea has been, on occasion of winds, too much emptied into the Euxine, it is. replenished from the Persian Gulf, which is a kind of reservoir for it. And the subterraneous communication between the Red Sea and the Mediterranean, is now out of all dispute. And how many instances of this have we in rivers So late geographers assure us, that the river Niger in Africa is derived from the river Nile, under the mighty chain of mountains of Nubia; on the western side of which mountains, it takes the name of Niger, and continues its course into the Atlantic ocean. So the vast and deep cave in Mount Taurus, receives the Tigris, and gives it a passage to the other side. The same river afterward hides itself under the ground, for near twelve miles, and then breaking out again, disembodies into the Euphrates, near Babylon. To come nearer home ; the Guardiana, that runs between Spain and Portugal, runs thirty-two miles under ground. Yea, in our own country, the Mole in Surry, falls into the ground near Boxhill, and rises again at a considerable distance. Hence we may safely collect, that the earth is filled with subterraneous aqueducts and caverns, full of air and vapour, and copious exhalations from aal sorts of minerals, as well as water. Besides these cavities, there are mountains whose bowels are in a continual flame. And their belching out ashes, smoke, broken rocks and minerals, argues vast vacuities, and huge magazines of combustible matter which are lodged therein. In the chain of mountains called the Andes in America, there are no less than fifteen volcanos, ‘by whose burnings, caverns as big as whole kingdoms are made, and receive the cataracts of mighty rivers. And not only here, but over all the earth there are so many channels, clefts, and caverns, that we do not know when or where we stand upon good ground. Indeed it might amaze men of a stout heart, could they see into the world beneath their feet, view the dark recesses of nature, and observe the strongest buildings stand upon art immense vault, at the bottom of which runs an unfathomable sea, and whose upper hollows are filled with stagnating air, and the expirations of sulphurous and bituminous matter. Therefore, as there are no large tracts of land without volcanos and sulphurous caverns; from which branching into smaller pipes, the subterraneous heat is conveyed throughout the earth: so no country promise itself an entire immunity from earthquakes: even were there no other cause of these dreadful events, but subterraneous. Especially, when it is considered, that the earth is in one part impregnated with sulphur, in others with nitre, alum, vitriol, mercury, bitumen, ochre, and chalks. For if an artificial powder, made only of nitre, sulphur, and charcoal, has so wonderful affects, what force must that combustible matter have, which arises from sulphur, nitre, salammoniac, bitumen, gold, copper, iron, arsenic, mercury, and other metallic and mineral spirits, with which the womb of the earth abounds’, when the subterraneous fires break through into the hollow vaults, where these are reposited by the Cod of nature Then, according to the copiousness of these combustibles, and the more or less firmness of the superincumbent earth, these fires cause tremblings and concussions, or violent eruptions : and perhaps open wide and. deep gulfs wherein whole cities, yea, mountains are swallowed up. *Many ingenious hypotheses have been framed, and alternately advocated and rejected respecting the cause of earthquakes. Anaxagoras ascribed it to the bursting of subterraneous clouds. which shook the vaults which confined them. Some have ascribed it to vacuums occasioned by the instantaneous decomposition of volumes of subterraneous gasses; others, to the rarefied steam of aqueous matter, heated by contiguous fires: while others have attributed it, with more apparent plausibility, to inflammable exhalations. This hypothesis has been adopted by some of the more modem and most celebrated philosophers, among whom we find recorded the names of Gassendus, Kercher, Schottos, Varenius Des Cartes, Du Hamel, Honorius, Fabri, &c. the last of whom, indeed, sup. posed that water prodigiously rarefied by heat, might sometimes occasion earth quakes: the others supposed there were many cavities within the earth, communicating and charged with different vapours, originating from their various contents; as water, nitre, bitumen, sulphur, &c. The latter doctrine appeared to be confirmed by various experiments, such as mixtures of iron filings and brimstone, and gunpowder, confined in pits, &c. But these inferences were from too superficial considerations. The authors and advocates of the doctrine did not take into the general review the incontestable fact, that these explosions merely had relation to the degrees of resistance of the superincumbent medium in which they occurred: they did not recollect at the time, that these explosions could not take place in vacuo, that they could not take place in a degree of rarefication equal to the power of expansion, and that the violence of the explosion, depended on the degree of resistance of the opposing medium; otherwise, the reflections would have led them on in a regular train, to develope more obvious causes. These several hypotheses were at length abandoned, to make room for another, of still more apparent plausibility, it was derived from a consideration of the progressive gradations of density, from the surface towards the centre of the earth, and according to the philosophical principles, which supposes the atmosphere to be about 45 miles in height, and that the density of the air increases, in proportion to the absolute height of the superincumbent column of fluid: whence it is shown, that the depth of 43,528 fathoms below the surface of the earth, the air is but One fourth lighter than mercury: and this depth being only a 74th part Many such instances occur in history. Pliny tells us, that in his own time, the mountain Cymbotus, with the town of Eurites, which stood on its side, were totally swallowed up. He records the like of the city of Tantelis in Magnesia, and after it, of the mountain Sopelus, both absorbed by a violent opening of the earth, so that no trace of either remained. Galanis and Garnatus, towns once famous in Phoenicia, are recorded to have met the same fate. Yea, the vast promontory, called Phelegium, in Ethiopia, after a violent earthquake in the night, was not to be seen in the morning, the earth having swallowed it up and turned over it. Some instances we have of later date. The mountain Picus, in one of the Moiuccas, was so high that it appeared at a vast distance, and served as a landmark to sailors. But during an earthquake in the isle, the mountain in an instant sunk into the bowels of the earth; and no token of it remained, but a vast lake of water. The like happened in the mountainous parts of China, in 1556: when a whole province, with all its towns, cities, and inhabitants, was absorbed in a moment; an immense lake of water remaining in its place, even to this day. In the year 1546, during the terrible earthquake in the kingdom of Chili, several whole mountains of the Andes, one after another, were of the semidiameter of the earth, it would follow, that the air in the vast sphere below this depth, consisting of 6,451,538 fathoms, would become exceedingly condensed, and much heavier than the heaviest bodies we know in nature; and it is found by experiment, that the more air is compressed, the more does the same degree of heat, increase its spring, and the more capable does it render it, of violent effects. The degree of heat of boiling water, in the degree of density at the surface of the earth, increases the spring of the air, by a quantity equal to a third of the weight wherewith it was pressed, and this degree of heat, which would only produce a moderate effect in that degree of density, would be capable of the most violent effects below. It is certain, there are more violent degrees of heat, than that of boiling water, and it is possible, there may be some, whose violence, further increased by the immense weight of air, may be sufficient to break and overturn, this solid orb of 43,528 fathoms, the weight of which, would be but a trifle, to the expanding force of the included air. This doctrine, however, soon gave way, and yielded to one of a more specious kind, and which substituted electricity as the formidable agent; but this met with a host of objections. . By pursuing the train of reflections held out in a former paragraph, we should be led to the following conclusion: that all earthquakes are occasioned by an excessive accumulation of voluminous matter, in the bowels of the earth; that could the earth yield to its volume, the phenomena of vibration and explosion, could not take place; that the violence of the shocks, will be in proportion to the degrees of compression, to which the volumes are subjected, or to the degree of resistance opposed to their currents; that should the volumes of matter find a passage longitudinally through the strata of the earth, it would consequently occasion a vibration of its surface; and this we call earthquake, or a tremulous motion of the earth. We should be led to conclude, that the accumulated matter is a compound, whose bulk is increased by union, and that when it is disgorged from its bed, it travels irresistibly, to find a place where it can repose in quiet. wholly absorbed in the earth. Probably many lakes, of whose beginning we have no account, were occasioned by the like absorbtions. The greatest earthquake we find in antiquity is that mentioned by Pliny in which twelve cities in Asia Minor were swallowed up in one night But one of those most particularly described in history is that the year 1693. It extended to a circumference of two thousand hundred leagues, chiefly affecting the sea coasts and great rivers. Its motions were so rapid, that those who lay at their length were tossed from side to side as upon a rolling billow. The walls were dashed from their foundations, and no less than fifty-four cities, with an incredible number of villages, were either destroyed or greatly damaged. the city of Catanea, in particular, was utterly overthrown. A travel who was on his way thither, at the distance of some miles perceived a black cloud hanging near the place. The sea all of a sudden began to roam. omit Etna to send forth great spires of flame; and soon after shock ensued, with a noise as if all the artillery m the world had been at once discharged. Our traveller being obliged to alight, instantly felt himself raised a foot from the ground, and turning his eyes to the city, saw nothing but a thick cloud of dust in the air. Although the shock ‘did not continue above three minutes, yet near nineteen thousand of the inhabitants of Sicily perished in the ruins. The following account of a dreadful earthquake at Calabria, in 1638, is related by the celebrated father Kircher, as it happened while he was on his journey to Mount AEtna. "Having hired a boat, in company with four more, we launched on the 24th of March, from the harbour of Messina, and arrived the same day at the promontory of Polorus Our destination was for the city of Euphaemia, in Calabria But though we often put to sea, we were as often driven back.’ At length, however, we ventured forward. Proceeding onward, and turning my eyes to Aetna, I saw it cast forth large volumes of smoke, which entirely covered the whole island. This, together with the dreadful noise, tilled me with apprehension.. The sea itself began to wear a very unusual appearance, covered all over with bubbles. My surprise was increased by the calmness of the weather. I therefore warned my companions that an earthquake was approaching, and making for the shore with all possible speed, we landed at Tropae. But we had scarce arrived at the Jesuit’s college, in that city, when our ears were stunned with a horrid sound, resembling that of an infinite number of chariots driven fiercely forward, the wheels rattling and the thongs cracking. Soon after the whole tract upon which we stood, seemed to vibrate, as if we were in the scale ‘of a balance that continued wavering. This soon grew more violent, and being no longer able to keep my legs, I was thrown prostrate upon the ground. In the mean time, the universal ruin round me, redoubled my amazement. The crash of falling houses, the tottering of towers, and the groans of the dying, all contributed to raise my terror. On every side of me I saw nothing but a scene of ruin, danger threatening wherever I could fly. I recommended myself to God as my last refuge. At that hour, 0 how vain was every sublunary happiness! Wealth, honour, empire, wisdom, all mere useless sounds, and as empty as the bubbles on the deep. Just standing on the threshold of eternity, nothing but God was my pleasure, and the nearer I approached, I only loved him the more. After some time, however, I resolved to venture for safety, and running as fast as I could, reached the shore. I did not search long, till I found the boat in which I had landed my companions also. Our meeting was all silence, and gloomy dread of impending terrors. Leaving this seat of desolation, we prosecuted our voyage, and the next day landed at Rochetta, although the earth still continued in violent agitations. But we were scarce arrived at our inn, when we were obliged to return to the boat, and in about a half an hour, we saw the greatest part of the town, and the inn at which we had put up, dashed to the ground, and burying all its inhabitants beneath its ruins. Proceeding onward in our little vessel, finding no safety at land, and yet having but a very dangerous continuance at sea, we at length landed at Lipizium, a castle midway between Trapae and Euphaemia. Here, wherever I turned my eyes, nothing but scenes of ruin and horror appeared; towns and castles levelled to the ground Strombalo, though at sixty miles distance, belching forth flames in an unusual manner. But my attention was quickly turned to nearer danger. The rumbling sound of an earthquake alarmed us. It every moment seemed to grow louder, and to approach more near. The place on which we stood, now began to shake most dreadfully, so that being unable to stand, my companions and I caught hold of the shrubs near us, and supported ourselves in that manner. After some time this shock ceasing, we stood up in order to go to Euphaemia, that lay within sight. In the mean time, I turned my eyes towards the city, but could see only a dark cloud resting upon the place. This the more surprised us, as the weather was so serene. We waited till the cloud was passed away, then looking for the city, it was totally sunk. Nothing but a putrid lake was seen where it stood. We looked about for some one that could tell us the sad catastrophe, but could see none. All was become a melancholy solitude, a scene of hideous desolation. Such was the fate of the city of Euphaemia, and as we continued our melancholy course along the shore, the whole coast, for the space of two hundred miles, presented nothing but the remains of cities. Proceeding thus along, we at length ended our distressful voyage, by arriving at Naples. 15. Of the great earthquake at Port Royal, in Jamaica, an eye-wit.. ness writes thus. It happened on July 7, 1692, just before noon, and in the sp ace of two minutes, shook down and drowned nine-tenths of the town. The houses sunk outright thirty or forty fathom. The earth opened and swallowed up the people in one street, and threw them up in another; some rose in the middle of the harbour. While houses on one side of a street where swallowed up, those on the other side where thrown on heaps. The sand in the street rising like waves in the sea, lifted up every one that stood upon it. Then suddenly sinking into pits, the water broke out, and rolled them over and over. Sloops and ships in the harbour were overset and lost; the Swan frigate was driven over the tops of many houses. All this was attended with a hollow rumbling noise. In less than a minute, three quarters of the houses, with their inhabitants, were all sunk under water: and the little part which remained was no better than a heap of rubbish. The shock threw people down on their knees, or their faces, as they ran about to look for shelter. Several houses, which were left standing, were removed some yards out of their places. One whole street was made twice as broad as before. In many places the earth cracked, opened and shut, with a motion quick and fast. And two or three hundred of these openings might be seen at a time. In some of these people were swallowed up, in others caught by the middle and pressed to death. In others the heads of men only appeared, in which condition dogs came and ate them. Out of some of these openings, whole rivers of water spouted up a prodigious height: and out of all the wells the water flew, with a surprising violence The whole was attended with a noisome stench, and the noise of falling mountains at a distance, while the sky in a minute’s time turned dull and reddish, like a glowing oven. And yet more houses were left standing at Port Royal, than in all the island beside. Scarce a planter’s house or sugar work was lea throughout all Jamaica. A great part of them was swallowed up, frequently houses, People and trees at one gap, in the room of which there afterward appeared a large pool of water. This, when dried up, discovered nothing but sand, without any mark that house or tree had been there. Two thousand people lost their lives: bad it been in the night, few would have escaped. A thousand acres of land were sunk: one plantation was removed half a mile from its place. Yet the shocks were most violent among the mountains. Not far from Yallhouse, part of a mountain, after it had made several leaps, overwhelmed a whole family, and great part of a plantation, though a mile distant. A large mountain, near Port Morant, about a day’s journey over, was quite swallowed up, and in the place where it stood, remained a lake, four or five leagues over. Vast pieces of mountains, with all the trees thereon, falling together in a confused manner. stopped up most of the rivers, tilt swelling abroad, they made themselves new channels, tearing up every thing that opposed their passage, carrying with them, into the sea, such prodigious quantities of timber that they seemed like moving islands. In Liquania, the sea retiring from the land, left the ground dry for two or three hundred yards. But it re turned in a minute or two, and overflowed a great part of the shore. Those who escaped from the town, got on board the ships in the harbour, where many continued two months : the shocks all the time being so violent that they durst not come on shore. The noisome vapours occasioned a general sickness, which swept away three thousand of those that were left. The following account of this memorable event is given by the rector of Port Royal. On Wednesday, June 7, I had been reading prayers, (which I have read every day since I came to Port Royal, to keep up some show of religion amongst the most ungodly people) am] was gone to the president of the counsel. We had scarce dined, when I felt the ground heave and roll under me. I said, Sir, what is this “ He replied composedly, It is an earthquake. Be not afraid ; it will soon be over.” But it increased more and more : and presently we heard the church and the tower fall. Upon this we ran to save ourselves; I quickly lost him and run towards Morgan’s Fort: as that was a wide open place. and secure from the falling of houses. As I ran, I saw the earth open, and swallow up multitudes of people, and the sea mounting over the fortifications. I then laid aside all thought of escape, and went homeward to meet death in as good a posture as I could. I was forced to go through two or three narrow streets, the houses fell on each side of me. Some bricks came rolling over my shoes, but none hurt me. When I came to my lodgings, I found all things in the same order that 1 left them. I went to the balcony, and saw that no houses in our street were fallen. The people seeing me, cried to me, to come and pray with them. When I came into the street, every one laid hold of my clothes and embraced me. I desired them to kneel down in a ring, and prayed with them near an hour, till I was almost spent, between the exercises, and the heat of the sun. They then brought me a chair, the earth working all the time, like the rolling of the sea, insomuch, that sometimes while I Was at prayers, I could hardly keep on nay knees. By the time I had been half an hour longer with them, inn setting their sins before them, and exhorting them to repentance, some merchants came, and desired me to go on board one of the ships in the harbour. From the top of some houses, which lay level with the water, I got into a boat, and went on board the Siam Merchant. The day when this happened was exceeding clear, and afforded no suspicion of evil. But about half an hour past eleven, in less than three minutes. Port Royal. one of the fairest towns inn the English plantations, was shattered in pieces, and left a dreadful monument of the justice of God. About ten years after the town was rebuilt, a terrible fire laid it in ashes. Yet they rebuilt it once more. But in the year 1722, a hurricane reduced it a third time to a heap of rubbish. Warned by these extraordinary calamities, which seemed to mark it out as a devo ted spot, they removed the public offices from thence, and forbade any market to be held there for the future, 16.Lima, in Peru, contains about 60,000 persons, in 1747, an earthquake quake laid three-fourths of the city level with the ground. 17. Calloa, the port of Lima, containing or 4000 inhabitants, was totally destroyed. Only one man escaped, and that by a very singu lar providence. He was going to strike the flag on the fort, that overlooked the harbour, when he saw the sea retire to a considerable distance and then return, swelling mountains high. The inhabitants ran from their houses in the utmost degree of terror and confusion. A cry for mercy arose from all parts: and immediately all was silent, the sea had quite overwhelmed the city, and buryed it for ever in its bosom. But at the same time it drove a little boat to the side of the fort, into which the man leaped and was saved. 18. Perhaps we have not in history, many more remarkable deliverances than of this good man, But more remarkable, if possible, is the following deliverance, from a danger of a very different kind. In the neighbourhood of Demoate as one descends through the up- valley of Stura, towards the middle of the mountain, there were some houses in a place called Bergemolletto, which on the 19th of March , in the morning (there being then a great deal of snow) were entirely overwhelmed by two vast bodies of snow, that tumbled . town from the upper Alps., All the inhabitants were then in their houses, except one Joseph Rochia, a man of about 50. Two and twenty persons were buried under this mass of snow, which was sixty English. feet in height. Many were ordered to give them assistance; but were not’ able to do them the least service. After five days, Joseph Rochia got upon the snow, (with his son, and two broth. era of his wife) to try if they could find the place under which his house and stable were buried; but they could not, However, the month of April proving very hot, and the snow beginning to melt, this unfortunate man was again encouraged to use his best endeavours, the 24th the snow was greatly diminished, and he conceived of finding out his house by breaking tine ice. He thrust down a long pole, but the evening coming on, he proceeded no farther. His wife’s brother dreamed the same night, that his sister was still alive, and begged him to help her. He rose early in the morning, told his dream to Joseph and his neighbours, and went with them to work upon the snow. where they made another opening, which led them to the house they searched for: but finding no dead bodies in its ruins, they sought for the stable, which was about 240 English feet distant, and having found it, they heard a cry of help my dear brother.” Being greatly surprised as well as encouraged by these words, they laboured till they had made a large opening, through which the brother went down, where the sister, with a feeble voice told him, I have always trusted in God and you, that you would not forsake me.” The other brother and the husband then went down, and found still alive the wife about 45, the sister about 35, and a daughter about 13 years of age. These they raised on their shoulders to men above, who pulled them up, and carried them to a neighbouring house; they were unable to walk, and so wasted,. that they appeared like mere shadows. Some days after the intendant came to see them, and they gave him the account that follows. In the morning of the 19th of March, we were in the stable, with a boy six years old, and a girl about 13. In the same stable were six goats, one of which had brought forth two dead kids the evening before; there were also an ass and five or six fowls. We were sheltering ourselves in a corner of the stable, till the church bell should ring, intending to attend the service. The wife wanting to go out of the stable to kindle a fire for her husband, then clearing away the snow from the top of the house, she perceived a mass of snow breaking down towards the east, on which she went back into the stable, shut the door, and told her sister of it. In less than three minutes they heard the roof break over their heads, and also part of the ceiling of the stable. The sister advised her to get into the rack and manger, which she did very carefully. The ass was tied to the manger, but got loose by struggling; and though it did not break the manger, it threw down the little vessel which the sister took up, and used afterwards to hold the melted snow, which served them for drink. Very happily, the manger was under the main prop of the stable, and thereby resisted the weight of the snow, Their first care was to know what they had to eat: the sister had in her pockets fifteen chesnuts; the children said they had breakfasted, and should want no. more that day. They remembered there were 30 or 40 loaves in a place near the stable, and endeavoured to get at them but were not able, by reason of the snow. On this they called out for help as loudly as they could, but no one heard them. The. sister came again to the manger, after she had tried in vain to get at the loaves, gave two chesnuts to the wife and eat two herself, and they drank some snow water. All this while the ass continued kicking, and the goats bleated very much, but soon after, they heard nothing more of them. Two of the goats however were left alive, and were near the manger; they felt them carefully, and knew by so doing, that one of them was big, and would kid about the middle of April; the other gave milk, wherewith they preserved their lives, The women affirmed, that during all the time they were buried, they saw not one ray of light; nevertheless, for about twenty days. They had some notion of night and day: for when the fowls crowed, they imagined it was break of day, but at last the fowls died; The second day, being very hungry, they ate all the remaining chesnuts, and drank what milk the goat yielded, which for the first days was near two pounds a day, but the quantity -decreased gradually. The being very hungry, they again endeavoured to get to the place where the loaves were, but they could not penetrate to it. Then resolved to take all possible care to feed the goats, as very fortunately over the ceiling of the stable, and just above the manger, there was a hay-loft with a hole, through which the hay was put down into the rack. This opening was near the sister, who pulled down the hay, and gave it to the goats, as long as she could reach it, which when she could no longer do, the goats climbed upon her shoulders, and reached it themselves. On the sixth day the boy sickened, complaining of violent pains in the stomach for six days, on the last of which, he desired his mother, who all this time had held him in her lap, to lay him at his length in the manger. She did so and taking him by the hand, felt it was very cold: she then put his to her mouth, and finding it likewise very cold, she gave him a little milk; the boy cried, 0 my father in the snow! Oh! father!” and. expired. The mother told the sister, that the boy was dead, and then laid him in the manger, where the sister was. In the mean while the milk given by the goat diminished daily. The fowls being dead, they could no longer distinguish night and day: but according to their calculation the time was near, when the other goat should kid, which as they- computed would happen about the middle of April. At length they found the goat was kidding by its cries, the sister helped it; they killed the kid to save the milk for their own subsistence. And now they knew it was the middle of April. Whenever they called this goat, it would come and lick their face and hands, and gave them every day two pounds of milk, for which they still bear a great affection to it. During all this time, hunger gave them but very-little uneasiness, except on the first five or six days. Their greatest pain was from the extreme coldness of the melted snow-water, which fell on them; from the stench of the dead ass,-dead goat, and fowls; but more than all from the uneasy posture they were obliged to continue in. For though the place in which they were buried was twelve English feet long, eight wide, and five -high, the manger in which they sat squatting against the wall, was no more than three feet four inches broad. 19.May we not impute to earthquakes, those huge cavities in the which are found in several parts of England Such is Poole’s Hole, about half a mile from Buxton, in Derbyshire, said to have been the refuge of one Poole, a noted robber. It is at the foot. of a mountain; its entrance is low and narrow; but it presently opens into a broad and lofty concavity, of above a mile in length. The water dropping from the roof, congeals into a kind of chrystal, and forms a thou- sand surprising figures. Here is also, a large clear stone, resembling alabaster, which the queen of Scots when here, called her pillar, and it still goes by that name. Along the middle a stream of water falls among the rocks, which loudly echos through the vault. The most striking thing is, the height of the arch, and the spangled roof resembling fret-work. And indeed the drops of water, which petrifying as they fall, form icicles, resembling chrystal above, and pyramids hardened into stone below, have a surprising effect from the light of the candles; the hanging drops dazzling the eyes, as if this mighty arch was covered with diamonds. . Elders Hole is a frightful chasm in the middle of a field, fifty or sixty feet long, and about twenty broad. But how deep it is, could never be discovered, notwithstanding all the attempts that have been made. Mr. Cotton endeavoured to fathom it with a line of sixteen hundred yards; but in vain. Some suppose these to have been passages, whereby the waters of the deluge returned from the surface of the earth to the great abyss. There Is another effect of subterraneous fires, which has been generally imputed to quite different causes. The Giant’s Causeway, in Ireland, and all other strong concretions of the same kind, where pillars are formed by pentagon, hexagon, or multangular stones, placed one upon another, are commonly supposed to be formed by a deposition of stony matter from an aqueous fluid. On the contrary, it is evident from various considerations, respecting their structure and phaenomena, that they are concretions of a peculiar kind, generated by an igneous fluid. They are peculiar to volcanic countries, and differ in every respect from the chrystals produced by the slow and successive precipitation of the stony particles contained in water, Their formation is owing to an intrinsic principle of organization, operating on an ignifled fluid on the concretion of which that principle may be supposed to have operated simultaneously in a large mass, and to have produced these bodies in the same manner, as a linger of metal concretes at once in the mould. , In Persia there is a subtertraneous fire of a very harmless nature. It rises out of the ground, about twenty miles from Baku, and three from the Caspian Sea. The ground is rocky, but has a shallow covering of earth. If this be any where scraped off, and fire applied to the places it catches fire immediately, and burns without diminution, nor ever goes out, unless you throw cold earth over it, by which it is easily extinguished. A piece of ground, about two English miles in extent has this wonderful property. In many parts of it there is a continual flame: the chief is in a hole about four feet deep and fourteen in diameter. This is said to have burned many thousand years. stones into lime, by filling a hole in the ground with them, and then putting a lighted candle in the hole. The fire immediately kindles, and in about three days burns the stones sufficiently It is remarkable, that this flame, how great soever it be, gives .neither smoke nor smell. There is much naphtha all about the place, though not just where the fire is. Doubtless an inflammable vapour issues in abundance out of the gound in this place. Something of the same kind is found between Bologna and Florence, on the side of one of the Appennines. On a spot of ground three or four miles diameter, there is a constant eruption of fire. The flame rises very high; yet without noise, smoke or smell. In great rains it sometimes intermits, but afterwards burns with the greater vigour. There are three other such fires on the same mountains. - Probably they rise from the veins of bitumen. A late ingenious writer ascribes all earthquakes to. the same cause, electricity. The impression, says he, they make’ on land and water, to the greatest distance, is instantaneous. This can only be affected by electricity. In the late earthquake, the concussion was : felt through the space of a hundred miles in length, and forty in breadth at the same instant. Now what could throw, a tract of land of four thousand square miles in surface, into such an agitation in a moment No natural power is equal to this, but that of electricity, which alone acknowledges no bounds, neither any sensible transition of time. The little damage done by most earthquakes, is another argument. for their occasioned by, a simple vibration of the earth through an electric shock. This vibration on the water, meeting with the solid s bottoms of ships, occasions that thump which is felt by them. That this shakes millions of ordinary houses, and yet not one of them falls, is a farther proof, that it is not a convulsion in the bowels of the earth, but an uniform vibration, like what we occasion in a glass, by rubbing our finger on the edge,, which may be brought to such a pitch, as to break the glass in pieces, by an electric repulsion of its parts. There can be little doubt, but some earthquakes are owing to electricity but many more are owing to other causes: those of Callao, Port-Royal, for instance, Were unquestionably owing to water: those in the neighbourhood of Aetna and Vesuvius, with those in the East Indies, to lakes of fire. The grand fault is therefore, the ascribing them either to electricity, or any one cause, exclusive of the rest: whereas some are owing to each of these causes: some to several of them acting conjointly. 21. We have inflammable vapours in England, in three or four different places. One who accurately observed it, gives the following particular account of a burning well. . “In the latter end of February, ! went to see a spring in the road; which leads from Wigan to Warrington. When we came to it., and applied a lighted candle to the surface of the water, there was suddenly a large and vigorous flame produced. But having filled a cup with water at the flaming place, and held a lighted candle to it, it went out. Yet the water at that place boiled like water over a fire: though when I put my hand into it, it did not feel so much as warm. This boiling seems to proceed from some sulphurous fumes, the spring being not above forty yards from a coal-pit, and all the country for many miles round being underlaid with coal. When the water was drained away, [applied the candle to the surface of the earth where the water burned before. The fumes took lire and burnt very bright and vigorous, the flame ascending a foot and a half from the ground: and the basis of it was as broad as a man’s bat at the brim. It was not discoloured like that of sulphur, nor had any scent. I ordered a bucket of water to be poured on the lire, and it was immediately quenched.” 22. There was a spring of the same kind at Brosely, near Wenlock, in the county of Salop. It was discovered in June, 1711, by a terrible noise in the night, which awaked several people in their beds, who desiring to know what it was, rose up, and coming to a boggy place under a little hill about two hundred yards from the Severn., perceived a mighty rumbling and shaking of the earth, and a little water boiling up through the grass. When they dug up some of the earth, the water flew up to a great height, and a candle that was in their hand, set the vapour on fire. There is now (viz, in 171]) an iron cistern round the spring, with a cover, having a hole in the middle of it. If you put a lighted candle to the hole, the water takes fire, and burns like spirits of wine. It burns as long as you keep the air from it; but if you take up the cover it goes out. ‘The heat of this fire exceeds that of common lire. Some people, after they have set the water on fire, have put a kettle of water over the cistern, with a joint of meat in it. It was boiled much sooner than it could be, by any artificial fire. If you put wood or even green boughs upon it, it presently consumes them ‘to ashes. The water of itself feels as cold as any common water. Nay, if you put your hand into it as soon as the fire is out it, feels as cold as if there had been no fire near it. But it still continues boiling up, with ‘a considerable noise. But this well was lost for many years. The poor man in whose land it was, missing the profit lie used to have of showing it, used all his endeavours to find it again; and in May, 1744, hearing a rumbling noise under ground, a little nearer the river than the former well was, he lighted upon it again. For live or six feet deep, it was above six feet wide. Within this was a smaller hole dug in the clay, in the bottom of which was a cylindric earthen vessel, four or five inches diameter, having the bottom taken off, and the sides fixed in the clay. Within the pot was brown water, thick as puddle, continually forced up with a violent motion and a hollow noise, rising arid falling by turns, five or six inches. Upon putting a candle at the end of a stick, within a quarter of a yard, it took fire, darting and flashing in a violent manner, about a half a yard high, much like spirits in a lamp, but with a greater agitation. The man said it had’ made a tea-kettle boil in nine minutes, and that it would burn forty-eight hours without any sensible dimunition. It was extinguished by putting a wet mop upon it. And still the water felt very cold. . ‘ The well lay about thirty yards from the Severn, which in that place, and for some miles above and below, runs in a vale full a hundred yards ‘perpendicular below the level of the country on either side. But the well is now lost again, the water being drawn off by a coalpit. 23.There is a lire’ of the same kind at Pietra Mala, a village on the Appennines. ‘The flame is extremely bright, covers a surface of three yards by two, and usually rises about four feet. After great rains or’ snows, the whole bare patch, about nine yards diameter, flames. The gravel out of which it rises, at a very little depth, is quite cold. There are four of these fires in the neighbourhood: the middle of. the ground whence one of’ them rises, is a little hollowed, and has in it a puddle of water, through which are strong ebullitions of air. This air will not take fire; but that which rises through the wet and cold gravel, flames briskly. ‘In Dauphiny, and some other parts of France, the surface of several springs take the in the same manner on the approach of a candle. Suiphurous vapours undoubtedly exhale from the waters: as is the case in the famous Grotto del Cani. This lies on the side of a little hill, between Naples and Pozzoli. The sides of it are cut perpendicular in the earth. It is about three feet wide; near twelve feet long; five or six feet high at the entrance, and less than three at the farther end. The. ground slopes a little from this end to the mouth, and more from thence to the road. If you stand a few steps without, and stoop so as ‘to have, your eye nearly on a level with the ground of the grotto, you may see a vapour within, like that which appears over a chafing dish of red hot coals: only that it ‘is more sluggish, and does not rise above five or six inches high. Its surface more distinctly terminated than that of other vapours, balances visibly under the air as if unwilling to mix with it. The ground of the grotto is always moist; and so are the sides to the height of ten inches. Yet this never increases so as to form any drops. While you stand upright, you remark nothing more, than a slight earthy smell, common in all subterraneous places which are kept shut. But if you put down your hand, within ten inches of the ground, it feels as if you put it into the steam of boiling water. Yet your hand contracts neither smell nor taste. A vapour similar to that in the grotto, rises also from the ground without, But it is weaker, and does not rise so high. This partly spreads itself from, the cavern, partly exhales from the earth. A lighted flambeau thrust in the vapour, presently goes out: yet without any noise or hissing. The thick smoke which appears immediately after its extinction, remains floating on the vapour, and being lighter than it, but heavier than the air above, it spreads between both. Indeed common smoke is lighter than air: but that impregnated with the vapour is heavier. If a young vigorous dog be held down within the vapour, he at first struggles, pants, snorts, and rattles in the throat. But in three minutes he lies as dead. Carry him into the open air, and he draws in long draughts, as one recovering from a fit, and in two minutes gets upon his legs, and seems to all nothing. A cock having his head plunged into the vapour, was suffocated all at once beyond recovery. Frogs are stupified by it in three or four minutes; yet though they have laid in it a quarter of an hour, soon recover when placed in the open air. Large flies, beetles and butterflies, were longer without giving signs of their suffering, and longer in recovering. A toad resisted the vapour near half an hour, a lizard above an hour and a quarter. And a large grasshopper stirred in the vapour, after being more than two hours in it. An English gentleman kneeled down in the grotto, and leaning on his hands, bowed his face to within two or the inches of the ground, holding his breath, keeping his eyes open, and his tongue a little out of his mouth. He remained thus, three or four seconds without any’ painful impression, or any sort of taste on his tongue. And hence it manifestly appeared, that this is not a poisonous vapour. He afterwards advanced his face to the surface of the vapour, and took in breath gently. He was sensible of something suffocating, just like the air of a hot and moist stove. Likewise he felt a slight acrimony in the throat and nose, which made him cough and sneeze: but no head-ach, no sickness at the stomach, nor any other inconvenience. It is clear, then, upon the whole, that animals die in this vapour, not as poisoned, but rather as drowned, in a fluid not capable of supplying the place of the air, which is necessary for respiration, and equally necessary to sustain fire, as the flame of a lighted flambeau, 24. A fire of a strange nature appeared in Wales, about Christmas, 1693. A fiery vapour came from the sea, and moved up and down for many weeks. It set on fire sixteen ricks of hay, at Harlech in Merzonethslzire and two barns, and annoyed the country, as well by poisoning the grass, as firing the bay. It was a blue, weak flame, and did no harm to the men who tried to save the hay, though they ventured even to touch it. An intelligent person who lived near Harlech, informed his friend some time after, “the fire still continues there. It covers over a part of the sea, from a marshy place in Carnarvonshire, eight or nine miles off. The grass over which it moves kills all manner of cattle that feed upon it; sheep, goats. swine, cows and horses. But what is very remarkable. is, that any great noise, as beating a drum or sounding a horn, effectually repels it from any house, or barn, or stack of hay.” 25.A much stronger flame than that which issues out of the earth, is that which issues out of the stomach of animals. The anatomical lecturer at Pisa, in the year 1 j97 happening to hold a lighted candle near the subject he was dissecting on a sudden set on fire the vapours that came out of the stomach he h id just opened. In the same year, as Dr. Ruisch, then anatomy professor at Pisa, was dissecting a woman, a student lighting him. with a candle, he had no sooner opined the stomach, than there issued out a yellow greenish flame. A like thing happened some years after at Lyons, in dissecting a woman. Her stomach was no sooner opened, than a considerable flame burst out and filled the place. But this is not so much to be wondered at, since the experiments made by Dr. Vulpari, anatomical professor at Bologna. lie affirms any one may gee, issuing from the stomach of an animal, a matter that burns like spirits of wine, if the upper and lower orifices are bound fast with a very strong thread T he stomach thus tied must be cut, above and under the ligature and afterwards pressed with both hands, so as to make all that it contains, pass to one side. This will produce a swelling in that part, which must be held with the left-hand to binder its escaping. A candle then being held about a half an inch from the stomach, let it be suddenly opened by the right-bend, and a bluish flame will immediately gush out, which will sometimes last a minute. In the same way flame may be brought forth from the intestines. Nor is it from carcasses only that flames have issued. This has been the case with live persons likewise. Bartholine relates, that a popish cavalier, having drank a quantity of brandy, died in a little space, after an eruption of a flame through his mouth. He relates also the case of three others, who after drinking much brandy experienced the same symptom. Two presently died ; the third escaped by immediately drinking cold water. Still more astonishing is’ the case of a woman at Paris, who used to drink brandy to excess. She was one night reduced to ashes by a fire from within, all but her head and the ends of her fingers. In like manner Cornelia Bandi, an aged lady of unblemished life, near Cesena in Romagna, in 1731, re-tired in the evening into her chamber; and in the morning was found in the middle of the room, reduced to ashes, all except her face, skull, three fingers and her legs, which remained entire, with her shoes and stockings. The ashes were light: the floor was smeared with a gross stinking moisture, and the wall and furniture covered with a moist soot, which bad stained all the linen in the chest. Perhaps a larger account of so remarkable an incident will not be unacceptable to the curious reader. The countess of Cornelia Bendi, in the sixty-second year of her age, was as well all day, as usual. When she was in bed, she passed two or three hours in talking with her maid: then she fell asleep. The maid going into her chamber in he morning, saw two feet distant from the bed, a heap of ashes, and two legs with the stockings on. Between them was part of the head; but the brains, half the skull, and the whole chin were burnt to ashes. The ashes when taken up, left in the head a greasy and stinking moisture. The bed received no damage: the clothes were raised on one side, as by a person rising from it. Doubtless the fire was kindled within her by the juices and fermentations in the stomach acting on the many combustible matters, which abound in living bodies, for the uses of life. These in sleep by a full respiration, are put into a stronger motion, and consequently are more apt to take fire, Borelli observes that such accidents often happened, to great drinkers of wine and brandy. Such flames would frequently rise in us, if the natural moisture did not prevent. Undoubtedly she was burnt standing; hence her skull was fallen between her legs, and the back part of her head was damaged more than the fore part, partly because of her partly because in the face, there were many places, out of which the flames might pass. An instance of the same kind occurred at Christ Church in Hampshire, on June 26, 1613. One John Hitcheli, a carpenter of that parish, haying ended his day’s work, came borne and went to rest with his wife. 11cr mother being frightened in her sleep called to them for help. None answering, she started up and waked her daughter, who found her husband dead by her side. She dragged him out of her bed into the street; but the heat then forced her to let him go. He lay burning there for three days. Not that there was any appearance of fire outwardly, only a smoke ascending from his carcass, till it was burnt to ashes: except only a small part of his bones which were cast into a pit. Grace Pett was a fisherman’s wife, of the parish of St. Clement’s, in Ipswich, about sixty. She had a custom for several years of going down stairs every night, after she was undressed, to smoke a pipe. Her daughter who lay with her, did not miss her till the morning, April 10, 1744, when going down stairs, she found her mother’s body extended over the hearth, with her legs on the deal floor, and appeared like a aglowing fire without flame. The neighbours coming in at her cries, found the trunk of her body in a manner burnt to ashes. It then appeared like a heap of charcoal, covered with white ashes, the head, arms, legs, and thighs, were also much burnt. A child’s clothes, on one side of her, and a paper screen on the other were untouched. The deal floor also on which her legs lay, was neither singed nor discoloured. 26.Almost as strange, though not attended with any ill consequence, was the following incident. In November, Mrs. Susanna Sewall, wife to major Sewall, in New England, observed a strange flashing of sparks in all ‘the apparel she put off, which continued till Candlemas. In the company of many persons, she sent for several parts of her wearing apparel, and when they were shaken, sparks flew out, making a noise, much like bay leaves thrown into the tire. One spark lit on major Sewall’s thumb nail, without any heat, and continued at least a minute, before it went out. They caused Mrs. Sewall one day to put on her sister Digge’s petticoat; and when she put it off at night, it sparkled as her own used to do. 27.There is no body but may be by fire converted into glass; not excepting gold itself. And this is the last effect of fire; no art can carry the change of a natural body any farther. As to the nature and properties of it. 1. Common glass is an artificial compound of salt with sand stones. 2. It is fusible by a strong fire, and when fused, is tenacious and coherent. 3. It does not waste in the fire. 4. When melted it cleaves to iron. 5. When red hot it is-fashionable into any shape, and capable of being blown into a hollowness. which no mineral is. 6. It is frangible when thin, friable when cold, and transparent whether hot or cold. 7. It is flexible, elastic, and dissoluble by cold. It can be cut only by emery or a diamend. 8. It is not dissoluble by aqua fortis, aqua regia, or mercury. 9. Neither acids nor any thing else extract colour, taste, nor any sensible quality from it. 10. It loses nothing either of its substance or of its weight, by the longest and most frequent use. 11. It is not capable of being calcined, neither of contracting rust. But there is no property of glass more remarkable than its ductility. Glass-spinners draw threads of their brittle matter, melting over a lamp, with far more ease and expedition than common spinners do those of flax or silk. These may be drawn fine as a hair, yea, as the thread of a spider’s web, so as to wave with every wind. And the finer they are, the more flexible. If the ends of two such threads be knotted together, they may be drawn and bent, till the space in the middle of the knot does not exceed the forty-eight part of an inch in diameter.* Near the bay of Acra in Palestine, runs a little river now called Kardanah, supposed to be the ancient Belus, famous for its sand, much used in making glass, and said to have given rise to the invention of it. The Sidonians are reported to have made this discovery, from the following accident. Some travellers having reared a hearth on the sand of this river with large pieces of nitre, and set some fern on fire under a kettle in order to boil their victuals, perceived the sand and the nitre to melt and incorporate with the fern ashes, and presently after, run in a transparent stream, which hardened as it cooled. From hence the hint of making glass was taken, which was gradually improved to its present use and beauty. * Glass possesses many very astonishing properties: it is accounted one of the most elastic bodies in nature: the rebounding force of glass balls being as 15 to16. When glass is suddenly cooled, it becomes exceedingly brittle, and this may account in some degree, for the singular properties of the Bologna bottle, and glass drop. A most remarkable phenomena is produced in glass tubes, placed in certain circumstances: when these are laid before a fire in a horizontal position having their position properly supported, they acquire a rotatory motion round their axis, and also a progressive motion towards the fire, even when their supports are declining from the fire; so that the tubes will move a little way upwards to (he fire. When the progressive motion of the tubes towards the fire is stopped by any obstacle their rotatory motion still continues. When the tubes are placed in a nearly upright posture. leaning to the right-hand, the motion will be from E. to W. but if they Jean to the left-hand, it will be from W. to E. and the nearer they are placed to the upright posture, the less will be the motion either way. If the tube is placed horizontally on a glass plane, the fragment, for instance, of coach window glass, instead of moving towards the fire, it will move from it, and about its axis, in a contrary direction to what it had done before; nay, it will recede from the fire, and move a little upward, when the plane inclines towards the fire. These experiments are recorded in the Philos. Trans. p. 476. the experimentors succeeded best with tubes about 20 or 22 inches long, which had in each end, a pretty strong pin fixed in cork, for an axis. Glass is less dilatable by heat, than metalline substances, and solid glass sticks, are less dilatable than tubes. The latter have been found to dilate four times as much as the former, in a heat approaching to that of. boiling oil. On account of this property in glass, M. de Luc recommends it to be used in pendulums, its expansions being always equable, and proportioned to the degrees of heat, which is not the case with any other substance yet known. Glass is better adapted for the condensation of vapours, than metallic substances. An open glass filled with water in summer, will gather drops of water on the outside just as far as the water in the inside reaches; and a person’s breath blown on it manifestly moistens it. Glass also becomes moist with dew, in a situation where metals remain dry. A drinking glass partly filled with water, and rubbed on the brim with a wet finger, yields musical notes, of a higher or lower tone, as the glass is more or less full; and makes the liquor leap. Glass is also possessed of great electrical virtues. 28.There are few phenomena relative to glass more hard to be accounted for, than that of the Bologna bottle, so called, because it was’ first discovered at Bologna. If you let these bottles fall from some’ height on a brick floor, they will not be broken; but drop into them some hard body, and they will burst in pieces. I took one of these, says Dr. 1. which held near a pint, and let it fall five feet and a half on a brick floor, and it was not broken. I dropped into it a bit of flint, weighing eleven grains, and immediately it burst in pieces. I dropped into another bottle a ball of lead, weighing one hundred and forty grains, into a third a piece of brass weighing three hundred grains, and neither of them was broken. These ‘glasses only differ from common phials in this, they have not cooled gradually in what is called the nealing furnace, but are exposed to the open air as soon as formed. They resist hard blows from without. I have given to some, violent strokes with the mallet, and they have not broke. They likewise do not break, though several-heavy bodies be dropped into them. I have dropped into them from the height of three feet, musket balls, pieces of iron, brass. and gold, without any effect; but when I dropped into it from the height of three inches, a shiver of flint no bigger than a small pea, in about two seconds, the glass flew. Having tried the experiment on several others with the same piece of flint, most of them broke in the moment of the stroke, the rest one or two seconds after it. I let fall into several glasses a flint of half the size, and they flew in’ like manner. I let fall into one a flint no larger than a grain of sand,- shook the’ glass, and set it down. I did the same with four others. in about half an hour one of them flew, and the other four soon after I let fall into one a sapphire set in a ring: and though the bottom of the glass was near-an inch thick, the sapphire passed through it as through a spider’s web. r he glass flew all ways, and the ring remained on the table just where it fell. A bit of China half a line thick, and two lines broad, broke several glasses; so did a bit of glass of the same size: so did diamonds also. And a very small piece of tempered steel broke all the glasses into Which I dropped it. Some large hollow cups made at Worcester of common green glass, much larger than the others, and some of them above three inches thick at the bottom, though they were not affected by a musket ball, dropped from the height of near three feet, were instantly broken with a shiver of a flint weighing but two grains. There is something astonishing in the power of telescopes, to bring far distant objects near; and of microscopes, to render those clear and distinct which are quite invisible to the naked eye. And no less amazing in another kind, is the force of burning glasses. 1. A piece of wood, laid before a large burning glass, took tire in an instant. 2. Water contained in an earthen vessel boiled immediately. and in a short time quite evaporated. 3. A mass of lead, three inches thick, began to melt in a moment, and soon after ran in a continued thread. 4. A steel plate grew red hot almost in an instant, and small holes were made through it. 5. Slate becomes black glass ; tiles, yellow’ glass; earthen pots, a darkish yellow glass. 6. A pumice stone, became white glass; earth, black glass ; bones, an opaque one.* But in the extremely hot weather at Paris, in 1705, the rays of the sun collected by a large glass had scarce any force, though the separate rays quite inflamed the air. The reason of so surprising a thing seems to be, that the heat raised from the earth’s great sulphurous exhalations, embarrassed, stopped, and in some degree absorbed the rays of the sun. 29 Equally strange are the phenomena of the glass drop. The make of this drop is as simple, as its explanation is difficult. They take up a small quantity of melted glass on the top of an iron rod, and let it drop into a pail of water. When it does not break in the operation, it forms the glass drop. This is of such firmness, that it bears smart blows of a hammer without breaking. But if you break only the tip of the small end, the whole shatters into powder. This shattering is attended with a loud report, and the powder scatters all around. If the experiment be made in the air pump, the drop bursts more impetuously, and the dust is finer than when it bursts in the open air. This is a plain matter of fact. I do not undertake to account for it. Gunpowder is commonly supposed to have been invented by Barthold Schwartz, about the year 1380. But Roger Bacon knew of it, a hundred and fifty years before Schwartz was born. For in his Treatise de Nullitate Magica, published at Oxford in 1216, are these words: “ You may raise thunder and lightning at pleasure, by only *We have accounts of several burning mirrors, among which, the most remarkable, were those of Settela, canon of Fadua, Villette, a French artist of Lyons, Sir isaac Newton, and Vir. Macquer. That of Settela was 3 Leipsic elli in diameter, and its focus 2 ells distant. Villette’s mirror was 4 feet in diameter, ground to a sphere of 76 inches radius; so that its focus was 58 inches from the vertex. Its substance was a composition of tin, copper, and tin glass. Sir Isaac Newton’s mirror, which he presented to the Royal Society, consisted of 7 concave glasses, which were so fixed, that all their foci centered in a phisical point, each of the glasses was a foot in diameter, and six were fixed round the seventh, to which they were all contiguous, and form a segment of a sphere, whose subtense is about inches, and the central glass lies about an inch further in than the rest, the common focus is 22 1/2 inches distant, and about an inch in diameter. This was a mirror of prodigious power. taking sulphur, nitre, and charcoal, which single have no effect, but mixed together, and confined in a close place, cause a noise and explosion greater than that of a clap of thunder.” The effect of gunpowder is owing to the spring of the air, enclo and in the spaces between them. All these springs are dilated by the fire, and set a playing at once. The powder itself to light the fire, which puts the air in action. Aurum falminans. a preparation of gold, is far stronger than gunpowder. A scruple of this acts more forcibly than half a pound of that. A single grain laid on a knife, and lighted at a candle, goes off greater noise than a musket. 30. Air is that clear, transparent, compressible fluid, which is extended at least round the terraqueous globe, being with us about 48,656,000,000 times more dense and sluggish than ether, betwixt and the air there is a very great affinity or attractive force, their density; i. e. the air contiguous to the ether takes in and concentrates the ether proportion ally to its greater density, by which it is rendered more springy and active: with this differerent, that the air by contact and cohesion in the parts of bodies, solid and unelastic, but ether never; from whence again, by heat, fire, ‘or dissolution of parts being separated, its elasticity returns. This element has a near- affinity or relation to water, because it eagerly takes up rarefied water into itself, as water again drinks up a portion of air within its contact; so that air and water, actuated by ether, make the levers and wedges by which nature performs all her changes in bodies. And it serves as the common medium of communication between us and ill bodies The pressure of a column of sir upon a square inch only is equal to fifteen pounds weight. That upon the surface of a human body, generally amounts t at least thirteen tons weight: seeing all fluids press with an equal force every way, upwards, downwards, sideways, and-in all directions. “But how is it then that our bodies are not crushed in pieces “ Our bodies, as well as all others, are filled with air throughout: and the spring of the internal air is equal to the pressure of that without. And two equal forces act in contrary directions, they entirely destroy each others effects: hence, if the ambient air press on us, it is all one as if it did not press at all. The elasticity of the air is a counterbalance to its gravitation. And how necessary is it, that these should balance each other Were the power of gravity to be suspended for a moment, and that of elasticity to remain, the atmosphere would instantly be dissipated through the infinite regions of space. But while the weight of the air and its elastic force are equal, they produce an equillibrium among the particles of air, in every part of the atmosphere. As the higher it is, the air is more and more expanded, gravitation being less and less, so the parts of the air in the upper regions will be expanded only not to infinity. - The air is generally invisible. And it is necessary it should be so. For as it is the medium through which we see objects, if the parts of it were perceptible, it would render the view of these objects far less perfect and distinct. Hence a greatly magnifying telescope, as it shows the body of air, makes the view of other objects more confused. Yet in some cases you may seem to see the air. In a very hot summer’s day, in an open part of the country, place yourself on an eminence, nearly facing the sun. Then, if there be a gentle wind, there will be a reflection of light from the body of the air in the vale below. And you will see the undulations or waves of air almost as perfectly as you may those of water, agitated by a gentle wind, And yet in truth, it is not the air which you see, but the vapours that float therein. One property of air is its weight or gravity. This you will immediately feel, if you lay your hand on the mouth of a vessel, which is emptied of air. If you lay a square piece of glass on the orifice of an air-pump, when the air is drawn out, it will be broke to shivers with a great noise. Or extract the air from between two smoothly polished marbles, and close the edges with wax, they will then be so strongly pressed together, as not easily to be separated. But we need no other proof of it than the barometer: a glass tube, close at one end, and filled with mercury. Immerge the other end in a basin of the same fluid, and when it is erected, the mercury in the tube will rise thirty inches above the surface of that in the basin. The changes then in the barometer are wholly owing to the changes in the weight of the atmosphere. But to what are these owing It seems chiefly to the winds. For, 1. These must alter the weight of the air in any particular place, either by bringing together and accumulating the air, which is the case when two winds blow at the same time from opposite points; or by sweeping away part of the air, as when two winds blow opposite ways from the same point; or lastly, by cutting off the pressure of the atmosphere, which happens when any wind blows briskly any way. 2. Cold nitrous particles load the atmosphere, and increase its weight. 3. So do heavy, dry exhalations from the earth. 4. The air being rendered heavier is more able to support the vapours, which being intermixed with it, make the weather fair and serene. When it is rendered lighter by the contrary causes, it becomes unable to support the vapours, which then sink, gather into drops, and fall into rain. With us the mercury is highest when the wind is north or northeast, and so brings the cold condensed air of the northern climates. In all northern countries the mercury varies more than in the southern, the winds being more frequent, strong, various, and opposite to each other. - Between the tropics it scarce varies at all, the winds being small, and generally blowing the same way. The pressure of the air, is, caeter is paribus, as its height. Carry the’ barometer to a higher place, where the incumbent column of air shorter, and a shorter column of air is sustained: it being found to ‘descend at the rate of a quarter of an inch for every hundred feet of ascent. Now air, as all other fluids, must press equally every way. Hence it is, that soft bodies sustain their pressure, without any change of figure, and brittle bodies without breaking, though that pressure be equal to that of a column of mercury thirty inches high, or a column of water of thirty feet. Nothing can keep these bodies unchanged, but the equal pressure on all sides, which resists as much as it is resisted. And hence on removing or lessening that pressure on one side, the effect of it is soon perceived on the other. - It is by means of its gravity 1. That the air closely invests the earth with all the bodies on it, and bends them down; that it prevents the arterial vessels of plants and animals from being too much distended, by the impetus of the circulating juices, and that it hinders the blood from oozing out, through the pores of their containing vessels. Hence, they who travel up high mountains, the higher they ascend, are relaxed the more. till they fall into spitting of blood. 2.. The mixture of contiguous fluids is chiefly owing to this. Hence many fluids which readily mix in the air, when that is removed remain separate. 3 It determines the action of one body upon another. Thus it presses the particles of hre against the fuel ‘Whereas upon removing the air the fire immediately goes out So aqua regia ceases to dissolve gold, if the air be taken away: hence, also on the tops of high mountains, as on the Peak of Teneriffe, the most acrid bodies, such as pepper, ginger, salt, have no sensible taste, for want of a sufficient gravity in the air to press their particles into the pores of the tongue. Another property of air is elasticity. It yields to an impression, by contracting its dimensions, and returns to them, on removing the impressive cause. This endeavour to expand itself, every particle of air continually exerts, against an equal endeavour of the ambient particles. Hence it is, that a bladder full of’ air. will burst in an exhausted -receiver: while one that before seemed empty, swells and appears to be full of air. This power does not seem to have any bounds. Nor is it easy to be destroyed. Let air be expanded ever so much, it still retains its spring. Nor is this sensibly diminished by any experiment which has yet been made. There is no fixing bounds to its condension, any more than to its dilation. It will dilate, into a thousand times its former space, yea into 13,679 times. And all this by its own expansive force, without any force of lire. The air we breathe near the surface of the earth is compressed by its own weight, into at least the 13,679th part of the space it would possess in vacuo. And if the same air be farther condensed by art, the space it will take up when most dilated, will be (according to Mr. Boyle) to that it possessed when most condensed, as 550,000 to one. If while we increase the elasticity of air, on one side by compression, we increase it on the other side by heat, the force of’ both soon becomes irresistible ; and a French philosopher supposed, that air thus confined and expanding was sufficient for the explosion of a world. In order to determine the elasticity of air, the wind-gun has been invented, which is an instrument that compresses a large quantity of air into a tube in which there is an ivory ball, and then gives the compressed elastic air free power to act and drive the ball as directed. The ball thus driven will pierce a thick board, and will be as fatal at small distances, as if driven with gunpowder. I do not know whether ever the force of this instrument has been assisted by beat; certain I am, that this, which could be very easily contrived by means of phosphorous, or any other hot substance applied to the barrel, would give such a force as I doubt whether gunpowder itself could produce. Every thing we see gives of its parts to the air, and has a little floating atmosphere of its own round it. The rose is encompassed with a sphere of its own odorous particle; while the nightshade infects the air with scents of a more ungrateful nature. The perfume of musk flies off in such abundance, that the quantity remaining becomes sensibly lighter. A thousand substances that escape all our senses, we know to be there; the powerful emanations of the load-stone, the effluvia of electricity, the rays of light, and the insinuation of fire. Such are the various substances through which we move, and which we are constantly taking in at every pore, and returning again with an imperceptible discharge. This great mixture of all earthly bodies is continually operating upon itself; which, perhaps, may be the cause of its unceasing motion; bat it operates still more visibly upon such grosser substances, as are exposed to its influence; for scarce any substance is found capable of resisting the corroding qualities of the air. The air say the chemists, is a chaos furnished with all kinds of salts and menstruums; and therefore it is capable of dissolving all kinds of bodies. It is well known that copper and iron are quickly eaten with rust; and that in the climates near the equator, no art can keep them clean. In those countries, instruments, knives, and keys, though kept in the pocket, nevertheless are quickly incrusted; and the great guns, with every precautions after some years, become useless. Stones may be supposed to be more easily soluble. The marble of which the noble monuments of Italian antiquity are composed, although in one of the finest climates in the world, nevertheless show the impressions which have been made .upon them by the air. in many places they seem worm eaten by time; and in others they appear crumbling into dust. Gold alone seems to be exempted from this general dissolution. It is never found to contract rust, though exposed never so long: the reason is, that sea salt, which is the only menstruum of gold, is but very little mixed with the air, being a very fixed body, and not apt to volatilize. In the laboratories, however, where the air is impregnated with it, gold is found to rust, as well as other metals. By its. elasticity, air insinuates into the pores of bodies, carrying with it this faculty of expansion; whence it must necessarily put all the particles it is mixed with, into perpetual oscillations. And as its elasticity is never the same for two moments together, there must be an incessant dilation and contraction in all bodies. To this is owing all putrefaction and fermentation, neither of which will proceed in vacuo. And indeed all natural corruption and alteration seem to depend hereon: so that metals, particularly gold, are so durable, only by being impervious to air. And yet it may be doubted, whether air itself be the true, original, universal dissolvent; or rather the etherial fire, which is intimately united with every particle of it: and without which air is effete and useless, neither able to feed flame, nor to Sustain animal life. That there is some matter in the air much finer than the air itself, appears from many considerations. In an exhausted receiver something remains, which conveys the heat near as readily as air. Now this must be a body, and a body subtle enough to penetrate the pores of glass. Doubtless then it penetrates the pores of all other bodies, and consequently is diffused through the universe. And this seems to be not only more subtle than the air, but far more weighty and elastic. To the weight of this may be owing the weight of the air, and of all other bodies : to its elasticity, the elasticity of the air, and of all other elastic bodies. This also may cause the reflection and other phaenomena of light: as also sensation, and muscular motion. Indeed it seems to be the first spring of all the action in the universe. Air is sometimes deprived of its elasticity, and wrought into the substance of other bodies, from which nevertheless it may be extracted, and resume its elastic state. As to animal substances, a very considerable quantity of air is extracted from them by distillation, not only from the blood and fat, but also from the most solid parts of animals. Half a cubic inch of a fallow deer’s horn, produced 117 cubic inches of air ; half a cubic inch of oyster shells, no less than 162 cubic inches. As to vegetable substances, half a cubic inch of heart of oak generated 108 cubic inches; a cubic inch of peas 396 cubic inches, or 113 grains, which was above a third of its weight, This air will flash, if touched with a candle. Camphire generates no air: brandy next to none: well water or rain water a little, Pyrmont water, twice as much: which air contributes to the briskness of this and other mineral waters. From minerals much air may be extracted. Half an inch of Newcastle coal yielded 180 inches of air, which weighed near one third of the coal. Yet good part of the air extracted from these bodies, in some days gradually lose its elasticity : because the acid, and sulphurous fumes, raised with the air, resorbed and fixed the elastic particles- But when a means was found, to prevent this, it lost only a seventeenth or eighteenth part; and that chiefly in the first twenty-four hours; the first was permanently elastic. There is another way of producing air. which seems to be more natural; namely, by fermentation. A cubic inch of * oil of vitriol with half an inch of sal ammoniac, generated six cubic inches of air: six inches of powdered oyster shells, and an equal quantity of white wine vinegar, generated twenty-nine inches. That much air is incorporated into the substance of vegetables, appears from the following experiments. Forty-two inches of ale from the tan, generated in three months 636 cubic inches of air: twelve inches of Malaga raisins, in six weeks, generated 411 inches: twenty-six inches of apples, in thirteen days, generated 968 inches of air. They then in—three or four days resorbed about twelve inches, and afterwards neither generated nor resorbed That the air arising from distilled or fermenting bodies, is true air, appears from hence: that it continues in the same expanded state for weeks, or months, which expanded vapours will not do. And that it is elastic, appears by its dilating and contracting with heat and cold, as common air does. Air then makes a very considerable part of the substance of vegetables as well as animals. And besides these particles of air, which strongly adhere to, and are wrought into their substance, there is in. them a large quantity which is upon the wing, and in a very active state. Mr Geoffry shows, that the mixture of any vitriolic salts with inflammable substances, will yield common brimstone: particularly of oil of vitriol with oil of turpentine. Brimstone, therefore, is nothing but vitriolic salt united with some combustible substance. ‘To show’ how much air is contained in white paper, take as many slips of as weigh a hundred grains ; burn these warily by the flame of a candle, and then weigh the ashes. You will find the hundred grains reduced to six. So ninety-four grains out of one hundred, are undeniably transformed into air. They could not be annihilated; anti they could not rise and fly away without a repelling force to carry them Thus the candle itself;, is by degrees transformed from heavy palpable wax, into a light, impalpable body of air. But observe: all bodies which thus become air, pass through the intermediate state of flame. So that properly speaking. the same body was one moment paper, the second moment fire, and the third air. How different states for the same sort of matter to subsist in, in so short a time! The air-pump shows how much air is, even in water. Place a tall glass of water in the receiver; turn the winch, and you see bubbles of air through the body of the water First they arc thick, but small; then they grow large and rise to the top of the water and as long as the pump works, so long the air rises but more slowly, and in lar bubbles In wine the air bubbles rush violently to the top and burst Nay and the liquor perfectly boils, like water on the fire Yea, and hot water may be made to boil by the air pump, as well as by fire. ‘Hence, it appears, that boiling is nothing but the motion produced from the expansion of the air, whether by fire, or by the warmth and pump conjointly. By another experiment, it appears, that any piece of wood is pervious to the air, and that its air vessels run through the whole length or substance of the tree. Nay, quicksilver may be made to pass through piece of wood and descend in the form of a shower of rain By the air pump we likewise measure the weight and that a pint of it weighs 8 grains. Consequently, a gallon weighs a little more than a drachm; therefore a bushel weighs an ounce and a half a drachm. Another experiment proves what one would not suspect. Bodies moving in a fluid, meet so much the more resistance, as their bulk is larger in equal weight. So a cork of equal weight with a guinea, meets with so much the more resistance from the air. But in an exhausted receiver, the largest bulk of cork, which was before the most resisted, now proves the heavier body, and accordingly falls more swiftly than the gold. Again Strike a flint against the steel in vacuo, and it will occasion no sparks. So necessary is air to the very appearances of fire. Air ‘is generated likewise from minerals by fermentation. By other fermenting mixtures it is absorbed again, and by others generated and absorbed alternately. A quarter of an inch of filings of iron, and an inch of compound aqua-fortis, in four days absorbed 27 inches of air, When hot water was poured upon it, it generated three or four inches, which after some days it absorbed again. A quarter of an inch of iron filings, with an inch of powdered brimstone, absorbed nineteen inches in two days. Powdered brimstone mixed with Newcastle coal, neither generated nor absorbed. An inch of chalk, and as much oil of vitriol, in three days generated 31 inches of air. Part of this it afterwards resorbed. Two inches of lime and as much sal ammoniac absorbed 1 15 inches. The fumes of this are therefore very suffocating. . All burning and flaming bodies, absorb much air. And whereas the air which some substances absorb, is afterwards remitted; that which is absorbed by burning brimstone, by the flame of a candle, or by human respiration, does not recover its elasticity. The elasticity of the air in the vesicles of the lungs is continually decreasing, through the vapour it is there loaded with, so that there needs fresh air continually; otherwise those vesicles will soon fall flat, whereby the motion of the blood through the lungs being stopped instant death ensues. And this seems to be exactly the case of most of those who are killed by lightning, which so totally destroys the elastic air in the lungs, that they instantly fall flat. 31. Many have imagined that the animal fluids are furnished with air by the lungs only. But undoubtedly they are also supplied therewith, by way of the chyliferous canals: and that in no small quantity. For the air, like all other animal fluids, requires to be perpetually renewed ; accordingly old particles fly off every moment, and new ones succeeded in their place. It may be demonstrated, that urine contains much air. Doubtless so does the perspirable matter: which being the lightest of all animal fluids, is the chief vehicle of the effete and useless air. And that candles soon go out, if they are confined in a small quantity of air, seems not to be so much owing to their having rendered the air effete by consuming its vivifying spirit, as to its destroying the elasticity thereof, by its acid, fuliginous vapours. But nothing destroys the elasticity of air like brimstone, whether burning or in fermenting mixtures. And as the attractive power of bodies, is found to be more or less, as they have more or fewer sulphurous particles, so we may reasonably ascribe the fixing the elastic particles of air, to the strong attraction of the sulphurous particles, with which Sir Isaac Newton suppose all bodies to abound. more or less. The various mixtures in the stomach, sometimes generate, sometimes absorb air. In a good digestion, the generating power exceeds the absorbing power but a little. When it exceeds it much we are troubled more or less, with disteuding flatuses. We have seen how much air may be extracted from animal and vegetable bodies, Into whose substances it was before intimately and firmly incorporated And consequently great quantities of air must be continually expended in their production. Fart of this we see, may resume its elastic state, when their texture is dissolved; but part probably never regains its elasticity, at least not in many centuries. However, we may see what immense treasures of this important element the wise Author of nature has abundantly provided: the constant waste of it being abundantly supplied, by heat or fermentation flow innumerable dense bodies. If all the parts of nature were endued with a strongly attracting power only, whole nature would immediately become one unactive cohering lump. It was therefore absolutely necessary there should be every where intermixed, a due proportion of strongly elastic particles. And since abundance of these are continually reduced from an elastic to a fixed state, it was also necessary that these particles should be endued with a property of resuming their elasticity, whenever they were disengaged from that mass, in which they were fixed. And hereby this beautiful frame of things, is maintained in a continual round, of the production, and dissolution of animal and vegetable bodies. The air is very instrumental in the production and growth of animals and vegetables: in its elastic state, by invigorating their juices: and in its fixed state, by greatly contributing to the union and firm connexion of their constituent parts. It is also a very powerful agent in the dissolution of the same bodies. 32. That fixed air* is a cementing principle, appears (to omit. others) from that well known experiment. Quicklime dissolves flesh, by extracting and imbibing the fixed air, which it contained. But while the flesh hills in pieces from the loss of the principle, the lime grows solid by having it restored. That it contributes also to the dissolution of bodies appears hence. During the progress of putrefaction, a volatile matter flies continually from the putrefying substance. And this is no other than air, which is now extricated and thrown off from a fixed and unelastic state, but immediately returns to it again, on meeting with a proper recipient. *Air was long considered as a simple elementary substance, but now it no longer ranks as an element in the chemical vocabulary. Within the last half century, the discoveries respecting air have been so numerous and rapid as to raise the doctrine of it, to the dignity of a science. A numerous list of different airs has been supplied by the practical philosophers, all of which exhibited very different specific properties. We read in the treatises on this subject, of inflammable air, sulphurated inflammable alkaline air; nitrous air, hepatric air, atmospherical air; and vitriolic, nitrous, marine and other acid airs, &e. But these abstract airs are termed in the new nomenclature gasses. As oxygen, nitrogen, hydrogen. carbonic acid, &c. The latter of which is what is understood by fixed air. The preserving bodies from putrefaction, depends almost in every instance, on restraining the flight of the fixed air. For as this cements their constituent parts, so putrefaction which is the disunion of them, cannot take place while this remains. And this air both corrects and prevents putrid acrimony in the animal fluid. Hence any food which does not contain a due proportion of it, is found to promote putrefaction: as do all damaged vegetables, which being incapable of fermentation, are incapable of producing the due quantity of air. But pure air is no where to be found. That which surrounds us is the most heterogeneous body in nature. It is no other than an universal chaos, a colluvies of all kinds of bodies. No bodies can withstand the force of fire. And whatever fire can volatilize is found in the air. Hence, for instance, the whole fossil kingdom must be found therein: for all that tribe is convertible into fume. Gold, the most fixed of all, adheres to sulphur in mines, and is raised along with it. All the parts of the animal kingdom must likewise be in the air. For besides the copious effluvia they emit by perspiration, (whereby an animal in the course of its duration, impregnates the air with many times the quantity of its own body) any dead animal when exposed to the air, is in a certain time carried wholly off. And we know that all vegetables by putrefaction become volatile, and so evaporate into air. Air, 2. Volatilizes fixed bodies. Thus sea salt being calcined and fused, then exposed to the air to liquefy; when liquefied, set to dry again; then fused again, and the operation thus repeated will dry by degrees, be almost wholly evaporated, nothing remaining but a little earth. Air, 3. Fixes volatile bodies. Thus though aqua-fortis or spirit of nitre, readily evaporates by the fire; yet if the air near be impregnated with spirit of urine, the volatile spirit is fixed, and falls down in a liquid form. But the air, being open or enclosed, is of consequence in chemical operations. So, to make sulphur inflammable, a free air is required: in a close vessel it will not kindle. And thus all animals and vegetables can only be calcined in open air. In close vessels they never become any other than black coals. By the air-pump the air is in a great measure drawn out of a vessel called a receiver. And hence we learn how much all vital. nutritive and alternative powers depends upon the air. A candle in the exhausted receiver usually goes out in a minute. A kindled charcoal is totally extinguished in about five minutes. Red hot iron is not affected thereby; only it will not light sulphur or gunpowder, but melt it. Loadstones act as well as in the open air. Smoke sinks in a darkish body to the bottom, leaving the upper part clear and transparent.The syphon does not run therein: but attrition produces heat, as in the open air. If some grains of a heap of gunpowder be kindled by a burning-glass they will not fire the contiguous grains. Glow-worms lose their light as the air is exhausted but recover it not on its re-admission. Vipers and frogs seem dead in less than two hours; but recover in the open air. Snails live ten hours; efts two or three days; leeches five or six. The atmosphere is a body of air and vapours, which surrounds the globe to the height of at least sixty miles, gravitates towards its centre, and is carried along with it in all its motions. This continually presses on our bodies, with a weight equal to a pillar of air, whose base is equal to the surface of our bodies. Now a pillar of air of the height of the atmosphere, is equal to a pillar of water thirty-two feet high. Every foot square therefore of the surface of our bodies is pressed on by a weight of air, equal to 35 cubic feet of water: and a cubic foot of water weighing 76 pounds, troy weight; consequently every foot square of the surface of our bodies sustain a pillar of air, equal to 2,260 pounds. If then the surface of a man’s body contains fifteen square feet he sustains a weight equal to 39,900 pounds. This is the case when the air is heaviest. But the difference between the greatest and the least, pressure of air upon our bodies is equal to 3,982 pounds. Hence it is so far from being a wonder, we should sometimes suffer in our health by a change of weather, that it is the greatest wonder we should not always suffer. For when we consider our bodies are at some times pressed upon by near two tons weight more than at others, it is-surprising that every change does not break our whole frame to pieces. In, truth the vessels of our bodies being so much straitened by an increased pressure, would stagnate the blood to the very heart, had not the Author of nature wisely contrived, that when the resistance of its circulation is greatest, the force by which the heat contracts should be so too. For upon an increase of the weight of the air, the lungs are more strongly expanded, and the blood, by being more intimately broken, made fitter for finer secretions, the nervous in particular, by which the heart is more strongly contracted. On the other hand, when the weight of the ambient air is ever so little abated, the air contained within the blood, unfolds its springs, and forces the blood to take up a larger space than it did before. The reason we are not sensible of this pressure, is well explained by Borrelli: sand perfectly rammed into a hard vessel, cannot be penetrated even by a wedge. And water in a bladder, compressed on all sides, cannot give way in any part. In like manner, within the skin of an animal, are contained various parts; some hard as bones: some soft as muscles: and some fluid as blood. Now it is not possible that bones should be broke or displaced in the body, unless the pressure lay heavier on one part than another. If the pressure be so divided, that it be equal all round, upward, downward, sideways, and no part of the skin to be exempt therefrom, it is plain, no fracture or luxation can follow. The same may be observed of the muscles and nerves, which though soft, yet being composed of solid fibres, do mutually sustain each other, and resist the common weight. The same holds of the blood and other humours. As water is not capable of condensation, so these liquids, while contained in these vessels, cannot be forced out of them by an universal compression. Add to this, that the air itself, which is contained in every part of the body, is such a balance to the external air, that no hurt can ensue from its pressure. 33.Oil of vitriol, when exposed to the air, continually increases in weight. Let a phial of this stand unstopped, and it will be constantly running over. Perhaps the cause of this odd phenomenon is, the moisture contained in the air, which this Liquor, a potential fire, imbibes as greedily, as actual fire does nitre. 34.At the height of forty-one miles, the air is so rarefied, as to take up three thousand times the space it does here. At fifty-three miles high, it would be expanded thirty thousand times as much as it. is here. At that distance, as was observed, it is expanded into three thou. sand times the space it occupies here. And we have seen it condensed into the sixteenth part of the same space. It seems then, that the air is capable of being condensed into the hundred and eighty thousandth part of the space it would take up when free from pressure. But what texture must it be of, to make it capable of this immense expansion and contraction! How imperfectly is this accounted fort by comparing it to wool, cotton, and the like elastic bodies. 35.But there is an amazing difference between the fixed and the common air, with regard to their effects upon animal bodies. The fixed air, even when set free, and in a state of perfect elasticity, whether it be during the first stage of fermentation by fire, by effervescence, or by putrefaction; if it be received into the lungs of any animal, causes instant death. But the same air when received into the stomach, whether thrown off by effervescent mixtures in medicines, or extricated from the food by natural fermentation; in the first instance often operates like a charm, in restraining vomitings; and in the second is absolutely needful for the support of life and health. With regard to the common air, on the contrary, no animal can live tong without taking large quantities of it into the lungs. Yet if a small portion of it be forced into the blood-vessels of any animal, death presently ensues. So that these two species of air, have quite different provinces, with respect to animal life. The first, common air, must mix wholly with the blood. The second only communicates some subtle matter to it: probably electric fire, which we know is connected with every particle of common air. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 26: PART 04 - CHAPTER 3 - OF METEORS ======================================================================== Chapter 3 - Of Meteors 1. Whatsoever is carried aloft into the air, and suspended there, is termed a meteor. These are either watery, fiery, or airy. The watery, are mists, clouds,, rain, snow, hail. Watery particles which. are rarefied so. as to float in the air, are then termed vapours. If these are visible, and hang near the earth, we call them mists, it they are higher in the air, clouds Some of these are so thin, as to transmit the rays of the sun, others so dense as to intercept them. The manner wherein the vapours that constitute clouds and rain are-raised, seems to be this. Fire being the lightest of all bodies, easily breaks loose from them; and in its passage carries along with it particles, or little cases of water. These being lighter than the air, are buoyed up and swim therein: till striking against one another, or thickened by cold, they are reduced into clouds and drops. To illustrate this, we may observe in water over the fire, I. That the evaporations are proportioned to the heat. A small heat throws off few vapours, scarce visible a greater heat carries off larger and more numerous vesicles of water, which we call a steam. Violent heat lifts up great quantities of water, which the air cannot buoy up: and this we call boiling. 2. If these vapours be intercepted in their ascent, by any dense body, especially if it be cold; they are thereby reduced into drops, like those of rain. 3. In frosty weather, the vapours rise but a little above the water, and there hang, or glide on. If the weather be cold, after a little ascent, they fall again into the water. But in a warm still air, they ascend swiftly and largely, and rise up till they are-out of sight. To explain this a little farther, it may be observed, that the parts of water being so small and moveable, are easily separated from one another. And when they are so divided into small parcels, as to become about eight hundred times lighter than common water, they are as light as the air, and will, by every successive degree of separation, rise in the air in proportion to their lightness; the heavier air forcing the rarefied fluid to ascend into the atmosphere, till it finds a place in equilibrium among bodies of equal lightness to itself. This separation or comminution (if I may so call it) of water into small parcels may be performed either by collision against harder and more compact bodies, or by heat. The first we often see performed at the bottom of cascades, where the water that falls but a few fathoms, shall rise in a mist from the bottom where it is broke; and there are instances of clouds rising from the fall of waters, which may be seen five miles off.* Collisions will therefore excite vapours: but what is more constantly producing this effect in every part of the universe, is heat: whether from the sun, which is always busy this way, or from articulated ignition, or that generally visible elemental fire, which is distributed through all matter. It is not necessary for us to consider in this case, any other than the divisibility of water, and the insinuating and dispersive qualities of fire. Fire we see separates more or less the parts of all bodies, whether fluid or solid, and makes them rise in the air; and it does no more to water: it separates it. into such small portions, that the air is more ponderous than the steam, and of consequence remains nearer the earth by its superior gravitation. 2..The dew which usually falls in England, in a year, amounts to something more than three inches and a quarter depth. The evaporation of a winter’s day is nearly the same as that of a summer’s day. For the earth being moister in winter, that excess of moisture answers to the excess of heat in summer. Within the tropics they have no rain for many months together. But the dews are far greater than with us. Yet the moisture evaporated in a summer’s day, far exceeds that which falls in the night. Hence the dews there, cannot be of any benefit to the roots of the trees, because they are remanded back from the earth by the following day’s heat, before they can soak to any considerable depth. The great benefit therefore of dew in hot weather, must be, by being imbibed into vegetables, to refresh them for the present, and supply them with moisture towards the expense of the succeeding day. Meantime the sun draws fresh supplies of moisture from the strata of the earth, which, by means of its penetrating warmth, insinuates itself into the roots. By the same genial heat it is carried up through their bodies and branches, and thence passing into the leaves, it is vigorously acted upon in those thin plates, till perspiring through their surface, it mounts with rapidity in the free air. But the, strangest circumstance relating to dew, is this. In the same night, place several substances in the open air, whilst a large dew falls: and some of them will receive much of it, some little, and others none at all. The drops make a sort of choice, what bodies they shall fix themselves to. Glass and crystals they fix themselves The cloud of spray arising from the dashing of the water, at the falls of Niagara, may be seen in a clear day fifteen or twenty miles distant, and appears as if the woods were on fire.too readily’, and in the largest quantities. Metals do not receive them at all, nor do the drops ever fix on them. If a glass vessel be set outing the evening, on a silver plate, the glass will be found quite covered with dew, and the silver perfectly dry. China ware is a sort of glass. Six pounds of mercury being exposed to the air in a china plate, the dew ran in streams on the edge of the plate, but not a drop was on the mercury. Is there not some alliance between the phenomena observed in dew, and those which appear in electric bodies All hard bodies may by rubbing become electric, excepting only metals. And metals are the only bodies which wholly, refuse to admit dew. But this is not all. A pewter plate, placed all night in the open air, receives no dew on its upper side, but the under side is covered with it. On the contrary, place a china plate near it, and the upper side of it is quite wet,’ but the underside is quite dry. So one receives the ‘dew only’ on the upper, the other’ only on’ the under surface. Who can account for this Mr. Kershaw has observed, that dew newly gathered and strained, is not very cleir, but of a yellowish colour. That when he endeavoured to putrefy it by various degrees of heat, he quite failed of his intention : for heat rather clarified and preserved it sweet, than caused any putrefaction. That after it had been exposed to the sun, corked up, for a whole summer, there’ was no other change than that much green stuff (such as we see in standing water) floated on the top. That after it had been exposed to the sun many weeks in an open glass, it was full of little insects, like tadpoles, which in a while dropped their skins, and became gnats. That vapouring away great quantities of this dew, he procured two ‘pounds ‘of greyish earth, which lay in leaves one above another. like brown paper, but very friable. Lastly, that by often calcining and filtring this earth, he extracted two ounces of a fine, small, white, salt, which much resembled rock salt, when it was viewed through a microscope. If clouds are condensed, so as to fill in drops, this we style rain. It may rise from various causes. Sometimes cold alone condenses a warm cloud. But it is generally wind that presses the cloud so close together, that the particles of water unite in large drops, which being specifically heavier than the air, can no longer be suspended by it. But by what power are the drops of rain so equally dispersed This may be shown by an easy experiment. Put a quantity of brass dust’ into an electric phial. When this is charged, invert it, and throw some of the dust out. This will be spread over a flat surface, with exact uniformity, and will fall just like rain or snow. It. is highly probable, this is the case with the clouds. Being highly electrified, they of course spread their contents equally over the surface of the earth. Again. How comes it to pass, that we have not constantly either too much or too little rain in any one place It is not chance, which can never steer clear of extremes. It is the hand of Providence. There is no other rational way of accounting for such an economy in the clouds. Such a just and necessary distillation and distribution of water from the grand alembic of the atmosphere, could never proceed, but from the superintendance and direction of that Omnipotent chemist, in whose hands are all the secondary powers of nature, to vary their operations, as he sees most conducive to the general good of mankind. Bloody rains, as they have been sometimes called, seem to be only the excrements of insects. Accordingly, Gassendus gives us an account of a bloody rain in France, which much terrified the people. But upon inquiry, it was found only to be red drops, coming from a sort of butterflies which flew about in great numbers. During a scarcity in Silesia, a rumour was spread, of its raining millet seed. But it was soon found to be only the seeds of the small henbit, growing thereabouts in great plenty. So in the Archipelago it was thought ashes were rained, with which ships were covered for many leagues. But, in truth, they came from an eruption of Vesuvius happening at that time. More lately, it was reported at Warminster, in Wiltshire, that it rained wheat. But the supposed wheat was really ivy-berries, blown thither in a considerable quantity by a hurricane. Nay, in 1696, a field near Cranstead, in Kent, was overspread with young whitings, supposed to fall from the clouds, but, doubtless brought thither from the sea, by a violent storm. Nor is it strange that any of these things should be thus transported by tempestuous winds, considering to what distance, and in what quantities the sea water was carried by a storm, Nov. 25, 1703. A physician travelling soon after, twenty miles from the sea, chewing some tops of hedges, found them salt. The grass of the down about Lewes, was so salt, that for some time the sheep could not eat it., And the miller, three miles from the sea, attempting with his man to secure his mill, were so washed with flashes of sea water, that they were almost strangled. A few years ago, during a violent storm of wind, much rain fell in the western part of Cornwall, which was mere sea water, as salt as that which was taken out of the sea. It seemed to have been drawn out of the sea, and thrown upon the land in the same hour: so that there was no time for that wonderful operation of nature, whereby the water that ascends in clouds, is freed from its salt and bituminous particles, before it falls to the earth. When the particles of water in a cloud are frozen, it occasions snow, which floats in the air till it is driven together, so as to be heavy enough to sink. When the drops of rain, in falling toward the earth, meet with a stream of cold air, they are often frozen into ice, and so fall to the ground in the form of hail.* Hence the reason appears, why snow, which is only frozen mist, is lighter than either rain or hail. But why is snow, though it seems to be soft, truly hard: because it is true ice. It seems soft, because at the first touch of the finger on its sharp-edges or points, they melt. Otherwise they would pierce the ‘finger, just as so many lancets. But why, though it be true ice, which is a hard and dense body, is it so very light Because of the extreme thinness of each circle, in comparison of its breadth. So gold, the most ponderous of all bodies, when beaten into leaves, rides upon the air. Why is it white Because its parts, though singly transparent, yet must appear white when mixed together: as do the parts of froth, of powdered glass, and other transparent bodies, whether soft or hard. You will see snow of a peculiar kind, if you try the following experiment. Set a tall phial of aqua-fortis by the fire, till it is warm. ,Then put in filings of pure silver, a few at a time, and after a brisk ebullition, the silver slowly dissolves. Place this in a cold window. As it cools,’ the silver particles shoot into crystals, several of which running together, form a flake of snow, and descend to the bottom of the phial, While, they are descending, they perfectly represent a shower of silver snow. And the flakes lie upon one another at the bottom, like real snow upon the ground. Many particles’ of snow are of a regular figure, like rowels, or stars of six points. On each of these points are other collateral stars, but many of the points are broken. Others have been thawed, and are froze again into irregular dusters. All these are perfect ice, so that the whole of snow is an infinite number of icicles. A cloud of’ vapours condensing,, forthwith descends, till meeting with a freezing air, each drop immediately becomes an icicle, shooting itself into several points. These descending still, and either striking on each other, or meeting with gales of warmer air, are a little blunted or thawed, and froze again into clusters, and so entangled as to fall in flakes. The drops of rain falling through a strata, or region of the air, which has a superior attraction for the caloric which constitutes their fluidity, are divested of it, and by that means converted to the solid state, or what is termed ice. Even in our temperate climate, we have sometimes had very extraordinary showers of hail. On April 29, 1697, a thick black cloud, coming from Carnarvonshire, poured such a hail on Cheshire, Lancashire, and some other counties, that in a line two miles broad and sixty long, it did inconceivable damage. It not only killed all small animals, but split trees, and beat down horses and men. The hailstones, many of which weighed five ounces, some seven or eight, were of various figures: some round, others half round, some smooth, others embossed, or variously granulated. The icy substance of them was transparent and hard; but there was a snowy kernel in the middle of each. May 4, in the same year, there was a shower of bail, in Hartford-shire, which exceeded this. Fields of rye were cut down as with a scythe: several men killed, and vast oaks split. The stones were from ten to fourteen inches round, some oval, some picked and others flat. Mezeray relates that in Italy, in 1510, there was, after a horrible darkness, a shower of hail which destroyed all the fish, birds and beasts of that country. It was attended with a strong smell of sulphur. Some of the stones weighed a hundred pounds. 4.The rainbow is always seen in the region opposite the sun, and never but when it rains on that side. Its colours are constantly in this order: the outermost red, the next yellow, the third green, the innermost violet colour: but these are not always equally vivid. When two rainbows appear, the upper exhibits the same colours, but fainter, and in an inverted order. The seat of the rainbow is the drops of rain, on which the rays of the sun fall, and after various refractions and reflections, strike on the eye of the beholder. This is rendered indisputable from hence: that the very same colours, and’ in the same order, are exhibited in the drops of water, spouted from a fountain. The moon also sometimes exhibits a rainbow: but only when she is full: her light being at other times too faint to affect the sight, after two refractions, and a reflection. It has all the colour of the solar rainbow, very distinct and pleasant, only considerably fainter, A rainbow is likewise sometimes exhibited by the sea, when a strong wind carries the tops of the waves aloft, and the sun’s rays falling upon them are refracted and reflected, as in a shower. But the colours of this are less lively, less distinct, and less durable than those of the common bow. Scarce above two colours are distinguishable: a dark yellow on the side next the sun, and a pale green on the opposite side. But sometimes 20 or 30 of them are seen at’ once. They appear at noonday in a position opposite to that of the common rainbow, the concave side being turned upwards. 5. Halos are circles of various colours, which are sometimes seen about The sun or moon. The space contained within them (especially near those parts which are tinctured with the most lively colours) is more dusky than the sky without. They never appear in rainy the air is at that time full of very small icy portion which the rays of the sun and moon falling, after refraction, exhibit that appearance. 6. As to mock suns, we sometimes see a large, white circle, parallel to the horizon, in several parts whereof more or fewer suns appear, though not always of the same size or colour. As an halo frequently appears’ at the same time, it is probable they spring from much “the same cause, namely, from icy particles floating in the air, between the sun and the eye of the spectator. The rays of the sun reflected from these, may form that bright circle, in certain parts whereof, by a ‘double refraction and reflection of them, those fictitious suns appear in the same manner, the appearances termed may be accounted for. 7. Among fiery meteors are reckoned thunder lightning, ignes fatui, lambent flames, and what are called falling stars Unless we account for these (as indeed it is easy to do) upon the principles of electricity, we must suppose they are owing to sulphurous or bituminous particles, floating in the air, which when collected in sufficient quantities, take fire by various means. If a large quantity of inflammable vapour takes fire at once the flame tears the cloud with incredible force, as well as immense noise. But the light moving quicker than the sound, is seen before that is heard. Sometimes an exhilaration of a milder kind takes fire, and produces lightning without thunder. When it thunders and lightens, it commonly rains too, the same shock driving together and condensing the clouds. And the wisdom of God appoints’ it so, for the preservation of his creatures. For if lightning falls on one who is thoroughly wet, it does him no harm at all. Not that’ the water quenches or resists the fire; but it conveys it into the ground. High places are most frequently struck with lightning, if they have sharp points, as spires of churches, or tops of trees, which as it were, attract the fire. It sometimes burns the clothes without hurting the ‘body; sometimes breaks the bones without scorching the skin. It melts the sword in the scabbard, or money in the pocket, while the scabbard or pocket remains as it was. In general, it passes innocently through those things that make little or no resistance; but tears those in pieces with impetuous force which resist its passage. One very particular effect of lightning, is what the vulgar call fairy circles. These are of two kinds. One kind is a round bare path, about a foot broad, with green grass in the middle, and is frequently seven or eight yards in ‘diameter, The other is a circle of the same breadth, of very green grass, much fresher than that in the middle. These are generally observed after storms of thunder and lightning. And it is no wonder that lightning like other fires, moves circularly, and burns more at the extremity than in the middle. The second kind’ of circles, without all doubt, spring originally from the first: the grass which was burnt up by lightning, growing. afterward more fresh’ and green. But of what kind’ was that meteor which appeared’ March 21, 1676 Two hours after sunset, it came over the Adriatic sea, from E. N. E. to W. S. W. and crossed over all Italy, being nearly vertical to Rimini on the one side, and Leghorn on the other. It was at least thirty-eight miles high. In all places near its course, it made a hissing noise like a sky rocket. Having passed Leghorn, it gave a Sound like that of a large cannon, and quickly after like a cart running over stones. It was computed to move 160 miles in a minute, which is above ten times as swift as the diurnal motion of the earth. Its smaller diameter was judged to be above half a mile. No wonder, then, that so large a body, moving with such incredible swiftness through the air, though so much rarefied, should cause that hissing noise. It is much harder to conceive, how such an impetus could be impressed upon it: how this impetus should be determined, in a direction so nearly parrallel to the horizon. And what sort of substance it must be, that could be so impelled and ignited at the same time! Whatever it was, it sunk, and was extinguished in the Tyrrhene sea, to the W. S. W. of Leghorn. The great noise was heard, on its immersion into the water, the rattling sound upon its quenching. On Thursday, March 19, 1719, there appeared at London, about eight at night, a sudden great light, moving after the manner, but more slowly than a falling star, in a direct line, a little beyond and withal below Orion’s Belt, then in the south-west. In its way, it turned tapering upward, and at last’ spherical, near as big as the full moon. It was whitish, with an eye of blue, as bright as the sun in a clear day. It seemed in half a minute to move twenty degrees, and to go out as much above the horizon. There ‘remained after it, for more’ than a minute, a track of reddish colour, such as red hot iron; and sparks seemed to issue from it, such as come ‘from red hot iron, beaten upon an anvil. Within doors the candles gave no light; and without, not only time stars disappeared, but the moon. nine days old, though the sky was clear, and she was then near the meridian: so that for some seconds, we had perfect day. Its height was seventy-three miles and a half. Hence it might be seen in all places, which were not distant from it more than two hundred and twenty leagues. Accordingly, it was seen, at the same instant over Spain, France, Great Britain, Ireland, Holland, and the higher parts of Germany. Another appearance, which resembles lightning, is the aurora borealis, commonly called the northern lights. This is usually of a reddish colour, inclining yellow, arid sends out coruscations of bright light, to rise from the horizon, in a pyramidical form, and shoot with great velocity into the zenith. It appears frequently in the form of an arch, rises far above ‘the regions of the clouds, yet never at the equator, but always ‘nearer the poles. 8.Vapours of the same kind, that give rise to lightnings in the air, occasion damps in the earth. The damps usual in mines are of four sorts.. The approach of the first and most common is known by the flame of the candle lessening till it goes out: as also by the men’s difficulty of breathing. Those who escape swooning are not much hurt by this but those who swoon away, are’ commonly on their recovery seized with strong convulsions. The second is the peasblo om damp, so called because ‘of its smell. ‘This comes only in summer, and is common in the Peak of Derbyshire They who have seen the third sort of damp, describe it thus in the highest part of the roof of those passages in a mine, which ‘branch out from the main grove, a round things hangs about as big as a football, covered with a thin skin. If this be broken the damp immediately spreads, and suffocates all that are near. But sometimes they contrive to break it at a distance; after which they purify the place with fire. The fourth is the fire-damp: a vapour, which if touched by the flame of a candle, takes fire, and goes off like gunpowder. And yet some who have had all their clothes burnt. off by one of these, and their flesh torn off their bones, at the very time felt no heat at all, but as it were a cool air. Sir James ,Lowther, having collected some of the air in bladders, brought it up to London. Being let out at the orifice through a tobacco pipe, it would take fire at the flame of a candle. And even this is imitable by art. Most metals emit sulphurous vapours, while they are dissolving in their several menstruums. Iron, for instance, while it dissolves in oil of vitriol, emits much sulphurous vapour. If they be received into a bladder, and afterward let out in a small stream, it takes fire just in the same manner as the natural vapour. This experiment explains one cause of earthquakes and volcanos; since it appears hence, that nothing more is necessary to form ‘them, than iron mixing with vitriolic acid and water. Now ironis generally found accompanied with sulphur; and sulphur consists of an inflammable oil, and an acid like oil of vitriol. This acid in the bowels of the earth, being diluted with a little water, becomes a menstruum to iron, with a violent effervescence and an intense heat. ‘The air coming from this mixture is extremely rarefied. and the more it is compressed by the incumbent earth, so much the more its impetus will be increased to an unlimited degree. Nor does there need fire to set these vapours to work. The air in. the bladder. if it be much heated, will of itself take fire, as soon as it is brought into Contact with the external air. Other damps are sometimes as mortal as those in mines. In the’ year 1701, a mason being at work in the city of Rennes, near the brink of a well, let his hammer fall into it. A labourer, who was sent down for it, was suffocated before lie reached the water. A second, sent to draw him up, met with the same fate. So did a third. At last a fourth, half drunk, was let down, with a charge to call out immediately, if he felt any inconvenience. lie did call, as soon as he came near the water, and was drawn up instantly. Yet he died in three days, crying out, he felt a heat, which scorched his entrails. Yet the three carcases being drawn up with hooks, and opened, there appeared no cause of their death. The same historians relate, that a baker of Chartres, having carried seven or eight bushels of brands out of his oven, into a cellar 36 stairs deep, his son, a strong, young fellow, going with more, his candle went out on the middle of the stairs. Having lighted it afresh, he no sooner got into the cellar, then he cried for help, and they heard no more of him. His brother, an able youth, ran down, cried, “ I am dead,” and was heard no more. He was followed by his wife, and she by a maid, and still it was the same. Yet a hardy fellow resolved to go and help them: he cried too, and was seen no more. A sixth man desired a hook to draw some of them out. lie drew up the maid, who fetched a sigh and died. Next day one undertook to draw up the rest, and was let down on a wooden horse with ropes, to be drawn up whenever he should call lie soon called, hut the rope breaking, lie fell back again, and was a while after drawn up dead. Upon opening him, the membranes of the l)rain were extremely stretched, his lungs spotted with blood, his intestines swelled as big as one’s arm, and red as blood, and all the muscles of his arms, thighs and legs, torn and separated from their bones. Whence this strange difference should arise, that the vapours of some mines catch fire with a spark, and others only with a flame, is a question that we must be content to leave in obscurity, till we know more of the nature both of mineral vapour and fire. This only we may observe, that gunpowder will fire with a spark, but not with the flame of a candle: on the other hand, spirits of wine will flame with a candle, but not with a spark. But even here the cause of this difference remains a secret. A like instance of the fatal nature of foul air, happened at Boston, in New-England. Mr. Adams and his servant being employed to repair a pump, uncovered the well, and Mr. Adams went down by a rope ; but he had not gone six feet before he dropped suddenly without speaking a word, to the upper part of the joint of the pump, where being supported about a minute, and breathing very short, he thee fell to the bottom, without any signs of life. His servant hastily went but at the same distance from the top, was struck, and without discovering any signs of distress, fell to the bottom. But by the use of proper means: recovered. He remembered nothing the workmen prepared a third, with a tackle about his waist. On his descent, he was quickly speechless and senseless. Though he made no sign, they drew him, up. He was the very picture of death, of what had passed. The other bodies, when taken up, had all the marks of a violent death. The vapour of fermenting liquors is equally extraordinary in its effects. This vapour appears over the fermenting liquor as a fog in a meadow, but more fleecy. It is heavier than air, and falls quick to the ground and disappears. disappears. Van Helmont calls it, gas sylvestre. Baer have says," there is nothing more surprising in fermentation, than the spiritus sylvestris, nor is there. any poison that I am acquainted with so subtle, swift, and fatal. For if a very large vessel full of must, in the very act of fermentation, should discharge this spirit through a small vent-hole in the top of the vessel, and the stoutest man whould apply his nose to the hole, and at once draw in this vapour, be would drop down dead in an instant, without any apparent cause of it. It extinguishes flame instantaneously. If a lighted candle be let slowly into it, the flame is borne up from the wick, and the candle may be raised up again, so as to receive the flame.” One put a mouse into it which was killed in about a second of time, it kicked once or twice, and then was quite dead. May we ascribe to a kind of damp, a sort of murrain, which appeared in Italy, and made great havoc among the cattle It spread itself in the form of’ a blue mist, over those pastures where they grazed: so that whole herds came home sick, and most of them died in twenty-four hours. Many, who went among them, were infected, and died in the same manner. Some imputed this contagion to noxious vapours thrown out of the earth, by earthquakes preceding. It passed through Germany to Poland, going, without intermission, eleven or twelve miles in twenty-four hours, and suffering no cattle in its way to escape, whether within doors or without. Hence others imagined it was owing to some volatile insect, which was able to make but short flights. 9. Ignis fatuus, vulgarly called will-with-the-wisp, is chiefly seen in dark nights, irregularly moving over meadows, marshes, and other moist places. It seems to be a viscious exhalation, which being kindled in the air, reflects a kind of thin flame in the dark, though with. out any sensible heat. it is often found to fly along rivers or hedges. ‘probably because it there meets with a stream of air to direct it. In Italy there are luminous appearances, clearly resembling these, which on a close inspection have been found to be no other than swarms of shining flies. In all the territories of Bologna, these fiery appearances are common. There are some places where one may be almost sure of them every dark night, as near the bridge Della Salcarata, and in the fields of Bagnara; these are large; sometimes equal to the light of a faggot, rarely less than that of a link. That at Bagnara, not long since, kept a gentleman company for a mile, moving just before him, and casting a stronger light on the road than the link he had with him. All of them resemble a flame, and are continually in motion, but the motion is various and uncertain. In winter, when the ground is covered with snow. they are most frequent of all Nor does rain binder them: nay, in wet weather, they give the strongest light: wind also does not disturb them. As they are not hindered by wet, and set nothing on fire, though ever so combustible, may it not reasonably be supposed, that they have some resemblance to that kind of phosphorous, which shines indeed in the dark, yet does not burn like common fire The following experiments show a little more of the nature of this strange substance. Salt of phosphorus, kept in a vitrifying heat, at last runs into perfect glass. What a wonderful subject is this And how surprising it is, that so inflammable a body should become glass! Here then is perfect transmutation of bodies : the phosphorus being transmuted into a transparent glass of a bluish green, coming nearer the hardness of a diamond, than any other glass whatever. And the glass is in the very same quantity with the phosphorus, which produces it ounce for ounce. Another odd circumstance relating to phosphorus, is, cut it small, or scrape it with a knife, and lay it on a glass dish in moist air, in a week it dissolves into a liquid, near eighty times its original weight. This liquid is the same in all respects, with that which comes from the sublimed flowers by deflagration. And this may be turned into the same glass with the original phosphorous.* *Phosphorus is justly ranked among the confinable elements, though in nature, it is never found detached from other substances. Brandt is celebrated for the first discovery of it in a pure state, but this, by a chemical process, and not in a spontaneous character. By chemical experiment, it appears to be a substance peculiarly of an animal nature, and is principally extracted from bones, urine, &c. though it is found to consist with vegetables, but in a less degree, and more especially with those, whose chemical characters bear a nearer resemblance to those of animals. Phosphorus has a most powerful attraction for oxygen, and will consume a quantity in weight, as 3 to 2; this capacity is so great, that it will kindle into a flame at blood heat. If the oxygen be duly proportioned to the combustion of this substance, the result will be phosphoric acid. On of the most singular kinds of lambent flames is that discovered at certain times on sea water Where the ship goes swiftly in the night, in many seas the whole breaking in the water will appear behind it, as if on fire sparkling and shining all the way that it moves It is in this part as bright and glittering as if the moon shone upon it, and chiefly when there is neither moon nor stars, nor any light in the lanterns. But it is not always the same: sometimes it is scarce perceivable sometimes very vivid and bright. Sometimes it is only just behind the ship, sometimes it spreads a great way on each side. It commonly reaches thirty or forty feet from the stern of the ship, but is fainter as it is farther off. At the stern it is often so bright, that a person on deck may see to read by it. The luminous water that follows the ship is sometimes distinct from the rest of the surface. Sometimes it is so blended with the adjacent water, that the appearance is confused. The luminous matter seems composed of small sparkles, which are sometimes in the figure of a star, sometimes it forms globules without any radiations from them. These are, some of the size of a large pin’s head; some larger, even to a foot in diameter Sometimes the luminous matter is in oblong squares, of three or four inches. When the ship goes swiftly these figures all combine and. form a sort of luminous whirlpool. Nor does a ship only, but whatever moves swift through the sea, cause the same appearance. Large fish when they swim near the surface, leave a luminous road between them. So have a number of fish moving together. And sometimes the throwing out a rope, or any thing that breaks the surface of the water, will render it luminous. If sea water be taken up, and placed in a vessel, as soon as it is stirred, it will sparkle: and if a linen rag be dipped in sea water, and hung up, when it is thoroughly dried, it will appear luminous on being rubbed in the dark; and when half dry, it need only be shook, to show a great number of sparkles. When these sparkles are once formed, and fall on any solid body, they will last a considerable time, If they remain on the water, they will soon go out. The waves beating against the rocks or shore, yea, or against one another, will occasion the same appearance, and often yield a long course of light the whole night. In the Brazils, the shores often seem all on fire, by the waves dashing against them. In general, the thicker and fouler the seas are, the more of this light they afford In many places the sea is covered with a yellowish matter like sawdust, which seems to be the excrement of some sea animal. The water where this is found gives more light, upon moving than any other. Some parts of the northern seas are covered with this, for several leagues together, and this is often luminous all over in the night. though not stirred by any thing moving through it. In the gulf of Venice, the water is luminous, only from the beginning of summer till the end of harvest. This light is most copious in places abounding with sea grass, especially when any thing moves the water. One filled a flask with this water; but it emitted no light tilt it was stirred in the dark. When this was strained through a fine cloth, the cloth shone in the dark, but not the water. This light consisted of innumerable lucid particles. When some of this sea grass was taken up, there were above thirty of these particles on one leaf, one of which when it was shaken, fell off. it was as fine as an eyelash, and about as long. Viewed with a microscope, it appeared to be a worm or maggot, consisting of eleven rings, with as many mamillae on the sides instead of feet. Their whole bodies were lucid, though least so when at rest. In spring they confine themselves to the sea grass; but in summer they are dispersed all over the sea, and mostly on the surface. When this sea sparkles more than usual, it is the sure sign of a storm: and this proceeds from the greater agitation of the worms, already sensible of the approaching change. Hence it is clear that the glittering of this sea, in a ship’s course is occasioned by these worms; which probably is the case in some other seas also. And they are certainly the cause of the light in the pinna marina, a large muscle frequently caught by the Algerine fishermen. Many sea-fish, indeed, have a viscous matter about their gills, especially when they have been some time dead. These, when kept in sea water, shine as bright as a flaming coal. A stick rubbed on their gills, becomes luminous wherever it has touched them, and continues so, while it continues moist; but as it dries, the light fades. There is a small shell-fish, called a dacytlus, which is luminous all over. When it is taken out of the shell in the dark, every part of its surface shines with a bright light. Nor is it the surface only, but the whole body. For if it be wounded either lengthways or across, the outparts are as luminous as the surface. It is therefore, a true, natural phosphorus, and makes every thing luminous that touches it, which remains so as long as it is wet. When it is fresh caught it abounds with water, and the very drops which fall from it are luminous. Some boiled mackerel having been left in tile water for pickle, the cook, a day or two after, stirring the water, found it very luminous. Wherever the drops of it fell on the ground, they shined. The next day we repeated the trial. The water till stirred, gave no light; but when gently stirred by the hand, it shone bright; and by a brisker motion it seemed to flame. The fish shone as well from the inside as the out: yet they were not either foetid or insipid. When foetid they did not shine at all. The chief circumstances which Mr. B. noticed concerning luminous flesh, were, 1. It was a neck of veal, bought some days before. 2. In this, about twenty places shone, though not alike, 3. Most of these were as big as the nail of a man’s finger, and irregularly shaped. 4. The parts which shone most, were the grisly, or the bruised parts of the bones 6. Some of these were so bright, that holding a printed paper to. them, I could read several letters. 6. One could not discern in any of them the least degree of heat, neither of putrefaction. 7. One o these being put in a cup of cold water, the light continued the same Not only water, fish, and flesh, but some sort of wood will shine as bright as a burning coal. And herein they agree, I. Both hart light in themselves. 2. Both need the air, to make them continue shining. 3. Both having lost their light, by being deprived of air, recover it, when fresh air is let in. 4. Both are easily quenched by water, and 5. Neither of them is affected by the coldness of the air. But herein they differ. . 1. The light of a coal is put out by compression: that of wood is not. 2. The coal is quite extinguished by withdrawing the air; that of the wood is only eclipsed: let the air in again within half an hour, and it immediately recovers. 3. A coal put into a small, close glass, will not burn many minutes: a piece of wood. will shine many days. 4. A burning coal emits much smoke, shining wood none at all. A diamond, by an easy friction in the dark, by the finger or a woollen cloth, appears in its whole body to be luminous: and if it has been rubbed a good while, it will keep its light for a little time. If when the sun is set, one holds up a piece of flannel, stretched tight between both hands at a little distance, and another rubs the diamond swiftly and strongly on the other side of it, the light to the eye of him that holds the cloth, seems much more pleasant and perfect. What is more surprising, is, that a diamond exposed to the open air, in view of the sky, (even without being in the sunshine) gives nearly the same light of itself, without rubbing, as when rubbed in a dark room. But if you bold your hand or any thing else over it, to hinder its communication with the sky, let it lie ever so long in the open air, yet it will give no light. A well polished piece of amber will yield light if rubbed in the dark. And if it be drawn swiftly through a woollen cloth, very many little cracklings are heard, and each produces a little flash of light. If drawn gently, it produces a light, but no crackling. The splendour of the seawater during the night, hath long been a subject of admiration, and upon the coasts of Chioggia it is particularly remarkable: at first sight, one would imagine, that the brilliant images of the fixed stars were reflected by the sea, when agitated by the winds. This brightness becomes much more vivid and copious, in places abounding with the alga marina, or sea weed. One summer night, I took a vessel full of the seawater home with me; I placed it in a dark room, and observed as often as I disturbed the water, a very bright light issued from it. I then passed the water through a very close linen cloth, to try if it would still retain its splendour after such percolation. But notwithstanding I agitated it in the most violent manner, I could not excite the least luminousness in it. The linen cloth, however, afforded the most charming spectacle imaginable: it was covered with an infinity of lucid particles. To the naked eye they appear smaller than the finest hairs; their colour is of a deep yellows and their substance delicate beyond imagination; but having a mind to examine them more curiously, I furnished myself with a good microscope, and was soon convinced that these luminous atoms are really living animals of a very singular structure, and from the brightness of their lustre, I thought myself authorized to name them marine glow-worms. These little animals, similar to caterpillars, and other insects of that species, are composed of eleven articulations, or annuli, a number which, according to the celebrated Malpighi, is peculiar to the whole vermicular race. Upon these annuli, and near the belly of the am. mal, are a sort of small fins or wings, which seem to be the instruments of its motion. It has two small horns issuing from the forepart of its head, and its tail is cleft in two. Their whole body is luminous, and when cut to pieces, every piece emits a vivid light for some time; probably so long as the conclusive motion of the dying parts continues. Many philosophers of the first rank have imagined that the luminousness of seawater in the night season is occasioned by some electric matter. “The surface of the sea, say they, having been exposed all the summer to the impulse of the solar rays when it begins to be agitated by the autumnal winds, throws out luminous sparks, perfectly similar to those which issue from electrified bodies.” But occular demonstration now convinces us, that this brightness is frequently, if not always, to be ascribed to these little animals. The light of a glow-worm is so strong, that it will show itself through several substances. The creature seems dead in the daytime, and its light is not then visible even in a dark room, unless it be put in motion, and then it is very faint. After sunset the light begins to return, and with it the life and motion of the animal. Indeed, the motion and light seem to depend on each other: It never shines, but when it moves: and when it shines most, the body is one-third longer than in the daytime. While it shines brightest, it sometimes turns about, and the light is no larger than a pin’s head. But on being touched, it immediately extends itself, and the light is as large and bright as ever. The luminous parts are two small specks under the tail. The use of its light is, to direct the animal in its course, and in taking of its prey. It is admirably placed for this purpose. The tail is easily bent under its belly, and throws its light full upon any object, about or under the head of the animal; and the eyes are placed not on the upper part, but on the under side of the head, so that they have all the advantages of it, while the light in this part is not offensive to the eyes, as it naturally would have been, if carried about the head. can upon occasion cover this light, so as not to be known, or pursued by its enemies. It is an insect of the beetle kind, of a brown and dusky colour. It has shell wings as the other beetles have. Its bead is covered with a sort of broad brimmed hat, under which are the eyes, which are black and large. Falling stars, so called, seem to be vapours of an unctuous kind, kindled in the lower regions of the air: unless this also (as many other phenomena of the sort) be owing to what is vulgarly termed electricity. 10. From a thousand experiments it appears, that there is a fluid far more subtile than air, which is every where diffused through all space, which surrounds the earth, and pervades every part of it. And such is the extreme’ fineness, velocity, and expansiveness of this active principle, that all other matter seems to be only the body, and this the soul of the universe. It is highly probable this is the general instrument of all the motion in the universe: from this pure fire, (which is properly so called) the vulgar culinary fire is kindled. For in truth, there is but one kind of fire in nature, which exists in all places, and in all bodies. And this is subtile and active enough, not only to be under the great cause, the secondary cause of motion, but to produce and sustain life throughout all nature, as well in animals as in vegetables* This great machine of the world, requires some ‘such constant, active, and’ powerful principle, constituted by its Creator, to keep the heavenly bodies in their several courses, and at the same time, give support, life, and increase to the various inhabitants of the earths Now as ‘the heat of every animal is the engine which circulates the blood through the whole body, so the sun, as the heat of the world, circulates this fire through the whole universe. And this element is not capable of any essential alteration, increase, or diminution. It is a species by itself; and is of a nature totally distinct from that of all other bodies. That this is absolutely necessary both to feed common fire, and to sustain the life of animals, may be learned from an easy experiment. Place a cat, together with a lighted candle, in a cold oven; then lute the door close, having fixed a glass in the middle of it; and if you look through this, you may observe at one and the same instant, the candle *This is an elegant and precise definition of what is termed, in modern chemistry, caloric; and nothing is wanting, but the term itself, to comprise the whole of the modern theory of it. goes out, and the animal dies. A plain proof that the same fire is needful to sustain both culinary fire and animal life; and a large quantity of it. Some doubtless pervades the oven door; but not enough to sustain either flame or life. Indeed, every animal is a kind of fire engine. As soon as the lungs inspire the air, the fire mingled with it is instantly dispersed through the pulmonary vessels into the blood; thence it is diffused through every part of the body, even the most minute arteries, veins and nerves. In the mean time the lungs inspire more air and fire, and so provide a constant supply. The air seems to be universally impregnated with this fire, but so diluted, as not to hurt the animal in respiration. So a small quantity of a liquor dropt in water may be friendly to a human body, though a few drops of the same liquor given by themselves, would have occasioned certain death. And yet you cannot conceive one particle of’ the water, without a particle of the medicine. It is not impossible, this may be one great use of air, by adhering so closely to the elementary fire, to temper and render salutary to the body, what would otherwise be fatal to it, To put it beyond dispute, that this fire is largely mixed with the air, you may make the following experiment. Take a round lump of iron, and heat it to a degree called a welding heat: take it out of the fire, and with a pair of bellows, blow cold air upon it. The iron will then as effectually melt, as if it were in the hottest fire.* Now when taken out of the forge, it had not fire enough in it to conquer the cohesion of its parts: but when this fire is joined with that which was mixed with the air, it is sufficient to do it. On the same principle, we account for the increase of a coal or wood fire, by blowing it. And let none wonder, that fire should be so connected with air, as hardly to be separated. As subtile as fire is, we may even by art attach it to other bodies; yea, and keep it prisoner for many years ; and that, either in a solid or fluid form. An instance of the first we have in steel; which is made such, only by impacting a large quantity of fire into bars of iron. In like manner, we impact a great quan *If, in this situation, when the iron is taken out of the forge, a stream of pure oxygen gass be blown upon it, the metal will immediately flow like water: on the other hand, if a stream of nitrogen gass be conveyed to it, it will instantly grow black, and soon it will become cold. This is evidence, that only a certain portion of atmospheric air is favourable to combustion, and this consists of about one fourth of its quantity. This definition of the process of the conversion of iron into steel, is not quite correct; for iron may be exposed to fire and rendered softer, and then it is called annealing. It is the impacting of carbone in the metal, which makes the steel; and this is effected by the dilating force of caloric. The particles of the metal, by this process, are rendered more cohesive, and consequently more elastic: and by this process it acquires the singular property of hardening in water, when heated and immersed therein: but, by this means the metal is rendered extremely brittle. in tity of fire into stone to make lime. An instance of the second kind we have in spirits, wherein fire is imprisoned in a fluid form. Hence common spritis will burn all away. And if you throw into the air, spirits rectified to the highest degree, not one drop will come down the universal fire will take hold of and absorb it all. That this fire subsists both in air, earth, and water: that it is diffused through all and every part of the universe, was suspected many by the ancient naturalists, and believed by the great Sir Isaac Newton. But of late years it has been fully demonstrated; particularly by Mr. Stephen Gray, a pensioner of the Charterhouse; who, some years since, presented to the royal society, an account of many experiments he had made, whereby this subtile fluid became clearly perceptible both to the sight and feeling. Because the glass tube, by means of which those experiments were made, was observed when rubbed to attract straws and other light bodies, known property of amber, called in latin electrum, these experiments were termed electrical; a word which was soon affixed to that subtile fluid itself, and every thing pertaining to it. But improperly enough: seeing the attracting or seeming to attract straws and feathers is one of the most inconsiderable of all the effects, wrought by this powerful and universal cause. It was afterward found, that a glass globe was preferable to a glass tube. A greater quantity of ethereal fire is collected by this means, than by the other. I say, collected; for that fire is no more created by robbing than water is by pumping. The grand reservoir thereof is the earth, from which it is diffused every way. Accordingly, in these experiments, the globe rubbing against the cushion, collects fire from it The cushion receives it from the frame of the machine; the frame of the machine from the floor.* But if you cut off the communication with the floor, far less fire can be produced, because less is collected Many new discoveries have been made by means of a large, buff thin glass phial. This phial is hung on any metallic body, which communicates by a wire, with the globe. This metallic body has been termed the prime conductor, as it conducts or conveys the fire, collected by the globe, either into the phial, or into any other body communicating therewith. consequence of the loss of caloric; which, being restored to it again, in a certain degree, gives an astonishing elasticity to the metal, and this is what is called tempering. * It is now proved, beyond all controversy, that the electric fluid can be collected from the air; and, by the experiments of the celebrated Franklin, that it can also be extracted from the clouds, by means of the electrical kite, this subtile fluid can pass through, but cannot be generated in vacuo. But all bodies are not capable of receiving it. There is in this respect an amazing difference between them. The excrements of nature, as wax, silk, hair, will not receive the ethereal fire, neither, convey it to other bodies: so that, whenever in circulating it. comes to any of these, it is at a full stop. Air itself is a body of this kind; with great difficulty either receiving or conveying this fire to other bodies: so are pitch and rosin (excrements, as it were of trees.) To these we may add glass amber, brimstone, dry earth, and a few other bodies. These have been frequently styled electrics per se; as if they alone contained the electric fire: an eminently improper title, founded on a palpable mistake. From the same mistake, all other bodies, which easily receive and readily convey it, were termed nonelectrics; on a supposition, that they contained no electric fire: the contrary of which is now allowed by all. That this fire is inconceivably subtile, appears from its permeating even the densest metals, and that with such ease, as to receive no perceptible resistance. If any one doubt, whether it pass through the substance, or only along the surface of bodies, a strong shock taken through his own body. will prevent his doubting any longer. It differs from all other matter but this, that the particles of it repel, not attract each other. And hence is the manifest divergency in a stream of electrical effluvia. But though the particles of it repel each other, yet are they attracted by all other matter. And from these three, the extreme subtility of this fire, the mutual repulsion of its parts, and the strong attraction of them by other matter, arises this effect, that if any quantity of electric fire be applied to a mass of common matter of any bigness or length (which has not already got its quantity) it is immediately diffused through the whole. It seems this globe of earth and water, with its plants, animals, buildings have, diffused though their whole substance, just as much of this tire as they will contain. And this we may term their natural quantity. This is not the same in all kinds of matter: neither in the same kind of matter, in all circumstances. A solid foot of one kind of solid matter, as glass, contains more of it than a solid foot of another kind. And a pound weight of the same kind of matter, when rarefied, contains more than it did before. We know that this fire is in common matter, because we can pump it out by the globe: we know that common matter has near as much of it as it can contain, because if we add a little more to any portion of it, the additional quantity does not enter, but forms a kind of atmosphere round it. On the other hand, we know, that common matter has not more of it than it can contain. Otherwise all loose portions of it would repel each other; as they constantly do, when they have such atmospheres. Had the earth. for instance as much electric tire in proportion as we can give to a globe of iron or wood, the particles of dust and the light matter, would not repel each other, but be continually repelled from the earth. Hence the air, being constantly loaded therewith would be unfit for respiration. Here we see another occasion to adore that wisdom, which has made all things by weight and measure. The form of every electric atmosphere, is that of the body which it surrounds: because it is attracted by every part of the surface, though it cannot enter the substance already replete. Without this attraction, it would not remain round the body: but dissipate into the air. The atmosphere of an electrified sphere, is not more equally drawn off, from any one part of it than from another, because it is easily attracted; every part. But it is not so with bodies of other figures. From a cube is more easily drawn off at the corners than at the sides: and so from the corners of bodies of any other form, and most easily from the sharpest corners. For the force with which an electrified body atmosphere, is proportioned to the surface on which that atmosphere rests. So a surface four inches square retains its atmosphere sixteen times the force that one of an inch square does.* And as pulling the hairs from a horse’s tail, a force insufficient to pull off a handful at once, could easily pull it off hair by hair: so though a blunt body cannot draw off all the atmosphere at once, a pointed one can easily draw it off, particle by particle. While the electric fire, which is in all bodies, is left to itself, undisturbed by any external violence, it is more or less dense, according to the nature. of the body which it is in. In dense bodies it is more i~r~: ;i. rare bodies it is more dense. Accordingly every body contains such a quantity of it, rare or dense, as is suitable to its nature. And there is some resistance to every endeavour of altering its density, in the whole of any body, or in any part of it. For all bodies resist either the, increase or dimunition of their natural quantity. And on the other hand, when it has been either increased or diminished, there is a resistance to is return to its natural state. With regard to the different resistance made by different bodies, in either of these cases, it is an invariable rule that glass, wax, rosin, brimstones, silk, hair, and such like bodies resist the most: and next to these, the air, provided, it be dry, and in a sufficient quantity. That ‘this resistance is least in metals, minerals, water, animals, and vegetables, which we may rank together, because the difference in their resistance is very inconsiderable: and that in these bodies the resistance is greater, when their surfaces are polished, and extended in * This doctrine is verified in the case of very high, peaked and ridged mountains, whose contracted summits cannot retain the atmosphere in those characters which it maintains in more uniform and extended surfaces of the earth. And I venture an opinion, that the density of the atmosphere, will be in proportion to the height; and the quantity of horizontal surface of their summits. length than w hen their surfaces are rough and short, or end in short points. When a body has more electric fire forced into it, than it has naturally, it is said to be electrified positively. When part of the natural quantity is taken away, it is said to be electrified negatively. Now when an iron bar is negatively electrified, the fire drawn out does not go in again as soon as the experiment is over, but forms an atmosphere round it, because of the resistance it finds in its endeavour to dilate itself, either into the air or into the bar. And when it is electrified positively, the same kind of atmosphere is formed, by the fire accumulated upon it. Whether therefore bodies are electrified negatively or positively, and remain so when the experiment is over, there are similar atmospheres surrounding them, which will produce similar effects. But we can electrify no body beyond a certain degree, because when any is electrified to that point, it has an atmosphere round it, sufficiently strong to balance any power that endeavours to electrify it farther. And in-the ordinary course of nature, this subtile, active fluid, which not only surrounds every gross body, but every component particle of each, where it is not in absolute contact with its neighbouring particle. can never be idle, but is ever in action. though that action be imperceptible to our senses. It is ever varying its condition, though imperceptibly, in all parts of all bodies whatever; and electrifying them more or less, though not so forcibly as to give sensible signs of it. All bodies, then,, and all their component particles, when in their natural situation, have round their surfaces, where they are not in absolute contact with other surfaces, an imperceptible atmosphere, sufficient to balance the smaller force with which they are attacked: every way similar to the perceptible atmosphere of bodies forcibly electrified. In these imperceptible atmospheres is placed the power which resists their being electrified to an higher degree than they are naturally. And this power lies in the elasticity of the subtile fluid, every where dispersed both round all bodies and in them. Glass is very difficultly electrified, which seems to prove it has a very dense electric atmosphere. Metals are easily electrified. Consequently they have rare, and therefore weakly resisting atmospheres. But as heat rarefies all bodies, so if glass be heated to a certain degree, even below melting, it will give as free a passage to the electric fire, as brass or iron does: the atmosphere round it being then rendered as rare as that of metals. Nay, when melted, it makes no more resistance than water. But its resistance increases as it cools. And when it is quite cold, it resists as forcibly as ever. Smoothly polished wax, resists as much as glass. But even the small heat raised by rubbing will render its atmosphere as rare as that of metals and so entirely destroy its resistance. The same is true of rosin and brimstone. Even the heat arising from friction, destroys the resistance which they naturally make to being electrified: a strong proof, that the resistance of all bodies thereto, is exerted at their surfaces, and caused by an electric atmosphere of different densities, according to their different circumstances. Most experiments will succeed as well with a globe of brimstone as with one of glass. Yet there is a considerable difference in their nature. What glass repels, brimstone (as also rosin) attracts. Rubbed glass emits the electric fire: rubbed brimstone, rosin and wax receive it. Hence if a glass globe be turned at one end of a prime conductor, and a brimstone one at the other, not a spark oh fire can be obtained; one ‘receiving it in, as it is given out by the other. Hence, also if a phial be suspended on the prime conductor, with a chain from its coating to the table; and only one globe turned, it will be electrified (or charged as they term it) by twenty turns of the wheel: after which it may be discharged that is, unelectrified, by twenty turns of the other wheel. The difference between non-electric, vulgarly speaking, and electrics per se, is chiefly this. 1. A non-electric easily suffers a change in the quantity of fire it contains. Its whole quantity may be lessened, by drawing out a part, which it will afterwards resume. But you can only 1essen the quantity contained in one of the surfaces of an electric: and not that, but by adding at the same time an equal quantity to the other surface. So that the whole glass will always have the same quantity in its two surfaces. And even this can be only done in glass that is thin: beyond a certain thickness, we know no power that can make changes .2. The ethereal fire freely moves from place to place in and through the substance of a non-electric. but through the substance of an electric it will by no means pass. It freely enters an iron rod and moves from one end to another, where the overplus is discharged. But it will not enter, or move through a glass rod. Neither will the thinnest glass which can be made, suffer any particle of it entering one of its surfaces, to pass through to the other. Indeed it is only metals and liquids, that perfectly conduct, or transmit, this fire, Other bodies seem to conduct it, only so fir as they contain a mixture of these; accordingly, moist air will conduct it in proportion to its moistness. But dry air will not conduct it at all: on the contrary, it is the main instrument- in confining an electric atmosphere to the body which it surrounds. Dry air prevents it dissipating,. which it does presently when in vacuo, or passing from body to body. A clear bottle full of air, instead of water, cannot be electrified. But exhausted of air, it is electrified as effectually as if it were full of water. Yet an electrical atmosphere and air, do not exclude one another, For we breathe in it freely, and dry air will blow through it, without altering it at all. When a glass phial is electrified, whatever quantity of fire is accumulated on the inner surface, an equal quantity is taken from the outer. Suppose, before the operation begins, the quantity of fire, contained in each surface, is equal to twenty grains: suppose at every turn of the globe, one grain is thrown in : then, after the first stroke, there are twenty-one within, nineteen only without: after the second, the inner surface will have twenty-two, the outer but eighteen: and so on, till after twenty strokes the inner will have forty, the outer none. And the operation ends: for no power or art of man can throw any more on the inner surface, when no more can be taken from the outer, If you attempt to throw more in, it is thrown back through the wire, or flies out in cracks, through the sides of the phial. The equilibrium cannot be restored in this phial, but by a communication formed between the inner and outer surface, by something external, touching both the outer, and the wire, which communicates with the inner surface. If you touch these by turns, it is restored by degrees if both at once, it is restored instantly. But then there is a shock occasioned by the sudden passing of the fire through the body, in its way from the inner to the outer surface. For it moves from the wire to the finger, not from the finger to the wire, as is commonly supposed. Thence it passes through the body to the other hand, and so to the outer surface. The force with which this shock may be given, is far greater hath one would conceive. It will kill rats, hens, or even turkies in a moment: others that are not quite killed, it strikes blind, It will give polarity to a fine needle, making it point north and south, as if touched by a loadstone. It will invert the polarity of a compass, and make the north point turn to the south. At the same time the ends of the needles are finely blued, like the spring of a watch. It will melt off- the heads and points of pins and needles, and sometimes the-whole surface of the needle is run, and appears, as it were, blistered, when examined by a magnifying glass. It will melt thin gold or silver, when held tight between two panes of glass, together with the surface of the glass itself, and incorporate them in a fine enamel. Yea, a strong spark from an electrified phial makes a fair hole through a quire of paper doubled: which is thought good armour against the push of a sword, or even a pistol bullet. And it is amazing to observe in how small a portion of glass, a great electrical force may be. A thin glass bubble, about an inch diameter, being half filled with water, partly gilt on the outside, when electrified, gives as strong a shock as a man can well bear: allowing then that it contains no more fire after charging than before, how much fire must there be in the small glass It seems, to be a part of its very substance. Perhaps if that fire could be-separated from it, it would be no longer glass. It might in losing this, lose its most essential property, its transparency, brittleness and elasticity. Some have improperly supposed, that all electric bodies, so called, are by their original constitution, thoroughly saturated with electric fire:. that it remains fixed in them, unless while the texture of those bodies is quite altered by liquefaction ; that fire fixed in a body constitutes an electric, and all bodies where it is not fixed are nonelectrics. Agreeably to which they suppose, that in all non-electrics, the original fire loosely inhering, is easily driven on by the new collected fire, which then possesses its place: but that in electrics, the original fire being impacted into their substance, and therefore more firmly inhering, will not give, way to, or be driven on by the new collected fire. Such is-air in particular; with the particles of which the original fire is closely incorporated. Dry air seems to be so fully saturated with it, that it is scarce capable of receiving any more. whereas all new- collected fire is continually endeavouring to return into the earth. Let wires be electrified ever so strongly, yet the moment- any part of them is touched by a person standing in the floor, they-are electrified no longer; all the fire escaping through him into the earth. Upon the principles of electricity, we may give a more rational account of many appearances in nature, than has yet been done: of thunder and lightning in particular. in order to which we may observe, all electrified bodies retain the fire thrown into them, till some non-electric approaches: to which it is then communicated with a snap, and becomes equally divided. Electric fire is strongly attracted by water, and readily mixes with it. And water being electrified, the vapours arising from it. are equally electrified. As these float in the air, they retain the additional fire, till they meet with clouds not so much electrified. Then they communicate it with a shock. The ocean is compounded of water and salt; one an electric, the other not. When there is a friction among the parts near its surface, the fire is- collected from the parts below. It is then plainly visible in-the- night, at the stem of every sailing vessel. It appears from. every dash of an oar: in storms the whole sea seems on fire. The particles, of water, then repelled from the electrified surface, continually carry off the fire as it is collected. They rise and form clouds which are highly electrified, and retain the fire, till they have an opportunity of discharging it. Particles Of water, rising in vapours, attach themselves to particles of air. One particle of air may be surrounded by twelve particles of water as large as itself, all touching it, and by more added to them, Particles of air, thus loaded, would be drawn nearer together by the-mutual attraction of the particles of water, did not-the fire, common or electric, included therein, assist their mutual repulsion. Hence they continue suspended. But if air thus loaded, be compressed by adverse winds, or by being driven against mountains, or if it be condensed by the loss of its fire, it will continue suspended no longer, but will descend in dew. And if the water surrounding one particle of air comes into contact with that surrounding another, they naturally coalesce into a drop, and so descend in rain. The sun supplies common fire to all vapours rising either from sea or land. Vapours having both this and electric fire, are better supported than those which have this only. For when vapours rise into the-coldest region, the common fire may fail. But the cold will not diminish the electric: this is always the same. Hence clouds, raised from fresh waters, from moist earth, or growing vegetables, more easily descend and deposit their waters, as having but little electric fire, to keep the particles separate from each other. So that the greatest part of the water raised from the land, falls on the land again. But clouds raised from the sea, having both fires, and much of the electric, support their water far more strongly, and being assisted by winds. may bring it from the widest ocean to the middle of the broadest continent. And yet a way is provided whereby these also are readily brought to deposit their water. For, whether they are driven against mountains -by the winds, those mountains take away their electric fire; and, being cold, the common also ;* hence the particles immediately close. If the air is not much loaded, the water falls in a dew on the top and sides of the mountain. If it is, the electric fire being taken at once from the whole cloud, it flashes brightly, and cracks loudly. And the particles instantly coalescing for want of that fire, fall in a heavy shower. *This expression might be construed as implying two distinct kinds of fin or caloric; but it should be construed, different modifications of caloric, or caloric concentred under different affinities,- or different attractions. It should be remarked, that the watery vapours are not only condensed by the obstruction of mountains, but by any means whereby they are deprived of their caloric. This may be equally effected by, their contact with a colder region, or strata, of air or vapour. For the caloric which holds the watery particles in solution, will naturally fly to the colder region, in consequence of which the aqueous particles will coalesce, and acquire a density proportionate to the degree of deprivation, and will descend from their elevation, with a velocity, and to a distance commensurate with their density. Sometimes they only descend a little lower, and there they exhibit an hazy appearance, sometimes their coalescence is in such a degree that they descend to the surface of the earth in the form of a fog, or mist, which is dissipated again as soon as it can be furnished with a requisite supply of calorie to render the Particles sufficiently buoyant; sometimes the particles are coalesced in a greater degree, and descend in gentle rain. at other times to such a degree, as to descend in prodigious showers. When a ridge of mountains stops the clouds, and draws the electric fire from the clouds first approaching it; the next, when it comes near the first, now deprived of its fire, flashes into it, and deposits its own water. The third could approaching, and all that succeed, act in the same manner, as far back as they extend, which may be for several hundred miles. Hence the continual storms of thunder, lightning and rain, on the east side of these vast mountain, the Andes, which, running north and south, intercept all the clouds brought against them from the Atlantic ocean. I an plain country, there are other means to make them drop their water. For if an electrified could, coming from the sea meets in the air a cloud coming from the land, and therefore not electrified, the first will give its flash in to the latter, and thereby both will be made to deposit their water The concussion of the air contributes also to shake down the water, not only from those two clouds, but from other near them. When the sea and land clouds would pass at too great a distance from each other, they are mutually attracted, till within the distance. For the sphere of electrical attraction is far beyond the flashing distance. And yet where a cloud contains much fire, it may strike at a considerable distance. When a conductor has but little fire in it, you must approach very near before you can draw a spark. Throw into it a greater quantity of fire, and it will give a spark at a greater distance. But if a gun-barrel, when electrified, will strike and make a noise at the distance of an inch, at what a distance, and with how great a noise, may ten thousand acres of electrified cloud strike No wonder that this should melt metals, (which our artificial flash does in some degree,) though perhaps not so properly by it heat, as by insinuating into the pores, and creating a violent repulsion between the particles of the metal it passes through. This overcomes the attraction whereby they cohere, and so melts the metallic body. And this accounts for its melting a sword in the scabbard, or gold in the pocket, without burning either. But thunder clouds do not always contain more than their natural quantity of electric fire. Very frequently they contain less. And when this is the case, when they are negatively electrified, although the effects and appearances are nearly the same, yet the manner of operation is different. For in this case, it is really the fire from the mountains, or other parts of the earth, which strikes into the cloud; and not, as we imagine, fire from the could which strikes into the earth. And we may easily conceive, how a cloud may be negatively electrified. When a portion of water is rarefied into a thin vapour, the fire it contains is rarefied too. Consequently it has then less than due distance of the earth, will receive from it a flash of electric fire; which flash to supply a great extent of cloud, must often contain a great quantity of fire. Such a cloud also passing over woods of tall trees, may silently receive some supply, either from the points of the boughs, or from the sharpest ends and edges of the leaves. The cloud, thus supplied, flashes into other clouds that have not been so supplied; and those into others, till an equilibrium is produced,. among all that are within a striking distance of each other. And hence are repeated strokes arid flashes, till they descend in showers to the earth, their original. Rain, especially when in large drops, generally brings down the electric fire: falling snow, often z summer hail, always, though silently. Consequently any of these may prevent thunder and lightning; or at least abate its violence. Rain is helpful in another respect likewise. By wetting men or beasts, it saves many lives. For if-your clothes are thoroughly wet, and a flash of lightning strikes-the top of your head, it will run in the water over the surface of your body to the ground whereas, if your clothes were not wet, it would go through your body. Hence a wet chicken cannot be killed by a stroke from the phial: whereas a dry one is killed in an instant, See here also the wisdom and goodness of Him, who sendeth forth lightning with the rain !“ it should likewise be observed, that wherever. electrified clouds pass, spires, towers, chimneys, and high trees, as so many points, draw the electric fire, and the whole cloud frequently discharges there. Therefore it is highly dangerous in such a storm to lake shelter under a tree. Common fire is more or less in all bodies, as well as electrical. If there be a sufficient quantity of either in any body, it is inflamed. But when the quantity of common fire therein is small, there needs more electric fire to inflame it. Where the quantity of common fire is greater, less of the electric will suffice. So if spirits are heated, a small spark inflames them. If they are not the spark must be greater. Sulphurous vapours, whether rising from the earth, or from stacks of moist hay or corn, or any other heated and reeking vegetable, contain abundance of common fire. A small addition of electric then will enflame them. Therefore they are easily kindled by lightning. Any who would be clearly convinced of the nature of lightning may make the following experiment Make a small cross of two thin strips of wood, the arms being just so long as to reach the four corners of a large, thin, silk, handkerchief when extended. Tie the corners of this to the extremities of the cross ; and so you have the body of a kite : add to this a proper tail, loop, and string, and it will rise in the air like one made with paper; but this is fitter to bear the wind and wet in a storm without tearing To the top of the cross fix a sharp-pointed wire, rising a foot above it. The silk ribbon to the end of the twine next the hand: and where the silk and twine join, fasten a key. Raise this kite when a thunder storm is coming on. But he that holds the string, must stand in a porch, or under some other covering, that the ribbon may not be wet. He must likewise take particular care that the twine do not touch the top or side of the porch. As soon as the thunder cloud comes over the kite, the pointed wire draws the electric fire from it:- The kite and all the twine are then electrified, as ~ by this, that the loose filaments of the twine stand out every way and are attracted by an approaching finger. And when the kite and twine being wet, conduct the fire freely, it will stream from the key on the approach of the knuckle. By this key the phial may be charged, and all other experiments made, as by the globe: And this is a demonstration, that the electric fire thereby obtained, is the very same with that of lightning. Another -proof of this we have, in the remarkable case of the Rev. Sir. Winder, rector of Instead, in Essex: who at the age of fifty-four, was a stranger to disease ; nay, almost unacquainted with pain of any kind. But on June 3, 1761, he began to falter in his speech. He did not regard it, till on July I, he suddenly fell from his chair, by a stroke of the palsy. When a little recovered, he was almost wholly deprived of speech, and in a great measure of his senses. But by proper medicines he was in a few weeks so far retored, as to walk a little by the help of a cane. In other respects he was as before, till in June, 1762, he was removed to Tunbridge. After drinking-the waters six weeks, he was much relieved; but an universal weakness still remained. He had also violent palpitations of the heart, trembling of the limbs, subsultutendinum; with frequent vertigos. Worse than all was, a constant pain fixed deep in his breast, with an extreme dejection of spirit. Thus he continued till the 24th of August; when about ten at night, while he was asleep in bed, it began to thunder and lighten violently. The noise suddenly awakened him. At the instant he felt a quick, strong, shock, affecting -him all over just like an electric shock. At the same time the chamber was filled with lightning, which left behind it a strong phosphorus smell. Immediately he felt as if some obstruction in his chest was suddenly removed : and his breast recovered its full liberty and expansion, the oppression being entirely gone. When he arose in the morning, he -was in perfect health; his head was quite serene: his breast easy, and he could move all his limbs with as much steadiness and agility as ever. Every paralytic symptom was gone. He could have walked ten or twelve miles with ease. And from that very hour he has continued in a state of perfect health. What a clear proof this, that the fire of lightning has the same nature and force with the electric!* The gymnotus, of South America, appears to possess electrical powers greatly superior to those of the European torpedo. Some of them have been- seen in the Surrinam river, upwards of twenty feet *This is demonstrated by the ingenious experiment of extracting it from the clouds, which was first made by Dr. Franklin. long, whose stroke was instantly fatal. That on which the following experiment was made, was three feet seven inches long, and was brought from Guinea to Philadelphia. On putting a small fish into the vessel in which it swam, it was suddenly stunned and killed by it. The effect was evidently produced by a concussion, which was felt by one, whose fingers were (lipped in the water, at the very moment the fish was shocked by it. Eight or ten persons forming a circle, were all shocked by it, when the first in the series touched the eel, and the last put his hand into the water. The commotion given by it, was conveyed through the same metallic or other conductors, as convey the electric fluid; and was intercepted by the common non-conductors of that fluid. Whatever, therefore, he thought of the torpedo, it is plain this eel is an electric machine, and has the power of suspending or giving the electric shock, just at its own pleasure. Electricity has something in it common, both with light and with magnetism. In common with magnetism it counteracts, and in light substances, overcomes the force of gravity. Like -that, it exerts its force in vacuo, as powerfully as in the open air. And this force extends to a considerable distance, through various substances of different textures and densities. In common with light, electricity pervades glass ; but it suffers in* refraction. Its direction is still in right lines, and that through glasses of different forms included one within the other, and large spaces between them. Indeed the electric attraction through glass, is much more powerful, when the glass is made warm: because warm glass does not condense the water from the air, which makes the glass a conductor of electricity:’ and also because as heat enlarges the dimensions of all known bodies, and consequently makes their constituent parts recede from each other, the electric effluvia find a more easy passage through the pores. And electricity, in common with light, when its forces are collected, produces fire and flame. That the electric matter is far more subtile than air, appears, from its passing through those bodies which air cannot penetrate; glass in particular. And that it is elastic, appears from its increasing the motion of fluids, and from its extending itself to a considerable distance round excited bodies. Do not all these experiments show, that the electric matter is pure elementary fire, an original distinct principle, formed by the Creator himself And not, as some have apprehended, mechanically producible from other bodies And may it not be doubted whether this be not the only elastic body in the universe Whether it be not the original spring, which communicates elasticity to all other elastic bodies To the air in particular which is elastic no longer, when detached from electric fire, but comences fixed and unelastic: and seems to recover its elasticity only by recovering that ethereal fire which h ad been violently separated from it. any phenomenon in nature has been esteemed more difficult to be accounted for, than those luminous appearances in the sky, termed aurora borealis, or northern lights. But these also may be rationally explained upon the principles of electricity. We often see clouds, at different heights, passing different ways, north and south, at the same time. This manifestly proves different currents of air. one of them under the other. Now as the air between the tropics is rarefied by the sun, it rises: the denser air is pressed into its place. The air so raised moves north and south, and if it has no opportunity before, must descend in the polar regions. When this air with its :- descends into contact with the vapours arising there, the electric fire which it brought, begins to be communicated, and is seen in clear nights; being first visible where it is first in motion, namely, in the most northern parts. But from thence the streams of light seem to shoot southerly, even to the zenith of northern countries. To the same principle we may refer what some term St. Helmo’s fire, and the ancients- Castor and Pollux, a thin, shining light, which is sometimes seen dancing on the decks or rigging of ships. A very remarkable account of this, is given by a late author, “In the night it became exceeding dark, and thundered and lightened dreadfully. We- saw, mean time, on differents parts of the ship, above thirty St. Helmo’s fires. One which was on the top of the vane of the main- mast, was more than a- foot and a half in length. I ordered one of the sailors to take down the vane: the noise of the fire resembled that of fired--wet gunpowder. Scarce had he lowered the vane, but the fire -left it, and fixed on the top of the main-mast. After remaining there a considerable time, it went out by little and little. “How immense a quantity of electric matter must have been at that time in. the atmosphere surrounding the ship, to furnish more than thirty- St. Helmo’s fires, (the same we see at the end of our conductors in electrifying) one of which was above a foot and a half long! The masts, yards, and every part of the ship were then real conductors of the electric fire between the atmosphere and the sea, and by that means preserved the ship.” A person electrified acquires a flammific power, strong enough to light with one of his fingers, or with his cane, warm brandy. When *The union of different gasses of every description, exhibit the powers of condensation and expansion, but this is in proportion to the capacity of giving out their caloric, or absorbing it. the finger draws near, a crackling sparkle issues nut, and sets it on fire. The electric sparks of iron, are of a silver white, those of brass, green, and those drawn from an egg, yellowish. This seems to prove, that the electric matter issuing from a body, is saturated with some parts peculiar to it* Electricity quickens almost all sorts of motion, that of water in particular, which then glitters in the dark, the tire appearing intermingled with the water. It accelerates the motion of the human blood, quickening the pulse to fifteen or sixteen strokes in a minute. The blood that flows from the vein of one electrified, glisters, separates into small drops, and spouts out considerably farther than otherwise it would do. It exceedingly hastens the vegetation of plants. Myrtle trees, which were electrified, budded much sooner than others of the same kind and bigness, in the same greenhouse. And seeds electrified daily have shot up and grown more in three or four days, than others of the same kind, and alike in all other circumstances, have done in eleven or twelve. It cures abundance of diseases, even the most stubborn; particularly those of the nervous kind; many of them in a moment, by a single touch; most, in a few days. So that this is not only one of the greatest curiosities in the world, but one the noblest medicines that God ever gave to man. Another phenomenon, which could never before be accounted for. is undoubtedly owing to this cause, the sparkling observed on new flannel, when it is rubbed in the dark. Very probably the acid streams of sulphur, which is burnt under the flannel when it is bleached, unite with the oil wherewith hair always abounds, and so form an animal sulphur, which, upon any strong agitation of these hairs will become luminous. This sparkling is most observable in frosty weather, as electricity is always strongest at that time. Flannel loses this property when it is washed, the lixivial salts of the soap destroying the sulphurous acid, and likewise discharging its native acid. The wearing flannel, even without its being washed, will have the same effect: as the effluvia which go off in perspiration dissolve the sulphur, and weaken the spring of the air. A gentleman has lately made some curious experiments on the electricity of hair. A lady had told him, that on combing her hair in frosty. weather, in the dark, she had sometimes observed sparks of fire to issue from it. This made him think of attempting to collect the electrical fire from hair alone, without the assistance of any other electrical apparatus. To this end he desired a young lady to stand on a case of bees-wax, and to comb her sister ’s hair, who was sitting on a chair * This tends to show, that electricity has its peculiar affinities, and that it is amenable to the general laws of nature. like every other species of matter. before her. Soon after she began to comb, the young lady on the wax was greatly astonished to kind her whole body electrified, darting out speak of fire against every object that approached her. The hair was extremely electrified, a and affected an electrometer at a very great distance. He charged a metal conductor from it with great ease; and in the space of a few, minutes collected as much fire from her hair as to common spirits; and by means of a small phial, gave many smart shocks to all the company. Electricity may be considered as the great vivifying principle of nature, by which she carries on most of her operations. It is an element of a peculiar kind, and distinct from all other known elements, which only appear to compose the corporeal parts of nature: but this subtile and active fluid, is a kind of soul, that pervades and quickens every particle of matter.* When an equal quantity of this is diffused through the air, and over the face of the earth, every thing sometimes calm and quiet; but if by an accident one part of the matter has acquired a greater quantity than another, the most dreadful consesequences often ensue before the equilibrium can be restored. Nature seems to fall into convulsions, and many of her works are destroyed: all the great phenomena are produced; thundering, lightning, earthquake, and whirlwinds; for there is now little doubt, that all these frequently depend on this sole cause. And again, if we look down from the sublime of nature to its minutiae, we shall still find the same power acting, though perhaps in less legible characters ; for as the knowledge of its operations is still in its infancy, they are generally misunderstood, or ascribed to some other cause. But doubtless in process of time these will be properly investigated; when men will wonder, how much they have been in the dark. It will then possibly be found, that what we call sensibility of nerves, and many of those diseases, known only by name, are owing to the body’s being possessed of too large or too small a quantity of this subtile and active fluid; that very fluid, perhaps, that is the vehicle of all our feelings; and which has been so long searched for in vain in the nerves. * This was wrote previous to the important discovery of galvanic electricity and appears to be a striking anticipation of it. When we take this into the account, it may indeed be considered as the grand vivifying principle of nature. it appears like the soul of action and sensation; but after all, it becomes a query, if electric matter can be admitted as an abstract, elementary substance. From the character and description of it, it would appear like a compound of light, caloric, sulphur, and magnetism. Indeed it becomes a query, if we are acquainted with any substance, which is purely elementary; hence philosophers have decided to designate the natural elements, by the criterion of chemical process, and those substances which cannot be further decomposed, are now accordingly considered as elements. In consequence of this arrangement, they enumerate forty-nine distinct elements. If any thing were wanting to prove this a most complete and ingenious anticipation on of galvanic electricity, here it is, at once precise and elegant: and it is We all know that in damp and hazy weather, when it seems to be blunted and absorbed by the humidity; when its activity is lost, and little or none of it can be collected, our spirits are more languid, and our sensibility less acute.* And in the wind at Naples, when the air seems totally deprived of it, the whole system is unstrung, and the nerves seem to lose both their tension and elasticity, till the north or west wind awakens the activity of this animating power: that soon restores the tone, and enlivens all nature, which seemed to droop and languish during its absence. It is likewise well known, that there have been instances of the human body becoming electric without the mediation of any electric substance, and even emitting sparks of fire with a disagreeable sensation, and an extreme degree of nervous sensibility. About eight or nine years ago, a lady of Switzerland, was affected in this manner. She was uncommonly sensible of every change of weather, and had her electrical feelings strongest in a clear day, or during the passage of thunder clouds, when the air is known to be replete with that fluid. Her case was decided to be a nervous one. Two gentlemen of Geneva, had a short experience of the same complaint, though in a much superior degree. Professor Soussure, and young Mr. Jalabert, when travelling over one of the high Alps, were caught amongst thunder clouds: and to their utter astonishment, found their bodies so full of electrical fire, that spontaneous flashes darted from their fingers with a crackling noise, and the same kind of sensation as when strongly electrified by art. It seems pretty evident, that these feelings were owing to the bodies. being possessed of too great a share of electric fire. This is an uncommon case ; but it is not at all improbable, that many of our invalids, particularly the hypocondriac, owe their disagreeable feelings to the opposite cause, or the bodies being possessed of too small a quantity of this fire ; for we find that a diminution of it in the air seldom fails to increase their uneasy sensations, and vice versa. highly probable, that electricity is yet only in part discovered: we know it only by its process and effects, but neither analytically, nor synthetically. The time may yet come, when the very ingredients which eater into its composition, may he precisely ascertained. Such a discovery would be all important, when it could be compounded, like carbon, nitre, and sulphur: such a discovery might efficiently supercede the present slow and uncertain arrangements in medicine, and effectually promote many important objects. *These effects are strikingly correspondent to those of oxygen. It is now well known, that oxygen possesses the peculiar property of exhilerating the animal spirits in a high degree, when breathed pure into the lungs. When the air of a room has been replenished with a more than ordinary quantity of oxygen, a whole company has been thrown into extraordinary spasms of animation and activity. perhaps it might be of service to these people to wear some electric substance next their skin, to defend the nerves and fibres from or new electric air. I would propose a waistcoat of the finest flannel, which should be kept perfectly clean and dry; for the body, in case of any violent perspiration, will soon destroy its electric quality; this should be covered by another of the same size of silk. The animal heat, and the friction that exercise must occasion betwixt these two substances, produce a powerful electricity; and would form a kind of electric atmosphere around the body, that might possibly be one of the best preservatives against the effects of damps. As for our Swiss lady, I have little doubt that her complaints were owing in great part to her dress: and that a very small alteration. in any part of it, would effectually have cured her. A lady who has her head surrounded with wires, and her hair stuck full of metal pins, and who at the same time stands upon dry silk, is to all intents and purposes an electrical conductor, insolated, and prepared for collecting the fire from the atmosphere; and it is not at all surprising; that during thunder storms, or when the air is extremely replete with electrical matter, she should emit sparks, and exhibit Other appearances of electricity; I imagine a very trifling change of dress,’ which from the constant versatility of their modes, may some day take place, would render this lady’s disease altogether epidemical among the sex. Only let the soles of their shoes be made of an electric substance, and let the wires of their caps, and pins of their hair be somewhat lengthened and pointed outwards; and I think there is little doubt, that they will often find themselves in an electrified state: but indeed, if they only wear silk, or even worsted stockings, it may sometimes prove sufficient; for electrometers have been often insolated as perfectly by placing them on a piece of dry silk or flannel. as on glass. How little do our ladies imagine, when they surround their heads with wire, the most powerful of all conductors; and at the same time wear stockings, shoes, and gowns of silk, one of the most powerful repellants, that they prepare their bodies in the same manner, and according to the same principles, as electricians prepare their conductors for attracting the fire of lightning! If they cannot be brought to ‘relinquish their wire cups, and their pins, might they not fall upon such preservatives as those which of late years have been applied to objects of less consideration or consequence 11. Next in subtilty to this ethereal fluid, the ether of plants appears to be. It seems to be destitute of all gross air. For exhaust * According to Professor Davy, ether is obtained by the decarbonization of alcohol, by means of sulphuric, nitric, or muriatic acid; the acid and carbon, are precipitated, while the decarbonized alcohol flies off in the form of condensible vapour; this substance is ether. This is the most inflammable of all known fluids this ever so accurately, it remains unmoved, and does not emit air bubbles, which immediately arise in other liquors. A little of it poured on the hand, gives a sense of cold, equal to that caused by the. contact of snow. Blow upon it once or twice and your hand is dry. It causes a hissing when poured upon warm water, as if a piece of hot iron were thrown into it. Put a lump of sugar, which has imbibed a little of it, into a vessel full of hot water, the sugar sinks; but the ether rushing forth, excites a strong ebullition. If a spoonfull of it be poured into a copper pot full of boiling water; hold a candle near, and instantly there issues a great flash of lightning. Hence it appears, that this ether is both a very fluid water, and a most subtile fire; so that if kindled in a thousand times the quantity of cold water, it burns inextinguishably. It does not manifest the least oiliness to the touch; yet is it the true, natural, dissolvent of all fat, oils, and gums, whatever. It has a wonderful harmony with gold, even greater than that which is between gold and aqua regia. Dissolve a piece of gold in aqua regia: on the cold solution pour half an ounce of ether. Shake the. glass, and all the gold will pass into this, and the aqua regia robbed of all its gold, will deposit a white powder, which soon turning green, is the copper wherewith the gold was adulterated. Ether then is the most noble and efficacious instrument in chemistry, and pharmacy, inasmuch as essences and essential oils are extracted by it immediately, without the mediation of fire, from woods, barks, roots, herbs, flowers; seeds, and the various parts of animals. For instance, take mint, sage, cinnamon, or all together, cut and bottle them; pour on them a spoonful or two of ether, and after it has stood an hour in a cool place, fill up the bottle with cold water, and presently you will see the essential oil swimming upon the water. In like manner, though not so immediately, it extracts the purest gold from any of the baser minerals. And the gold thus extracted, is better and sooner purified by this one operation, than by fusion with antimony. It is the lightest of all liquors. Seven ounces of this fill a phial, which contains twenty, even of oil of vitrol. And it is the purest flame, leaving neither soot nor ashes after its deflagration. 12. Wind is a current of air.* Wherever the air is rarefied or condensed beyond its natural degree, a wind must necessarily ensue, till it takes fire at the temperature of the blood, it evaporates at the ordinary temperature of the atmosphere, it is therefore necessary to keep it confined by a well ground glass stopper. It has never been known to freeze, even by the most intense cold, it is a most effectual antispasmodic medicine, and this virtue is probably owing to its being instantly converted into vapour by the heat of the stomach. * Winds probably take place in consequence of the pressure of the upper strata. of the atmosphere, and the wind must continue to blow, as long as the strata con- the equilibrium be restored: the condensed air immediately expanding itself toward that which was rarefied. The causes of this condention or rarefaction, are heat, cold, and a thousand things besides. Theheat in the West India islands would be intolerable, if the winds sun gathers strength, did not blow from the sea, so as to temper the heat even of the noonday sun. On the other hand, as the advances a breeze arises from the land, and blows as from its centre towards the sea, to all points of the compass at once. At Aleppo the coldest winds in the winter, are those which blow W. to E. the nearer the east, the colder. But from May 1 to the end of September, the winds blowing from the same points, bring with them a heat which one would imagine came out of an oven, and which, when it blows hard, will affect metals within the houses. as if they had been exposed to the rays of the sun. Yet it is remarkable, that water kept in jars, is much cooler at this time, than when a westerly wind blows. But what degree of heat can a human body bear A gentleman, to ascertain this, heated several rooms by means of flues, from 100 degrees of Fahrenheit’s thermometer to 210. He found he could bear the- heat of 210 without suffering much, and could breathe freely, when his pulse beat 165 beats in a minute. Even then placing the ball of the thermometer under his tongue, the glass sunk to’ 100, and the flesh of his body felt as cold as a corpse. Yet his watch chain was so hot, he could scarce touch it. Hence he inferred that a human body has, to a certain degree, a power of destroying heat, as well as a power of generating heat, as circumstances may require. This results from the principle of life itself and accordingly is not found in any inanimate body. A wind of a very peculiar kind, passed over the city of Rome, on the ‘night of the 11th of June, 17,49. There first appeared a very black; long, and lofty cloud, which emitted flames on all sides. It moved along with a surprising swiftness, within three or four feet of the ground. It first gathered in the neighbouring sea, came from Ostia to Rome, entered the city between the gates of St. Paul and St. Sebastian, and crossing in a straight line, went out at the north angle of a large square, between the Porta Pia and that of St. Lawrence. It stripped, off the roofs of houses, blew down the chimnies, broke doors and windows, forced up the floors, and unpaved the rooms. tinues to descend. It is most certain, that the substance which constitutes the body of the atmosphere, is forced from its station, and that it is confined in its course, between the. surface of the earth, and a parallel strata of the atmosphere. It sometimes blows a hurricane below, while it is a dead calm above, and vice versa. When Sumardi ascended in his balloon at Edinburgh, it was a dead calm, but when he had arisen to a considerable height, he met with a furious current of wind, which carried him at the rate of 70 miles in an hour. It tore up the vines, and overthrew the trees in its way, and where its action was most violent, the very rafters of the houses were broke, yea, and hurled against houses at a considerable distance. The loftiest buildings felt its fury the most; those of one story were little damaged. It was traced to some distance without the city, then it died away. The motions of all these hurricanes are circular, and they carry up into the air, tiles, stones, and whatever comes in their way, and throw them violently to a considerable distance. To this may be owing some of those surprising showers which are recorded in history. A whirlwind, for instance, passes over a place where wool is spread to dry. It takes it up, and scatters it in small locks, at a considerable distance. Here is the appearance of a shower of wool. If it sweeps along a mineral rivulet, of which there are many among the mountains of Italy, it carries innumerable metallic particles away, and sprinkles them on some distant town or fields. Here is what they call a shower of iron. Hurricanes are foreseen, at the Antibes, by a calm, and then a shifting of breezes from all quarters the sun sets blood red, small’ clouds fly to and fro with great rapidity. Sea birds quit the air and seek the shore. Soon after a north breeze springs up, which comes to the north-east. Afterwards it is south and south-east, and the air is darkened by a black cloud. In the last hurricane, the wind stood at north-east, and blew with such violence, that the largest trees were torn up by the roots, their trunks broken to pieces, and not a leaf left on those other trees, which, yielded to the fury of the winds. The houses were thrown down, and the tops of the sugar-mills, which could not well be thrown down, were crushed in pieces. At the end of a hurricane we see lightning, and hear the noise of thunder. Then the wind softens gradually, till all becomes quiet. When there was a violent hurricane at Gaudalope, there appeared on the island, a thick black cloud, which seemed on fire, and gravitating toward the earth. It occupied a space of five or six leagues in front. Above it the air was almost clear, there appearing only a kind ) of mist. The whole force of a hurricane is lodged in the very body a cloud, containing wind, rain, lightning and thunder: where the sir is compressed, and rolling upon itself, causes the storms, which nothing can resist. Nor does the hurricane end, till the cloud bursts, and the thunder and lightning come on. One species of hurricane is that which is termed a water spout. These are seen to descend from a cloud as a pillar, having two motions, me round their own axis, the other progressive in a straight direction. Such a spout is a gyration of clouds, by contrary winds meeting in he centre, and there (where the condensation and gravitation are greatest) sinking down into a great tube, like a screw. In its working and whirling, it sucks and raises the water, in the same manner as the spiral screw does. One of these sometimes appears on the land. On June 21, some years since, the clouds near Hatfield, in Yorkshire, were observed to be much agitated and driven together. They soon became very black, and were hurried round: hence proceeded a whirling noise like that of a mill. Soon after there issued a long tube from the centre of the congregated clouds, having a screw like motion, by which means the water wherever it came was raised up. In August following, the wind blowing at the same time out of several quarters, created a great whirling among the clouds, the centre of which every now and then sunk down, like along, black pipe, wherein was distinctly seen a motion like that of a screw, continually drawing and screwing up, as it were, whatever it touched. Groves and trees bent under it circulary, like wands. Some of the branches it tore off. It is commonly supposed, that the Water at sea rises in a column, before the tube touches it. But this is a’ mistake. The tube often touches the surface of the sea, before the water rises at all. But water-spouts happen several ways. Sometimes the water is seen to boil, and raise itself for a considerable space, about a foot from the sea, before the tube touches it. Above this there appears, as it were, a thick and black smoke, in the midst of which is a sort of pipe, resembling a tunnel, reaching up to the clouds. At other times these tunnels come from the clouds, and suck up the water with great violence. Sometimes these discharge themselves into the sea. to the unavoidable destruction of such ships as are in their way: sometimes on the shore, beating -down all they meet with, and raising the sand and stones to a prodigious height. A very distinct account of this kind was given, some time since, by an eye witness. “ We were on the coast of Barbary, when three water-spouts came down; one of them bigger than three masts, the other two scarce half as big; all of them were black, as the cloud from which they fell; all smooth, and smaller at the lower end. Sometimes one became smaller, and then larger again; sometimes it disappeared, and quickly fell down again. “ There was always a great boiling and flying up of the water like the appearance of a smoking chimney in a calm day. Sometimes it stood as a pillar, some yards above the sea, and then spread itself and scattered like smoke. One spout came down to the very middle of this pillar, and joined with it. Afterward it pointed to the pillar at some distance, first in a perpendicular and then in an oblique line. “ It was hard to say, whether this spout fell first from time cloud, or the pillar rose first from the sea, both appearing opposite to each other, as in the twinkling of an eye. But in another place the water rose up to a great height, without any spout pointing to it Only here, the water did not rise like a pillar, but flew scatteringly, and advanced as a moving bush upon the surface of the sea. This proves that the rising of the water may begin, before the spout from time cloud appears. “All these spouts, hut especially the great one toward the end, began to appear like a hollow canal, along the middle of which one might distinctly perceive time seawater fly up very swiftly ; soon after the spout broke in the middle, and disappeared by little and little ; the boiling up, yea, the pillar of the seawater continuing a considerable time after.” There is something very uncommon in the Fetter, a lake which parts East and West Gothland. It is about eighty miles long and eighteen broad. Its water is very clear, and in some places so deep, as not to be sounded by a line of 300 fathoms. It is often disturbed by storms, which sometimes begin so suddenly, that the surface of the water is agitated, before the least breath of wind is perceived. And it is not uncommon for boats in one part of the lake to he tossed by a violent storm, while others at a small distance, are in a perfect calm. Immediately before a storm, while the sky is clear, a noise is perceived• in the lake like thunder. Of this the inhabitants of Visiugore, an island in the middle of the lake, are more sensible than any others. For from that part of the island, whence the wind will blow, they hear a noise like the firing of cannon. Whenever this is heard in the east, they expect hail and rain to follow. Undoubtedly all these storms are owing to subterraneous winds. To these, likewise, we may attribute the sudden cracking of the ice upon the Ike in the spring. This is, one minute, strong enough to hear horses and sledges, and the next broken in pieces. A strange noise underneath, which precedes the breach, warns travellers to make the best of their way. But those who happen to be at a great distance from land, are swallowed up, unless they can float upon shoals of ice, till they meet with relief. The violent under-currents, observed in this lake, are also very surprising. These directly Opposing the winds, give the fishermen a great deal of trouble. From these, as well as from unfathomable depths, it is supposed to have a communication under ground with another lake, called Venner, about forty miles to the westward. 13.It remains only to add a few reflections, on some of the preceding heads. How useful is the atmosphere to the life, the health, the comfort, and the business of the whole globe! It is the air.* by which all *Atmospheric air is absolutely necessary to animal life. This is composed of oxygen and nitrogen; and it is found by experiment, that the portion of oxygen animals live; not only the inhabitants of the earth, but of the waters too. Without it, most animals live scarce half a minute, and none of them many days. And not only animals, but even trees and plants, owe their life and vegetation to this useful element ; as is manifest from their glory and verdure in a free air, and their paleness and sickliness, when excluded from it. Then necessary is the air to the life of animals, and it is no less SO, to the conveyance of many of them. All the winged tribes owe their flight and buoyance to it. And even the inhabitants of the waters cannot easily ascend. or descend in their own element without it. It would be endless to specify the uses of the air in the operations of nature.- To touch only on one or two instances. How admirable is that-property of it, the- conserving animated bodies, whether animal or vegetable, while it dissolves all other bodies ; by which means many things which would prove nuisances to the world, are put out of the way, and reduced to their first principles. Even crystal glasses, especially if not used, it will in time reduce to powder. And thus divers minerals, stones, fossil-shells, trees which have lain under ground for many ages, and so secure from corruption, when in time open air, have- quickly mouldered red away. Another admirable use of the atmosphere is, its ministering to the enlightening the earth, by reflecting to us the light of the sun.* and refracting his beams to our’ eye, before he surmounts our horizon, by which means the day is protracted throughout the whole globe, and the long and dismal nights are shortened in the frigid zones. Yea, is the principal ingredient in the process of respiration. Any air, destitute of this substance, is death to the animal that breathes it ; and it is equally ascertained, that too great a portion of oxygen is too powerful a stimulus for life. Hence it is manifest, that the consistence of the atmospheric air is wisely tempered to the capacity of animal respiration. In the diving-bell, after sometime of stay under water, they are forced to come up and take in fresh air. But Cornelius Drebell contrived not only a vessel to be rowed under water, but also a liquor to be carried therein, that would supply the want of fresh air. The vessel was made for king James 1:1-27. It carried twelve rowers besides the passengers. It was tried in the Thames. A person who was therein told it to one who related it to Mr. Boyle. As to the liquor, Mr. Boyle discovered by a physician, who married Brebell’s daughter, that from time to time, when the air in the submarine boat was so clogged by the breath of the company, as to be unfit for respiration, by unstopping a vessel full of this, he speedily restored it, so that they breathed again without difficulty. *To this is owing that whiteness which is in the air in the day-time, caused by the rays of light striking on the particles of the atmosphere, as well as upon the clouds above, and the other objects beneath on the -earth. To the same cause we owe the twilight; namely, to the sunbeams touching the uppermost parts of the atmosphere, which they do, when the sun is eighteen degrees below the horizon. the sun rises in appearance, when he is indeed many degrees below the horizon. Let us a little more attentively consider the light which whitens the sky before the sun rises. There is something surprising in this. We see the light only by the rays which flow to our eyes. Now the sun being, as yet, beneath the earth, cannot project any of his rays directly to us. And the rays which dart on the extremities of the land, that terminates our sight, proceed farther into the heavens, unless they meet with any body which reflects them back to us. Is there any particular body in nature designed to do us this service There is, namely, the atmosphere, which is framed over our heads in such a manner, that, notwithstanding its extensive mass, it suffers us to see the stars, at an immense distance from us ; and, notwithstanding its transparency, bends and gathers for us numberless rays, of which we should otherwise be quite deprived. Any ray that falls perpendicularly on the atmosphere, enters it without any obstacle, and descends through it to the earth in the same right line. But those which fall obliquely upon it, are admitted into, or repelled from it, according to the situation of the luminous body. If this be more than eighteen degrees below the horizon, all its rays are scattered abroad. If less, the rays enter the atmosphere, and are refracted to our sight. This is the true cause of the twilight, and indeed of the continuance and principal beauty of the day, even when the sun is in its highest elevation. The earth, which receives his rays, reflects them into the atmosphere; which once more returns the greater part of them. Thus it preserves to us that splendour which is the beauty of nature, and that heat which is the soul of it. For it collects numberless rays, the greater or smaller union whereof, is the measure of heat and cold. Thus it becomes to us a mantle of the finest texture, redoubling the heat, yet not pressing us by its weight. the atmosphere at the same time causes and maintains round us, that light which lays our whole habitation before our eyes. In order to clear this, suppose the atmosphere were destroyed: 1. The rising of the sun would not be preceded by any twilight, but the most intense darkness would surround us, till the moment of his rising. 2. In that instant he would break out in his full brightness, and so continue till his setting : and that moment it would be pitch dark. 3. In the day big light would resemble a clear fire, which we see by night in the midst of a spacious field. We should see what was near us, hut nothing else : the distant lands would not be perceived, and the night would still continue, notwithstanding the sun. For instead of the white tint of day, which displays all nature by brightening the azure of the heavens, and colouring all the horizon, we should see nothing but an abyss of darkness, there being nothing to reflect the solar rays. The stars indeed would be seen at noonday: but then those luminous bodies which now appear to be placed in a delightful azure, would seem fastened on a dismal, mourning carpet. But how does that fine azure depend on the atmosphere This will plainly appear, if it be considered, what a quantity of rarefied water is suspended from the top of the atmosphere to the bottom. and there is never a greater quantity suspended there, than in the five days, when no clouds are to be seen. It is these rarefied waters, intercept and reflect to us, the rays reflected from the earth. And this prodigious mass of waters, being a simple and uniform body, the colour of it is simple, and always the same. But are these azure skies, which we confound with the starry heaven, nothing more than a little air and water And what we took for the heaven, only a cover wrapped close round the earth So it is. And this is a new wonder, and a new proof of our Creator’s wisdom! A few small bubbles of air and water are indeed of themselves things very insignificant. but that hand which has with so much art and caution placed them over our heads, has done it merely, that his sun and stars might not be rendered useless to us. He embellishes whatever he pleases and these drops of water and air become in his hands an inexhaustible source of glory. He draws from them those twilights, which so usefully prepare our eyes for the receiving a stronger light. He fetches out of them the brightness of the dawn. From them he produces the splendour of the day. He makes them contribute to the increase and preservation of that heat which nourishes every thing breathing. Of them he makes a brilliant arch, which enchants the sight of man, and becomes the ceiling of his habitation. I shall only add the excellent use of the atmosphere, in respect of two of its meteors, the winds, and the clouds and rain. The winds are of such absolute necessity to the wholesomeness of the atmosphere, that all the world would be poisoned without these agitations. We find how putrid and unfit far respiration, a confined, stagnated air is. And if the whole mass of air and vapours were always at rest, instead of refreshing, it would suffocate all the world. But the motion it receives from the gales and storms, keeps it pure, and healthy still. Without these gales to fan us also, in the heat of summer, even in our temperate climate, men would hardly be able to get through their *The most universal and constant alterations of the balance of the atmosphere are from heat and cold. This is manifest in the general trade winds, blowing all the year between the tropics from east to west: the cause whereof is undoubtedly by the sun’s daily progress round that part of the globe, by the heat rarefying one part of the air, whilst the cooler and heavier air behind passes after. In thunder storms there are often two currents of air, the under current contrary to the upper. Hence the wind near the earth blows one way, and the clouds more above, the other way. daily labour, without endangering their health.* These are perpetual in the torrid zone, and make what the ancients imagined to be not habitable to an v but wild beasts, a healthful and pleasant habitation’. Of what use likewise are the winds to transport men to the distant regions of the world Particularly, the general and coasting trade winds, the sea and the land breezes ; the one serving to carry the mariners in long voyages from east to west ; the other, to waft him to particular places: the one serving to carry him into his harbour, the other to bring out. Seabreezes commonly rise in the morning, about nine o’clock. They first approach the shore gently, as if they were afraid to come near it. The breeze comes on in a fine, small, black curl upon the water, whereas all the sea between it and the shore, is as smooth and even as glass. In half an hour after it reaches the shore, it fans pretty briskly, and so increases gradually till twelve o’clock : then it is commonly the strongest. It lasts so till two or three, At three it begins to die away, till about live it is lulled asleep. As the sea-breezes blow in the day. and rest in the night; the land breezes blow in the night, and rest in the day They spring up between six and twelve at night, and last till six, eight, or nine in the morning. The clouds and rain are no less useful meteors than the winds, as is manifest in the refreshing shade which the clouds afford, and the fertile dews and showers, which they pour down on the trees and plants, which would languish and die with perpetual drought. but are hereby made verdant and flourishing : so that as the Psalmist saith “ the little hills rejoice on every side, and the vallies shout for joy, and sing." A farther improvement of these remarks I subjoin in the words of Mr. Hervey. If we turn our thoughts to the atmosphere, we find a most curious and exquisite apparatus of air. This is a source of innumerable advantages ; all which are fetched from the. very jaws of ruin. To explain this: the pressure of The air on a person of a moderate size is equal to the weight of twenty thousand pounds. Tremendous consideration! Should a house fall upon us with half that force, it would break every bone of our bodies. Yet so admirably has the Divine Wisdom contrived the air. and so nicely counterpoised its dreadful power, that we suffer no manner of inconvenience; we even enjoy the load. Instead of being as a mountain on our loins, it is as wings to our feet, or sinews to our limbs. It is not this common *July S, 1707, called for some time after, the hot Tuesday; was so excessivels hot and suffocating, by reason of there being no wind at all, that divers person: died in their harvest work. A healthy, lusty, young man, near Upminster in particular, was killed on the spot by the heat, and several travellers on the road dropped down and died. ordinatin of Providence somewhat like the miracle of the burning bush Well may we say unto God, 0 how terrible, yet how benificent, art thou in thy works! 6. The air, too weak to support our flight is a thoroughfare for innumerable wings. Here the whole commonwealth of birds expatiate, beyond the reach of their adversaries. Where they to run, upon earth, they would be in ten thousand dangers, without strength to resist, or speed to escape them: whereas by mounting the skies, they are secure from peril, they “ scorn the horse and his rider." Some of them perching on the boughs, or soaring aloft, ‘entertain us with their notes. Many of them yield us wholesome and agreeable food, and yet give us no trouble, put us to no expence, but till the time we want them, are wholly out of the way. The air is charged also with several offices, absolutely needful for mankind. In our lungs it ventilates the blood, qualities its warmth, produces the animal serections. We might live even months, without the light of the sun, yea, or the glimmering of a star. Whereas, if we are deprived but a few minutes of this, we sicken, we faint, we die. The same universal nurse has a considerable share in cherishing the several tribes of plants. It transfuses vegetable vigour into the trunk of an oak, and a blooming gayety into the leaves of a rose. “ The air’ likewise conveys to our nostrils the extremely subtile effluvia which exhale from odoriferous bodies: particles so small, that they elude the most careful hand. But this receives and transmits the invisible vagrants, without losing even a single atom; entertaining us with the delightful sensations that arise from the fragrance of flowers, and admonishing us to withdraw from an unwholesome situation, to beware of pernicious food. “ The air by its undulating motion conducts to our ear all the diversities of sound. While danger is at a considerable distance, this advertises us of its approach; and with a clamorous, but kind importunity, urges us to provide for our safety. “ The air wafts to our sense all the modulations of music, and the more agreeable entertainments of conversation. It distributes every musical variation with the utmost exactness, and delivers the message of the speaker with the most punctual fidelity : whereas without this internuncio, all would be sullen and unmeaning silence. We should neither be charmed by the harmonious, nor improved by the articulate accents. “How gentle are the breezes of the air when unconfined! but when collected, they act with such immense force, as is sufficient to whirl round the hugest wheels, though clogged with the most incumbering loads. They make the pondrous millstones move as swiftly the dancer’s heel; and the mossy beams play as nimbly as the musician’s fingers. In the higher regions there is an endless succession of clouds, fed by evaporations from the ocean. The clouds are themselves a kind of ocean, suspended in the air. They travel in detached particles, over all the terrestrial globe. They fructify by proper communications of moisture, the spacious pastures of the wealthy, and gladden with no less liberal showers the cottager’s little spot. Nay, they “satisfy the desolate and waste ground, and cause the bud of the tender herb to spring forth :" that the natives of the lonely desert, tile herds which know no master’s stall, may nevertheless experience the care of an all supporting parent. “How wonderful! That pendent lakes should be diffused, fluid mountains heaped over our heads, and both sustained in the thinnest part of the atmosphere. Flow surprising is the expedient, which, without vessels of stone or brass, keeps such loads of water in a buoyant state! Job considered this with holy admiration. “Dost thou know the balancings of the clouds “ How such pondrous bodies are made to hang in even poise, and hover like the lightest down “He bindeth up the waters in his thick cloud :“ and the cloud, though nothing is more loose and fluid, because by his order tenacious, as casks of iron, “is not rent” under all the weight. “When the sluices are opened and the waters descend, one would think they should pour down in torrents. Whereas instead of this, which would be infinitely pernicious, they coalesce into globules and are dispensed in gentle showers. They spread themselves as if strained through the orifices of the finest watering-pots, and form those “small drops of rain” which the clouds “distil upon man abundantly." Thus instead of drowning the earth, and sweeping away its fruits, they cherish universal nature, and (like their great Master) distribute their stores to men, animals, and vegetables, “as they are able to bear them.” “But besides waters, here are cantoned various parties of winds, mild or fierce, gentle or boisterous, furnished with breezy wings, to fan the glowing firmament, or else fitted to act as an universal besom, and by sweeping the chambers of the atmosphere to cleanse the fine aerial fluid. Without this wholesome agency of the winds, the air would stagnate and become putrid: so that all the great cities in the world, instead of being seats of elegance, would degenerate into sinks of corruption. “At sea, the winds swell the mariner’s sails, and speed his course along the watery way. By land, they perform the office of an immense seedsman, scattering abroad the seeds of numberless plants, which though the support of many animals, are too small for the management, or too mean for the attention of man. Here are lightnings stationed, in the act to spring whenever their piercing flash is necessary, either to destroy the sulphurous vapours, or noxious matter, which might prejudice the delicate temperature of the ether, and obscure its more than crystalline trans "Above all is situate a radiant and majestic orb which enlightens and cheers the inhabitants of the earth: while the air, by a singular address, amplifies its usefulness, its reflecting power augments that is the life of nature: its refracting power prolongs that splendour which is the beauty of the creation. "I say, augments the heat. For the air is a cover, which, without oppressing us with any perceivable weight, confines, reflects, and thereby increases the vivifying heat of the sun, The air increases this, much in the same manner as our clothes give additional heat to durbocly: whereas when it is less in quantity. when it is attenuated, the solar heat is very sensibly diminished. Travellers on the lofty mountains of America, sometimes experience this to their cost. Though the clime at the foot of those vast mountains, is extremely hot and sultry, yet at the top the cold is so excessive, as often to freeze both the horse and rider to death. We have therefore great reason to praise God, for placing us in the commodious concavity, the cherishing wings of an atmosphere. “The emanations of light, though formed of inactive matter, yet (astonishing power of divine wisdom !) are refined almost to the subtility of spirit, and are scarce inferior even to thought in speed. By which means they spread with almost instantaneous swiftness, through a whole hemisphere: and though they fill whatever they pervade, yet they straiten no place, embarrass no one, encumber nothing. "Every where indeed, and in every element, we may discern the footsteps of the Creator’s wisdom. The spacious canopy over our beads is painted with blue; and the ample carpet under our feet is tinged with green. These colours, by their soft and cheering qualities, yield a perpetual refreshment to the eye. Whereas had the face of nature glittered with white, or glowed with scarlet, such dazzling hues, instead of cheering, would have fatigued the sight. Besides. as the several brighter colours are interspersed, and form the pictures in this magnificent piece, the green and the blue make an admirable ground, which shows them all to the utmost advantage. Had the air been much grosser, it would have dimmed the rays of the sun and darkened the day. Our lungs would have been clogged in their vital function, and men drowned or suffocated therein. Were it much more subtile, birds would not be able to wing their way through the firmament: neither could the clouds be sustained in so thin an atmosphere. It would elude likewise the organs of respiration we should gasp for breath with as much difficulty, and as little success as fished do, when out of their native element. “The ground also is wrought into the most proper temperature. Was it of a firmer consistence it would be impenetrable to the plough and unmanageable by the spade. Was it of a more loose composition, it would be incapable of supporting its own furniture. The light mould would be swept away by the whirling winds, or soaked into sloughs by the descending rains. Again, because every place, suite not every plant, but that which nourishes one, destroys another: the qualities of the earth are so abundantly diversified as to accommodate every species. We have a variety of intermediate soils, from the loose sand to the stiff clay : from the rough projection of the craggy rock, to the soft bed of the smooth parterre. “The sea carries equal evidence of a most wise and gracious ordination. Was it larger, we should have wanted land for pasturage and husbandry. We should not have had room for mines and forests, our subterranean warehouses and aerial timber yards. Was it smaller, it could not recruit the sky with a proper quantity of exhalations: or supply the earth with the necessary quota of fructifying showers. “May we not discover as exquisite strokes of wisdom in each individual object All that shines in the heavens, and all that smiles on the earth, speak their infinitely wise Creator. Need we launch into the praise of the vallies clothed with grass, or of the fields replenished with corn Even the ragged rocks, which frown over the flood, the caverned quarries which yawn amidst the land, together with the shapeless and enormous mountains, which seem to load the ground, and encumber the skies; even these contribute to increase the general pleasure, and augment the general usefulness. They add new charms to the wide level of our plains, and shelter, like a screen, the warm lap of our vales. “Who is not charmed with the delicious fruits of summer and autumn But were alt our trees and shrubs to produce such fruits, what would become of the birds How small a part would voracious man resign to their enjoyment To provide therefore for each vagrant of the air, as well as for the sovereign of a nation, there is in all places a large growth of shrubs, annually covered with coarse and hardy berries : so coarse in their taste, that they are unworthy of the acceptance of man: so hardy in their make, that they endure the utmost severity of the weather and furnish the feathered tribes with a standing repast amidst all the desolations of winter. “The fir, the beech, the elm, are stately decorations of our rural seats. But if there were no entangling thickets, no prickly thorns, where would the farmer procure fences How could he secure his vegetable wealth, from the flocks and the herds Those roving plunderers, which submit to no laws, but those of the coercive kind. "We spare no toil, to have useful herbs and plants in our gardens, and upon our tables- But there are innumerable herbs, which pass nder the contemptible character of weeds, and yet are full as desirable to other classes of creatures, as these are to mankind. Yet who will be at the pains to plant, to water, to cultivate, such despicable productions Man would rather extirpate than propagate, these incumbrances of his land. Therefore Providence vouchsafes to be their gardener, and has wrought off their seeds with such a lightness, that they are transported to and fro, by the mere undulations of the air. Or, if too heavy, to be wafted by the breeze, they are fastened to wings of down: or else enclosed in a spring case, which forcibly bursting, shoots them out on every side. By some such means, the reproducing principle of every one is disseminated, -the universally granary filled, and the universal board furnished. The buzzing insect and the creeping worm, have each his bill of fare. Each enjoys a never-failing treat, equivalent to our greatest delicacies. - " If grass were scarce as the Guernsey lily, and as difficultly raised as the tuberose, how certainly and how speedily, must many millions of animals perish by famine But as all the cattle owe their chief subsistence to this, by a singular wisdom in the divine economy, it waiteth not, like the corn field, and the garden bed, for the annual labours of man. When once sown, though ever so frequently cropped, it revives with the returning season. With a kind of perennial verdure, it covers our meadows, diffuses itself over the plains, springs up in every glade of the forest, and spreads a sideboard in the most sequestered nook. “Such is the care of a wise and condescending Providence, even over these lowest formations of nature !“ ======================================================================== CHAPTER 27: PART 05 - CHAPTER 1 - OF THE SYSTEM OF THE WORLD ======================================================================== Chapter 1 - Of the System of the World Having considered the earth with the bodies that are therein, let us now look up to those that surround it. The world is a congeries of innumberable bodies, many of which are supposed to exceed the size of the earth: yet by reason of their distance, most of them are invisible to ‘the naked eye. The nearest to us is the moon, which moves round the earth in less than twenty-eight days from west to east. The sun likewise seems to move from east to west, and shines successively on all parts of the globe. It appears also to us to move every year obliquely from west to east, coming twenty-three degrees and a half to the north, and then globe just as far to the south. 2. Some of the stars keep always the same distance with respect to each other and are termed fixed. Others are continually changing their situation, whence they are termed planets. Two of these, Mercury ‘and’ Venus, are frequently between the earth and the sun; of which the former being generally hid by the rays of the sun, is seldom-visible: but Venus, commonly called the evening star, is very conspicuous. The earth is never between them and the sun. They are sometimes between us and him. Sometimes the sun is interposed between us and them. 3. The upper planets are Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. The sun is sometimes between these and the earth. But none of them is ever interposed between the earth and the sun. Mars has different appearances, like the moon, as it is differently situated, with regard to the sun whereas Jupiter and Saturn always appear with the same aspect, and have smaller planets revolving round them. All these revolve round the sun, in their several stated periods. 4. Beside these, there are another kind of stars, called comets, vulgarly, blazing stars. These do not revolve round the sun in so regular orbits as the planets. The fixed stars are above these: These have a vivid light, and always appear with the same face towards us: they seem to have a twofold motion, a slow one from east to west in as year, and a swift one round the earth with all the other stars in and twenty hours. But there are some of them which never set, namely those near the north or south pole. 5. To explain these phenomena of the heavenly bodies, various systems have been invented. The Ptolemaic supposes the earth to be fixed, in the centre of the universe, round which all the heavenly bodies move, each affixed to a solid sphere which moves with it: first the moon, then Mercury, thirdly, Venus, next the sun, filthy, Mars, then Jupiter, seventhly, Saturn. In the eighth place is the firmament or sphere of fixed stars: then the crystaline heaven, and last of all the primum mobile, which is supposed to move from east to west in twenty-four hours, whirling all the other spheres with it. But this system being in some respects obviously false, in others utterly improbable, and likewise: insufficient to account for many phenomena, is now universally exploded. 6. In the room of this, the Copernican system is now generally received, which supposes the sun to be fixed in the centre, without. any other motion, than that round his own axis. Next him is Mercury, then Venus, thirdly the Earth, (round which the moon revolves,) above the earth, Mars, then Jupiter and Saturn, with their attendant moons. This system is extremely simple and natural, and easily accounts for most phenomena. As to the objection, that it is contrary to the testimony of our senses, it is easily answered. They who are in a ship seem to see the shore and the land moving along, although it is really the ship that moves. Yet let it move ever so swiftly, it displaces nothing, provided it moves smoothly So neither does the motion of the earth displace any thing on its surface, because it is equable and regular. Not that Copernicus was the inventor of this system. It was in great part known long ago. Pythagoras taught, “ that the earth was carried about the sun among the stars, and by turning round its axis, caused day and night.” Yet by degrees it sunk into oblivion, till it was revived by cardinal Cusa. However, the Ptolemaic system still prevailed, till Nicholas Copernicus, a canon of Thorn, in Polish Prussia. born in the year 1473, had resolution to examine it thoroughly, and learning enough to explain and defend it. Some of the reasons on which this system is founded are, 1. This is most simple and agreeable to the whole tenure of nature: for by the motions of the earth all the phenomena of the heavens are resolved, which on any of the other hypothesis are utterly inexplicable. 2. It is more rational to suppose the earth moves round the sun, than that the huge bodies of the planets and of the sun itself, and the immense firmament of stars, should all move round the inconsiderable body of earth every four and twenty hours. 3. The earth’s moving round the sun is agreeable to that general harmony and universal law, which all other moving bodies of the system observe, namely, that the squares of the periodical times are as the cubes of the distances. But if the sun move round the earth, that law is destroyed, and the general order and symmetry of nature interrupted; because, according to that law, the sun would be so far from revolving about the earth in 365 days, that it would require not less than 5106 years, to finish one revolution. 4. The sun is the fountain of light and heat, which it darts through the whole system, and therefore it ought to be placed, as the heart in the that so all the planets may at all times have them, in an uniform and equal manner. 5. If the sun be placed in the centre of the system we have then the rational hypothesis of the planets being all moved about the sun, by the universal law of gravity: and everything will answer to that law ; but otherwise we are wholly in the dark. 6. But we need not rely upon conjectures. We have demonstrable proofs, that the sun possesses the centre, and that the planets , move-round it, in the order above mentioned. For example: Mercury and Venus are ever observed to have two conjunctions with the sun but no opposition, which could not happen unless the orbits of those planets lay within the orbit of the earth. And in the same manner it may be demonstrated, that the orbits of Mars, Jupiter and Saturn lie without the orbit of the earth. 7.After Copernicus came Tyco Brahe, a noble Dane, who endeavoured to compound a system, of the Ptolemaic and Copernican put together; but it was quickly found by all unprejudiced judges, to be “So intricate and perplexed, that it had not many assertors even while he lived, and is now well nigh sunk into oblivion, 8. Numerous hypothesis have been formed to explain the relative situation and character of our globe, and the motions and appearances of the heavenly bodies, the greater number of which have been evidently absurd and erroneous. Some have been marked by greater degrees of ingenuity, and plausibility, than others, which have nevertheless been rejected, as science progressed to more extensive degree of developement. Besides the Ptolemaic, and the Tychonic systems, other systems were projected which had many advocates. The Semitychonic, supposed the planets to revolve round the sun, while the sun and moon revolve round the earth, as their centre of motion, but this system supposed the diurnal motion of the globe, on its own axis. In this, it differs from the Tychonic. The Cartesian system was next introduced. This proposed a variety of vortices, or whirlpools, in the etherial regions, in which the motions of the heavenly bodies were performed, in different times, proportioned to their distances; and each planet having a particular vortex of its own, in which the motions of its satellites were performed. But this appeared equally destitute. of analogy, and fact, for support. Besides it was evident, that the irregularities in motions of the planets, could not be accounted for on this hypothesis. The Ptolemaic system bad gained universal credit when Copernicus began to entertain doubts of its truth ; and to try if a more rational scheme could not be projected, to account for the motions of the heavenly bodies. He had recourse to every means, for information, and found from Cicero, that Nichetas, a Syracusian astronomer, had maintained the doctrine of the rotatory motion of the earth. And that Pythagoras and others of the ancients had maintained the same opinion. From these small hints, this great genius deduced a most complete system of astronomy, capable of solving every phenomenon in a satisfactory manner, a system which has been amply confirmed by the discoveries and improvements in astronomy, since that time. Like alt important discoveries however, when they run counter to popular prejudices, this system was very much opposed, and Copernicus him self considered as a wild theorist. But while philosophers were divided between the Ptolemaic, the Tychonic, the Cartesian. and the Copernican systems, Sir Isaac Newton stepped forward in the plenitude of genius, and like a mighty umpire, laid down the laws of nature and of motion, and by comparing all the phenomena of the heavens, found out the true system of the universe, and confirmed the Copernican system. He demonstrated by unanswerable arguments, that it could not possibly be otherwise, without the utter subversion of all the laws of nature. It would be endless to recount all the conjectures which have been made, respecting the constituent parts of the universe. Mr. Hutchinson supposed the following divisions. 1. The darkness, or dark air, or the fine ether, in the state of stagnation. 2. The spirit, or the air in sensible motion. 3. The light, or the pure ether in motion. 4. The luminaries, comprehending the sun, moon, and stars. 5. The densities, which form the extremity of the whole system of nature: or the dense gross air, out of which the fine ether is extracted, and into which it returns. He considered that the regions of space would be naturally grosser and grosser, the farther from the sun, and that the utmost extremity would be condensed into an immoveable solid. But since the discoveries and observations of Dr. Herschell on the nebulosity of the heavens, (which we shall take a brief survey of, when treating of the fixed stars,) very different conjectures and theories have been substituted. It now appears a more probable and rational conjecture, that our solar system is but one of innumerable systems; that the universe is of infinite extension, and occupied by an infinite multitude of worlds; that the sovereignty of the Creator is not limited to a comparatively insignificant and solitary world, or system, but that it is infinite as his wisdom, and extensive as his power. By the application, and great improvement of telescopic powers, the ideas of the universe has been much enlarged-; assisted and corroborated by handmaids of philosophy, science, and analogy. And we derive new views and prospects of the constituent parts of nature, and of universe, from recent experiments, and the great improvements, and discoveries in chemical philosophy. Hence we contemplate the universe as a boundless expanse, interspersed with contiguous systems; and worlds, suspended at distances proportionate to their mutual powers of attraction, and capable or reciprocating causes and effects hence we contemplate the nebulous patches of the heavens, as so many systems, and the galaxy as a zone of systems; and hence also we contemplate the sun as the centre of its particular system, comprehending the worlds which revolve round it as their common centre. It was formerly imagined that the sun was a globe of liquid fire, from an idea that heat travelled to us from the sun: and the conclusion was naturally deduced, that the nearer the sun, the greater the heat. But this is found to be evidently erroneous. Notwithstanding Sir Isaac Newton calculated the heat of a comet at its nearest approach to the sun, to be 2000 times hotter than red hot iron; it was evidently en the assumption, that the sun was a globe of fire, and that the intensity of the beat, was in a ratio, proportionate to the distances. But this does not correspond with experience, for it is decisively ascertained, that the most intense cold prevails, at small elevations, in a direct line between us and the sun, even in the hottest parts of the globe under the equinox; towards the summits of very high mountains, where the cold has been found so intense, that it was with difficulty, life could be supported. The like has also been experienced, in the ascent in balloons, when the aeronauts have attatned to a great height, they have experienced intense cold, even when the weather has been intensely warm, on the surface of the earth. It is further evident that heat and fire, are mere local effects, from the various changes of the atmosphere, and from the phenomenon of hail in summer, when the drops of rain coming in contact with a cold region of air, are divested of their caloric, and instead of descending in a shower of water, descend in a shower of ice’. Hence it is sufficiently apparent that the elementary matter of heat, and fire, does not travel to very great distances in the atmosphere, but that it is confined to narrow limits near the surface of the earth, that it is a subtile elementary body, which can be alternately collected, and dissipated, in a great variety .f degrees by a great variety of circumstances. And these various effects, exactly correspond with the modern discoveries, experiments and doctrines of that subtile elementary substance, caloric. These ideas would naturally introduce the mind, to a more connected, systematic. and rational train of reflection, on the sublime and interesting subjects of astronomy, and the philosophy connected with it. They would exhibit nature on a more extended scale of grandeur and simplicity. They would tend to harmonize the universe, and unfold the true relations of nature. They would display in more enlarged characters, and appropriate features, the universal creation, and the universal Creator. They would show that immortality was stamped on the universe; that the essential principle of all being, and of every species of being, was active, immutable, and universal. It would tend to excite in the mind of the creature reverence, gratitude and piety. And give an importance to being, even the meanest of the works of God. Thus much premised, we shall proceed to survey the various phenomena of the heavens. ======================================================================== CHAPTER 28: PART 05 - CHAPTER 2 - OF THE HEAVENLY BODIES IN PARTICULAR ======================================================================== Chapter 2 - Of the Heavenly Bodies in Particular The sun is apparently the most magnificent and splendid orb in the heavens. And the most obvious phenomena attending it, are its light, its heat, and its daily rising and setting; but although the sun appears extremely bright and splendid to the naked eye, yet he is frequently observed even through a telescope of very moderate powers, to have dark spots on his disk. These were first discovered in 1611 : and the honour of the discovery was disputed between Galileo and Scheiner a German jesuit of Ingolstadt. There is a great variety in the magnitude of these spots. The difference is chiefly in superficial extent of length and breadth ; their depth or thickness is very small; some have been computed to be so large, as to be capable of covering the continents of Asia, and Africa, and even of the globe itself. The diameter of a spot, when near the middle of the disk is measured by comparing the time it takes in passing of a hair, laid across the telescope, with the time it takes the whole disk to pass over the same hair; it may also be measured by a micrometer. By either of these methods, we may judge how many times the diameter of the spot is contained in the diameter of the sun. It is observed that these spots are subject to increase and diminution of their magnitude, that they are of various shapes, most of them having a deep black nucleus surrounded by a dusky cloud, whereof the inner parts near the black are a little brighter than the out-skirts. They frequently change their shapes in the manner of our clouds, though not often so suddenly: thus what is of a certain figure to-day, tomorrow, or perhaps in a few hours shall be of a different one ; one spot is sometimes broken into two or three, and sometimes two or three spots shall coalesce, and be united in one. The number of spots is very uncertain, sometimes there are a great many, sometimes very few; and sometimes none at all. It is evident from the various appearances, that the spots are not endowed with any permanency, nor are they uniform in shape, number magnitude, or duration. Hevelius observed one that arose and vanished in 16 or 17 hours; and no one has been observed to continue longer than 70 days; in general those spots which are gradually formed, are gradually dissolved; and those which appear suddenly, are suddenly dissipated; it has been observed that when a spot disappears, the particular place which it occupied becomes brighter, on the other band those parts called faculae frequently turn to spots. The sun when free from spots, appears equally luminous to the eye, or through coloured glasses. But through a telescope, the middle of the disk appears brighter than the out-skirts, the light darting more directly to us from the middle than the other parts, and the faculae appear more distinctly near the sides. The spots are not confined to one part of the sun’s disk; though we have not heard of any being observed about his polar regions. They described different courses over the sun’s disk, sometimes they travel in straight lines, sometimes in curves; sometimes descending from the northern to the southern part of the disk, sometimes ascending from the southern to the northern, &c. Besides these spots there are others which sometimes appear very round and black, travelling over the sun’s disk in a few hours, and are totally unlike the others. These proceed from the interposition of the planets, Mercury, and Venus, between the earth and the sun. Excepting these two kinds of spots, nothing is discoverable on the surface of the sun, but he appears like an immense ocean of light. Mr. Huygene supposed the sun to be a liquid globe, which the equal distribution of its rays, he thought was an argument for. The small inequalities upon it discovered by means of the telescope, and which has made some imagine they saw huge mountains of fire, he considered as entirely owing to the trembling motions of the vapours of our atmosphere; and that it was likewise the cause of the twinkling of the stars; and indeed it is not much to be doubted but that our vision is abundantly, more affected by the medium of our own atmosphere than we are aware of For instance, should we deviate ever so little from the old established hypothesis, that light travels in straight lines, and should it hereafter be discovered, that the motion of light, like all other motion, is elliptical, it would very materially affect our calculations of the distances, magnitudes, and appearances of the celestial bodies. When the moon passes between the earth and the sun, so as to intercept his rays, he is said to be eclipsed. This happens only at the time of new moon, because it is then only she passes between the sun and the earth. Yet the sun is not eclipsed at every new moon, because the moon more frequently declines from a straight line between the earth and the sun, either to the north, or the south. And this is also the case when the moon passes at the opposite conjunction, when she passes to the northward or southward of the earth’s shadows. No solar eclipse can be universal, the moon being too small to overshadow the whole earth. Consequently the eclipses of the sun do not appear the same in all places, but are total in one, and partial in another. In most solar eclipses the moon is covered with a faint dawning light, which appears owing to the reflection of the light from the illuminated parts of the earth. In total eclipses, the moon’s edge is seen surrounded by a pale circle of light, which is at least a probable indication. of a lunar atmosphere. When the earth is interposed between the moon and the sun in a direct line, so as to intercept his rays upon the moon, then the moon is eclipsed. And this is only at the time of the full moon. In the midst of a lunar eclipse the moon is observed to have a faint light, which is supposed to be reflected by the’ atmosphere of the earth, and that to the shadow of this it is owing, that she grows paler and dimmer before she enters into the shadow of the earth. The interior conjunction of the planets, Mercury, and Venus, when passing over the sun’s disk, are not called eclipses, but transits. The greatest diameter of the sun as seen from the earth is 32’ 36’, or 883,217 miles. It is stated from observations to revolve on its own axis in 25h. 15’ 16”, and is computed to be 1,380,000 times larger than the earth. It has been calculated to be 97,000,000 of miles distant from our earth. 2. Mercury to our observation at least, is the nearest planet t. the sun; this planet when viewed through a telescope magnifying about 200 or 300 times, appears equally luminous throughout his whole surface, without the least spot. He exhibits the same phases with the moon, being sometimes horned, sometimes gibbous, and sometimes shining with a full face, though not entirely full, because his enlightened side is never turned directly towards us, but at all times perfectly well defined, without any ragged edge and perfectly bright. This planet performs its entire revolution in its orbit, in 87 days, 23 hours, and 15 1/4 minutes, which of course is the length of its year. Its distance from the sun is computed to be 27,000,000 of miles, or as have computed it to be 1/4 the distance of the earth. Its greatest apparent diameter as seen. from the earth 11”, or 3222 miles. ‘Its diurnal rotation is unknown, it not being possible from appearance on his disk, to come at a knowledge of his rotary motion. - The inclination of his orbit to the ecliptic, is 70; its bulk is (thpnted to be of that of our earth, and its proportion of density 2-1, and its light 6-I. 3.Venus is next to Mercury, and the second interior planet it is rarely seen to shine with a full face, but has phases and changes like those of the moon, her illuminated hemisphere being constantly turned towards the sun. This planet is what is termed the morning and evening star, as she is situated in different parts of her orbit. Dr. Herschel has published in the philosophical transactions for 1793, a long series of observations on this planet, whence he concludes, that the planet revolves about its axis, but that the period, and position of the axis are uncertain, that it has a very considerable atmosphere; that it exhibits inequalities of surface, though he could not discover much of them; owing probably to the density of its atmosphere; and that this planet instead of being smaller, is somewhat larger than the earth; though former astronomers have computed its diameter at 7687 miles, which is 275 miles less than the diameter of the earth, or its bulk of the’ earth; and its diurnal rotation to be 23h. 22’. Its mean distance from the sun, is computed to be 68,000,000 of miles. The earth as a planet, offers itself next to our contemplation, as being situated next in order in the solar system. But as it involves phenomena, and considerations abundantly more numerous and interesting than the surrounding orbs, we shall first take a brief survey of those celestial bodies, which occupy the remoter regions of space, and first of the exterior planets, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and Herschel. 4.Mars is the next planet; and is called an exterior planet, because it describes an orbit without the orbit of the earth. He is of a red, fiery colour, and gives a much duller light than Venus, though he sometimes equals her in size. He is not subject to the same limitations as Venus or Mercury, but appears sometimes very near the sun, and sometimes at a great distance from him. Sometimes rising when the sun sets, or setting when he rises. Mars appears gibbous when near his quadratures with the sun. Much larger and more remarkable spots have been perceived on the disk of Mars, than on that of any other primary planet. By very accurate observations, Herschel has determined the proportion between the polar and equatorial diameters, and the length of the day of this planet. He has also given some plausible conjectures on its and atmosphere; the latter it is now satisfactorily ascertained to have, though not to so great an extent, as conjectures on former observations led astronomers to imagine. The mean distance of Mars from the sun is computed to be 144.000,000 of miles, its diameter 1189 miles. Its diurnal rotation, 24h, 39’ 22”, the inclination of its orbit to the elliptic, 10 51’. Its proportion of solar light, 43. Its bulk in proportion to the earth 7/10 And its proportion of density 5. Jupiter is the next exterior planet in the solar system., He has the same general appearance with Mars, only the belts on his surface are much larger, and more permanent. The number is very variable, sometimes being only one, at other times no fewer than eight may be perceived. They are generally parallel to one another, but not always so; and their breadth is likewise variable, one belt having been observed to grow narrower, while another in its neighbourhood has increased in breadth, as if the one had flowed into the other. The time of their continuance is also uncertain. sometimes remaining unchanged for three months together, at others, new belts have been formed in an hour or two. In some of these belts large black spots have appeared, which moved briskly over the disk from east to west, and returned in a short time, to the same place; from whence the rotation of this planet abut its axis has been determined The figure of Jupiter is evidently an oblate spheroid, the longest diameter of his disk being to that of the shortest as 13 to 12. Ills rotation is from west to east like that of the sun, and the plane of his equator is very nearly coincident with that of his orbit ; so that there can be very little difference of seasons in that planet. His rotation has been observed to be quicker in his aphelion than his perihelion. The most remarkable circumstances attending this planet, is his having four moons or satellites, which constantly revolve round him at different distances. These are all supposed to remove in ellipses, though the eccentricities of all of them are too small to be measured, excepting that of the fourth, and even this amounts to no more than 0,007 of its mean distance from the primary. The periodic times and distances of these satellites, in semi-diameters of Jupiter, and in English miles, the angles under which their orbits appear, as seen from the earth, at its mean distance from Jupiter, taken from the latest and most exact observations, are ‘as follows. No. Perdiodic Times. Distances Angle of Orb. D h ‘ “ Semi Diam. Miles ‘ “ 1 1..18..27..34 5 2/3 266,000 3..35 2 3..13..13..42 9 1/56 423,000 6..14 3 7.. 3..42.. 36 14 5/16 676,000 7..58 4 16..16..32..9 25 3/16 1,189,000 17..30 6. Saturn sometimes appears at a vast distance from the sun shines with a very faint light; and his motion is so slow among the fixed stars that unless carefully observed, he will scarcely be thought to move at all When viewed through a good telescope, he makes a more remarkable appearance than any of the other planets. Galileo first discovered his uncommon shape, and from his discoveries and those of other astronomers, it appears that this planet is surrounded by a broad ring, the edge of which reflect little or none of the sun’s light to us; but the planes of the ring reflect the light in the same as the planet itself does: the diameter of the ring is about the diameter of the body of the planet. The ring is detached from the body of the planet in such a manner, that the distance between the innermost ‘part of the ring and its body, is equal to its breadth. Dr. Hershel has found in the course of observation, that the ring is double, or that there are two concentric rings; also that it has a motion of rotation in its own plane, its axis of motion being the same with that of Saturn himself, and its periodical time 10h 32’ 15”. 4 but he thinks it probable, that the concentric rings may not revolve in the same period. Their dimensions and the space between them, he states in the following proportions to each other. Miles. Inner diameter of the small ring, .. 146,345 Outward diameter of do. 184,393 Inner diameter of the large ring, 190,248 Outside diameter of do. 204,883 Breadth of the inner do. 20,000 Breadth of the outer do. 7,200 Breadth of the vacant space 2,839 Dr. Herschel concludes from his observations on the ring, that its structure is such, as to alLow it to remain permanently in its present state; nor does he think it at all probable, that the ring is of that changeable nature which some have imagined. The same excellent astronomer has concluded from a series of observations on the belts of Saturn, that he revolves on his axis in 10h. 16’ 0”.4, that be has a dense atmosphere, and that his polar diameter is to his equatorial as 10 to 11. Saturn has, besides his ring, seven secondary planets or satellites revolving round him. One of them, which till lately was reckoned the fourth in order from Saturn, was discovered by Huygens, in 1655, and by means of a telescope of 100 feet long; and the others; viz. the 1James 3:1-18 d 4th., and 5th. at different times by Cassini, between 1671 and and 1684, by the help of glasses of 100 and 136 feet. The 6tband 7th have been lately discovered by Herschel, with his 40 feet reflecting telescope in 1787 and 1788. These he has called the 6th and 7th satellites, though they are nearer to Saturn than the other 5, that the names may not be mistaken with regard to former observations of them. The periodical revolutions and distances of these satellites ex. pressed in semi-diameters of that planet, and in English miles, are as follows. No. Periodical Times Distances in Angle of Orbit D h ‘ “ Semi Diam. Miles ‘ “ 1 1 21 13 27 4 3/8 170,000 1 27 2 2 17 41 22 5 217,000 1 52 3 4 12 25 12 8 303,000 2 36 4 15 22 41 13 18 704,000 6 18 5 72 7 48 0 54 2,050,000 1 14 6 1 8 53 9 3 5/9 135,000 1 14 7 0 22 40 46 2 5/6 107,000 0 57 The 4 first described ellipses like those of the ring, are in the same plane: their inclination to the orbit, is from 300 to 31. The 5th describes an orbit inclined from 17 to 18 to the orbit of Saturn, his plane lying between the ecliptic and those of the other satellites. Dr. Herschel observes that the 5th satellite turns round its axis once, exactly in the time in which it revolves round the planet Saturn. In this respect it resembles our moon, which does the same thing. 7. The Georgium Sidus, or Herschel, being more remote than Saturn, is also less known. Its apparent magnitude is so small, that it can seldom be seen by the naked eye, and even when viewed by means of the telescope, it appears only a few seconds in diameter. This planet was discovered by Dr. Herschel, in 1781; and in 1787 he likewise discovered two satellites that revolve round it. They are probably not less than Jupiter’s moons, and their orbits are nearly perpendicular to the ecliptic. This is a circumstance in which they differ from the attendants of all the other planets. Their periods of revolution and angular distances from their primary, are as follows. No. Periods. Distance D h ‘ “ ‘ “ 1 8 17 1 19 0 33 2 13 11 5 1 1/3 0 44 2/9 8. Comets are another class of planets appertaining to our system, and which exhibit appearances vastly different from any of the other planets. The nucleus or star, seems much dimmer; they are to appearance surrounded with atmospheres of a prodigious size, often rising ten times higher than the nucleus, and often likewise exhibit different phases, like the moon. What is called the head of a comet, or the round part, appears to be a solid globe, and is called the nucleus, which is easily distinguished from the atmosphere of hairy appearance. Comets are peculiarly distinguished by a blaze or tail, also by the eccentricity of their motion. Sometimes the tail only has been seen at ‘the head has been hid under the horizon, then it is termed a beam. There appears to be a relative degree of conformity peculiar shape of the atmosphere of comets, the velocity with which they move, and the extreme ellipsis in which they traverse. None of the celestial bodies have given rise to a greater degree of speculation and conjecture than the comets. Their strange appearance has in all ages been a matter of terror to the vulgar, who uniformly looked upon them as bad omens, or forerunners of war, pestilence, &c. Others less superstitious, have supposed them to be meteors formed in the upper regions of the air. After much speculation and conjecture among astronomers, Tycho Brahe restored them to their true rank in the creation, and Sir Isaac Newton at length discovered their true motion, from the observations he made on the great comet which appeared in 1680 This comet appeared to descend almost perpendicular towards the sun with a prodigious velocity; ascending again with a motion retarded as much as it had been before accelerated. It was seen in the morning by a great number of astronomers in different parts of Europe from the 4th to the 25th of November, in its way towards the sun, and in the evening, from the 12th of December to the 9th of March following. The many exact observations made on this comet, enabled Sir Isaac Newton to deter-mine, that they are a kind of planets, which move in very eccentric ellipses and this opinion is now considered as an established truth. Although the orbits of all comets are very eccentric ellipses, yet there ‘are very great differences among them. Excepting the orbit of Mercury there are no great differences among those of the planets, either as to their eccentricity, or the inclination of their planes; but the planes of some comets are almost perpendicular to others, and. some of their ellipses are much wider than others. The narrowest. ellipsis of any comet hitherto observed, was that of 1680. There is also a much greater inequality in the motion of the comets, than in the planets; the velocity of the former being incomparably greater in their perihelion than in their aphelion; but the planets are but little accelerated. Hence it is apparent, that the degree of acceleration of any orb, will be in a ratio proportionate to the degree of the ellipsis of its orbit ; for it is evident from all observation, that a body is retarded in its aphelion, in a degree corresponding to its acceleration in its perihelion distance. It is now universally allowed that comets are opaque bodies, enlightened by the sun. Sir Isaac Newton observes that if a comet be observed, in two parts of its orbit at equal distances from the earth, but at unequal distances from the sun, it always shines brightest in that part which is nearest to the sun. Comets are of very different magnitudes, which may be observed from their apparent diameters and brightness. The extraordinary atmospheres, or tails of comets, have given rise to various conjectures, though it is allowed by all, that they depend on the sun some way or other, as they are always directed towards him in one undeviating position; but by what means this is effected is a subject of dispute among philosophers. The analogy discovered by that indefatigable astronomer, Kepler between the periodical times of the planets, and their distances from the sun, takes place also in the comets. In consequence this, the mean distance of a comet from the sun, may be found by comparing its period with the time of the revolution round the sun. Thus the period of the comet which appeared in 1531, ,IeOI, I68 and 1759 being about 76 years, and whose regular return will be about the year 1835, its mean distance may be found by the following proportion. As I, the square of one year, the earth’s periodical time, is to 5776, the square of 76, the comet’s periodical time, so is 1,000,000, the cube of 100, the earth’s mean distance from the sun, to 5,77,000,000, the cube of the comet’s mean distance. The root of this last number 1794, the mean distance itself in such parts as the mean distance of the earth from the sun contains 100. If the perihelion distance of the comet 58, be taken from 3588, double the mean distance, we shall have the aphelion distance 3530, of such parts as the distance of the earth contains 100, which is a little more than 35 times the distance of the earth from the sun. By a like method, the aphelion distance of the comet of 1680, comes out 138 times the mean distance of the earth from the sun, supposing its period 575 years ; so that this comet in its aphelion goes more than 14 times the distance from the sun that Saturn does. Euler computes the orbit from three of Flamstead’s observations, taken nearly together, compared with a fourth, taken at some distance from the other three, and from thence concludes the.-period to be a little more than 170 years. 9.The next celestial objects which present themselves in succession to our notice, are those innumerable orbs, which we term fixed stars: they are termed fixed, because they appear not to vary their situations in the heavens, to a spectator on the earth. Astronomers have supposed them to be so many suns, each the centre of a system of habitable worlds, similar to our solar system. The strongest argument for this, is, that the stars cannot be magnified, even by the most powerful telescope, on account of their immense distance; whence it is concluded, that they shine by their own light, and are therefore so many suns; each of which we may suppose is of equal if not superior magnitude to our own. They are situated at vastly different distances from us, as is indicated by their different magnitudes; and this supposition is necessary, to prevent any interference of the orbits of the planets, and thus there may be as great a distance between a ___ of the first magnitude and one of the second, apparently close to it, as between our globe and the fixed stars themselves. The fixed stars, instead of being magnified by the best glasses, are ___ diminished in size, on account, as is thought, that the telescope takes off that twinkling appearance which they exhibit to the naked eye., or more probably, that the rays being very much compounded in consequence of their immense passage, the superfluous rays are excluded by the instrument; and this is inferable from the fact, that the number of stars is prodigiously increased by the telescope, 70 stars having been counted in the single constellation Pleiades, and fewer than 2000 in that of Orion. The late great discoveries and improvements of the celebrated Herschel have thrown new light on this subject, and shown the number of stars to be exceedingly beyond the discoveries, and even the apprehensions of the ancients. This able astronomer has shown that many which appear single to the naked eye, or through ordinary glasses, do in fact consist of two or more stars; and that the galaxy or milky way, owes its light entirely to multitudes of small stars, so close together, that the naked eye, or even ordinary telescopes cannot distinguish them. The nebulae, or small whitish specks, discoverable by means of the telescope, in various parts of the heavens, are owing to the same cause. Former astronomers could only reckon 103 of these nebulous patches, but Herschel has discovered upwards of 1250. He has also discovered a species of them which he calls planetary nebulae, on account of their peculiar brightness, and their shining with a well defined disk. In the philosophical transactions for 1783, Mr. Mitchell, in proposing a method to determine the distance, magnitude, &c. of the fixed stars, by the dimmution of the velocity of their light, should any such thing be discovered, supposes, that by far the greater par, if not all of them, are systems of stars, so near to each other, as probably to be liable to be affected sensibly by mutual gravitation; and that it is therefore not unlikely that the periods of the revolutions of some of these about their primaries, the smaller ones being upon this hypothesis to be considered as satellites to the other,) may at some time or other be discovered. Dr. Herschel, improving upon Mitchell’s idea, of the fixed stars being collected into groups, and assisted by his own observations, aided by his extraordinary telescopic powers, has suggested a theory concerning the construction of the universe, entirely novel and singular. The opinion had long prevailed among astronomers, that our sun, besides occupying the center of the system which properly belongs to him, occupied also the center of the universe; but Dr. Herschel is of a different opinion; we shall extract some of the doctor’s observations on this interesting subject. Hitherto (says the Dr.) the siderial heavens have, not inadequately for the purpose designed, been represented by the concave surface of a sphere, in the centre of which the eye of the observer might be supposed to be placed. It is true, the various magnitudes of the fixed stars even then, plainly suggested to us, and would have better suited, the idea of an expanded firmament of three dimensions; but the observations upon which I am now going to enter, still farther illustrate and enforce the necessity of considering the heavens in this point of view. In future, therefore, we shall look upon these regions, into which we may now penetrate by means of the improved telescopes, as a naturalist regards a rich extent of ground or chain of mountains, containing strata variously inclined and directed, as well as consisting of very different materials. A surface of a globe, or a map, therefore, will but ill delineate the interior parts of the heavens.” The doctor’s observations, on which this theory is founded, were made with a Newtonian reflector of 20 feet focal length, and an aperture of 18 inches. With this powerful telescope, he first began to survey the Via Lactea, and found that it completely resolved the whitish appearance into stars, which the telescopes he formerly used, had not light enough to do. The portion he first observed, was about the hand and club of Orion; in which he found, an astonishing multitude of stars, the number of which he endeavoured to estimate, by counting many fields, (or apparent spaces of the heavens, which he could see at once through his telescope,) and computing from a medium of these, how many might be contained in a given portion of the milky way. In the most vacant place to be met with in that neighbourhood, he found 63 stars: other six fields, contained 110, 66, 70, 90, 70, and 74 stars, a medium of all which gave 79 for the number of stars to each field.—Thus he found that by allowing 15’ for the diameter of his field of view, a belt of 15 long, and 2 broad, which lie had often seen pass before his telescope, in an hour’s time, could not contain less than 50,000 stars, large enough to be distinctly numbered besides which, he suspected twice as many more, which could be seen only now and then, by faint glimpses, for want of sufficient light. The doctor’s success thus far, soon induced him to direct his attention to the nebulous parts of the heavens, of which an accurate list was published in the Connoissance de Temps for 1 783 and 1784. Most of these yielded to a Newtonian reflector of 20 feet focal distance, and 12 inches aperture, which plainly discovered them to be composed of stars, or at least to contain stars, and to show every other indication of consisting of them entirely. “The nebulae (says he) are arranged into strata, and run on to a great length; and some of them I have been able to pursue and to guess pretty well at their form and direction. It is probable enough, that they may surround the whole starry sphere of the heavens, not unlike the milky way, which undoubtedly it nothing but a stratum of fixed stars; and as this latter immense starry bed, is not of equal breadth and lustre in every part, nor runs on in one straight direction, but is curved, and even divided into two streams, along a very considerable portion of it. We may likewise expect the greatest variety in the strata of the clusters of stars and nebulae. “One of the nebulous beds is so rich, that in passing through a section of t in the time of only 36 minutes, no less than 31 nebulae have been detected, all distinctly visible on a fine blue sky. Their situation and shape, as well as condition, seem to denote the greatest variety imaginable. In another stratum or perhaps a branch of the former, I have often seen double and treble nebulae variously arranged; large ones with small seeming attendants ; narrow but much extended lucid nebulae or bright dashes; some of the shape of a fan resembling an electric brush issuing from a lucid point; others of a comatic shape, with a seeming nucleus in the centre, or like cloudy stars, surrounded by a nebulous atmosphere: a different sort again, contain a nebulosity of the milky kind, like that wonderful inexplicable phenomenon about Orion is while others shine with a fainter mottled kind of light, which denotes their being resolvable into stars. “It is very probable that the great stratum called the milky way, is that in which the sun is placed, though perhaps not in the very centre of its thickness. This we gather from the appearance of the galaxy, which seems to encompass the whole heavens, as it certainly must do, if the sun is within the same. For suppose a number of stars arranged between parallel planes indefinitely every way, but at a given considerable distance from one another, and calling this a siderial stratum; an eye placed somewhere within it, will set all the stars in the direction of the planes of the stratum, projected into a great circle, which will appear lucid on account of the accumulation of the stars, while the’ rest of the heavens at the sides, will only seem to be scattered over with constellations, more or less crowded, according to the distance of the planes, or number of stars contained in the thickness or sides of the stratum. If the eye were placed somewhere without the stratum at no great distance, the appearance of the stars within it, would assume the form of one of the lesser circles of a sphere, which would be more or less contracted to the distance of the eye; and if this distance were exceedingly increased, the whole stratum might at last be drawn together into a lucid spot of any shape, according to the position, length, and height of the stratum. Let us now suppose that a branch or smaller stratum should run out from the former in a certain direction, and let it also be contained between two parallel planes, extended indefinitely onwards, but so that the eye may be placed in the great stratum, somewhere before the separating and not far from the place where the strata are still united; then will the second stratum not be projected into a bright circle like then will former, but will be seen as a lucid branch proceeding from the first, and returning to it again at a certain distance less than a semicircle. What has been instanced in parallel planes may easily be applied to strata irregularly bounded, and running in various directions ; for their projection will of consequence vary, according to the quantities of the variations in the strata, and the distance of the eye from the same and thus any kind of curvatures, as well as various degrees of bright. ness, may he produced in the projections. “From appearances, then, as I observed before, we may infer, the sun is most likely placed in one of the great strata of the fixed stars, and very probably not far from the place where some smaller stratum branches out from it. Such a supposition will satisfactorily and with great simplicity, account for all the phenomena of the milk way; which, according to this hypothesis, is no other than the appearance of the projection of the stars contained in this stratum, an its secondary branch. As a farther inducement to look on the galaxy in this point of view, let it be considered, that we can no longer doubt of its whitish appearance arising from the mixed lustre of the numberless stars that compose it. Now should we suppose it to be and irregular ring of stars, in the centre nearly of which we must suppose our sun to he placed, it will appear not a little extraordinary, that the sun being a fixed star like those which compose this imagined ring, should just be in the centre of such a multitude of celestial bodies without any apparent reason for this singular distinction; whereas on the other supposition, every star in this stratum, not very near the termination of its length or height, will be so placed as to have its own galaxy, with only such variations in the form and lustre of it, as it may arise from the particular situation of each star.” A continued series of observations confirmed Dr. Herschel in these opinions; and in a succeeding paper, he has given a sketch of his ideas of the interior construction of the starry heavens.—” That the milky way (says he,) is a most extensive stratum of stars of various sizes, admits no longer of the least doubt; and that our sun is one of the heavenly bodies belonging to it, is equally evident. I have now viewed and gauged this shining zone in almost every direction, and find it composed of shining stars, whose number, by the account those gauges, constantly increases and decreases, in proportion to its apparent brightness to the naked eye. “But in order to develope the ideas of the universe, that have been suggested by my late observations, it will be best to take the subject from a point of view at a considerable distance both of space then suppose numberless stars of various sizes and time. Let us then suppose numberless stars of various sized, scattered over an infinite space, in such a manner as to be almost divided through whole. The laws of attraction, which no doubt extend to the remotest regions of the fixed stars, will operate in such a manner most probably to produce the following remarkable effects. 1. It will frequently happen, that a star being considerably larger than its neighbouring ones, will attract them more than they will be attracted by others that are immediately around them; by which means they will be in time, as it were, condensed about a centre; or in other words form themselves into a cluster of stars of almost a globular figure, more or less regularly so according to the size and original distance of the surrounding stars. The perturbations of the mutual attractions must undoubtedly be very intricate, as we may comprehend, by considering what Sir Isaac Newton has said, (Princip. Lib i. Prob. 38. et seq.) but in order to apply this great author’s reasoning, of bodies moving in ellipses, to such as are here for a while supposed to have no other motion, than what their mutual gravity has imparted to them, we must suppose the conjugate axes of their ellipses indefinitely diminished, whereby the ellipses will become straight lines. 2. The next case which will happen almost as frequently as the former, is where a few stars, though not superior in size to the rest, may chance to be rather nearer each other than the surrounding one, for here also will be formed a prevailing attraction in the combined center of gravity of them all, which will occasion the neighbouring stars to draw together; not, indeed, so as to form a regular globular figure, but, however, in such a manner as to be condensed towards the common centre of gravity of the whole irregular cluster. And this construction admits of the utmost variety of shapes, according to the number and situation of the stars, which first gave rise to the condensation of the rest. 3. “From the composition and repeated conjunction of both the foregoing forms, a third may be derived: when many large stars, or combined small ones, are situated in long extended, regular, or crooked hooks, or branches; for they will also draw the surrounding ones, so as to produce figures of condensed stars coarsely similar to the former, which gave rise ~o these condensations. 4. ‘We may likewise admit of still more extensive-combinations; same time a cluster of stars are farming in one part of space, there may be another collecting in a different, but perhaps not The distant quarter, which may occasion a mutual approach towards this common centre of gravity. 5. “In the last place, as a natural consequence of the former cases, there will be great cavities, or vacancies, formed by the retreat of the stars towards the various centres which attract them; so that, upon the whole, there is evidently a field of the greatest variety for the mutual and combined attractions of the heavenly bodies to exert themselves in. . “From this theoretical view of the heavens, which has been takes from a point not less distant in time than in space, we will now retreat to our own retired station, in one of the planets attending a star in great combination with numberless others; and in order to investigate) what will be the appearance from this contracted situation, let us begin with the naked eye. The stars of the first magnitude being in all probability the nearest, will furnish us with a step to begin our scale Setting off therefore, with the distance of Sirius or Arcturus, for instance as unity, we will at present suppose, that those of the second magnitude are at double, those of the third at treble the distance, &c. Taking it for granted then, that a star of the 7th magnitude (the smallest supposed visible with the naked eye) is about 7 times as far: as one of the first, it follows, that an observer, who is inclosed in a globular cluster of stars, and not far from the centre, will never be able with the naked eye to see the end of it; for since according to the above estimation, he can only extend - his view to about 7 times the distance of Sirius, it cannot be expected that his eyes should reach the borders of a cluster, which has perhaps not less than 50 stars in depth every where around him. The whole universe to him, therefore will be comprised in a set of constellations, richly ornamented with scat-tered stars of all sizes; or, if the united brightness of a neighbouring cluster of stars should, in a remarkable clear night reach his sight, it will put on the appearance of a small, faint, whitish, nebulous cloud, not. to be perceived without the greatest attention. “Let us suppose him placed in a much extended stratum, or branching cluster of millions of stars, such as may fall under the third form, of nebulae already considered. Here also the heavens will not only be richly scattered over with brilliant constellations, but a shining zone, or milky way will be perceived to surround the whole sphere of the heavens, owing to the combined light of those stars which are too small, that is, too remote to be seen. Our observer’s sight will be 80 confined, that he will imagine this single collection of stars, though be does not even perceive the 1000th part of them to be the whole contents of the heavens. Allowing him now the use of a common telescope, he begins to suspect that all the milkiness of the bright path which surrounds the sphere, may be owing to stars. He perceives a few clusters of them in various parts of the heavens, and finds also, that there are a kind of nebulous patches: but still his views are not so far extended as to reach the end of the stratum in which he is situated; so that he looks upon these patches as belonging to that system, which to him seems to comprehend every celestial object. He now increases his power of vision; himself to a close observation, finds that the milky way is indeed no other than a collection of very small stars. He perceives that those objects which had been called nebulas, are evidently nothing but clusters of stars. Their number increases upon him; anti when he resolves one nebulas into stars, he discovers ten new ones which lie cannot resolve He then forms the idea of immense strata of fixed stars, of clusters of stars, and of nebulas, till going on with such interesting observations, he now perceives that all these appearances must naturally arise from the confined situation in which we are placed. Confined it may justly be called, though in no less a space than what appeared before, to be the whole region of the fixed stars, but which now has assumed the shape of a crooked branching nebula; not indeed one of the least, but perhaps very far from being one of the most considerable, of those numberless clusters that enter into the construction of the heavens.” Herschel shows, that this theoretical view of the heavens is perfectly consistent with facts, and seems to be confirmed by a series of observations. Many hundreds of nebulas of the first and second forms are to be seen in the heavens ; and their places, he says, will hereafter be pointed out; many of the 3d form described, and instances of the 4th related; a few of the cavities mentioned in the 5th particularized, though many more have been already observed ; so that, upon the whole (says he) “ I believe it will be found, that the foregoing theoretical view, with all its consequential appearances, as seen by an eye inclosed in one of the nebulas, is no other than a drawing from nature, wherein the features of the original have e been closely copied: and I hope the resemblance will not be called a bad one, when it is considered how very limited must be the pencil of an inhabitant of so small and retired a portion of the infinite system, in attempting the picture of so unbounded an extent.” The doctor having determined that the visible system of nature, by us called the Universe, consisting of all the celestial bodies, and many more than can be seen by the naked eye, is only a group of stars or suns, with their planets, constituting one of those patches called a nebula, and perhaps not one ten thousand millionth part of what is really the universe, he goes on to-delineate the figure of this vast nebula, which he is of opinion may now be done; and for this purpose, lie gives a table, calculating the distance of the stars which form its extreme boundaries, or the length of the visual ray in different parts, by the number of stars contained in the field of his telescope at different times. He then proceeds to offer some thoughts on the origin of the nebulous strata of the heavens; in doing which, he gives some hints concerning the antiquity of them. If it were possible (says he) to distinguish between the parts of a indefinitely extended whole, the nebulae we inhabit, might be said be one that has fewer marks of antiquity, than any of the rest. explain this idea, perhaps more clearly, we should recollect, that condensation of clusters of stars, has been ascribed to gradual approach and whoever reflects on the number of ages that must hive passed before some of the clusters that are to be found in my intended catalogue of them, could be so far condensed as we find them at present will not wonder if I ascribe a certain air of youth and vigour, to very regularly scattered regions of our siderial stratum. There are moreover, in my places in it, in which, if we may judge from appearances, there is the greatest reason to believe, that the stars are drawing towards secondary centres, and will in time separate into clusters so as to occasion many subdivisions. “ Here we may surmise, that when a nebulous stratum consists chiefly of nebulas of the first and second forms, it probably owes origin to what may be called the decay of a great compound nebula of the third form ; and that the subdivisions which happened to it, it length of time occasioned all the small nebulas which sprung from it to lie in a certain range, according as they were detached from the primary one. In like manner, our system, after numbers of ages, may very possibly become divided, so as to give rise to a stratum of two or three hundred nebulas ; for it would not be difficult to point out so many beginning or gathering clusters in it. " This throws a considerable light, upon that remarkable collection of many hundreds of nebulas which are to be seen in what I have called the nebulous stratum in Coma Berenices. It appears from the extended and branching figure of our nebula, that there is room for the decomposed small nebulas, of a large, reduced, former great one, to approach nearer to us in the sides, than in any other part. Nay, possibly there might originally be another very large joining branch,-which in time became separated by the condensation of the stars: and this may be the reason of the little remaining breadth of our, system in that very place; for, the nebulas of the Coma are brightest and most crowded just opposite to our situation, or in the pole of the system. “As soon as this idea was suggested, I tried also the opposite pole where, accordingly, I have met with a great number of nebulas, though under a much more scattered form. Some parts of our system, indeed, seem already to have sustained greater ravages of time than others; for instance, in the body of the Scorpion, in an opening which is probably owing to this cause. It is at least 4 broad; but its height I have not yet ascertained. It is remarkable, that the 80 Nebuleuse sans Etoiles of the Connoissance des Temps; which is also on the western border of another vacancy, and has, moreover, a small miniature cluster or easily resolvable nebula, of about 2 minutes north. Following it at no very great distance. There is a remarkable purity or clearness in the heavens, when we look out of our stratum at the sides ; that is towards Leo, Vergo, and Coma Berenices on the one band, and towards Cetus on the other;; where as the ground of the heavens becomes troubled as we approach towards the length or height of it. These troubled appearances are easily to be explained by ascribing them to some of the distant straggling stars that yield hardly light enough to be distinguished: and I have indeed, often experienced this to be the cause, by examining the spots for a long while together, when at last I generally perceived the stars which occasioned them. But, when we look towards the poles of our system, where the visual ray does not graze along the side the straggling stars will of course be very few in number; and therefore, the ground of the heavens will assume that purity which I have always observed to take place in those regions.” The doctor here applies the name of poles to those points which are 90 distant from a circle passing along the milky way. The north poles is situated in R. As. 186 and distant from the pole of the world 58. According to Herschel, then, the universe consists of nebulas, or innumerable collections of innumerable stars, each individual of which is a sun, not only equal, but much superior to ours: and none of the celestial bodies in our nebulas are nearer to one another, than we are to Sirius, whose distance is supposed to be not less than 400,000 times that of the sun from us, or 38 millions of millions of miles. The whole extent of the nebulas being in some places near 500 times as great, must be such, that the light of a star placed at its extreme boundary, supposing It to fly with the velocity of 12 millions of miles every minute must, have taken near 3000 years to reach us. Herschel, however is by no means of opinion that our nebula is the most considerable in the universe. “As we are used (continues he) to call the appearance of the heavens, where it is surrounded with a bright zone, the milky way, it may not be amiss to point out some other very remarkable nebulas, which cannot well be less, but are probably much larger, than our own system; and being also extended, the inhabitants of the planets That attend the stars which compose them, must likewise perceive the same phenomena; for which reason they may also be called milky ways. For distinction’s sake. My opinion of their size is grounded on the following observations. There are many round nebulas of the first form, of about five or six minutes in diameter, the stars of which I can see very distinctly ; and on comparing them with the visual ray calculated from some of my long gauges, that the centres of these round nebula may be 600 times the distance of Sirius from us.” He then tells us, that the stars in such nebulae, are probably twice as much condensed as those of our system: otherwise, the centre of it could not be less than 6000 times the distance that Sirius is from us; and that it is possibly much under-rated, by supposing it only 600 times the distance of that star. “ Some of these round nebulas (says the Dr.) have others near them, perfectly similar in form, colour, and the distribution of stars, but of only half the diameter: and the stars in them seem to he doubly crowded, and only at about half the distance from each other. They are indeed so small, as not to he visible without the utmost attention. I suppose these nebulas to be double the distance of the first. An instance equally remarkable and instructive is, a case-, where, in the neighbourhood of two such nebulas as have been mentioned, I met with a third similar, resolvable, but much smaller and fainter nebulas, the stars of it are no longer to be perceived, but a resemblance of colour with the former two, and its diminished size and light may well permit us to place it at full twice the distance of the first. And yet the nebulosity is not of the milky kind; nor is it so much as difficulty resolvable or colourless. Now in a few of the extended nebulas, the light changes gradually, so as from the resolvable to approach to the milky kind ; which appears to me an indication, that the milky light of nebulas is owing to their much greater distance. A nebula therefore, whose light is perfectly milky cannot well be supposed to be at less than 6000 or 8000 times the distance of Sirius; and though the numbers here assumed are not to be taken otherwise, than as very coarse estimates, yet an extended nebula, which an oblique situation, where it is possibly fore-shortened by one half, two thirds, or three fourths of its length, subtends a degree or more in diameter, cannot be otherwise than a wonderful magnitude. and may well out-vie our milky way in grandeur.” After giving an account of several remarkable nebulas, Dr. Herschel concludes thus: “Now what great length of time must be required to produce these effects (the formation of nebulas) may easily be conceived, when, in all probability, our whole system, of about 800 stars in diameter, if it were seen at such a distance, that one end of it might assume the resolvable nebulosity, would not at the other end. present us with the irresolvable, much less with the colourless and milky nebulosities.” Great indeed must be the length of time, requisite for such distant bodies to form combinations by the laws of attraction, since, according to the distances. the Dr. has assumed, the light of some of his nebulas must be 36,00(J or 48,000 years in arriving from them to us. It would be worth while-then to inquire, whether attraction is propagated in time or not, or whether it moves quicker or slower than light. Several circumstances, however, lie says manifestly Lend to a general preservation. The indefinite extent of the siderial heavens must produce a balance, that will effectually secure all the great parts of the whole from approaching to each other. “There remains then (says he) only to see how the Particular stars belonging to separate clusters, are prevented from rushing on to their centres of attraction.” this he supposes may be done by projectile forces. “The admission of which will prove such a barrier against the seeming destructive power of attraction, as to secure from it, all the stars belonging to a cluster, if not for ever at least for millions of ages Besides, we ought perhaps to look upon such clusters, and the destruction of a star now and then in some thousands of ages, as the very means by which the whole is preserved and renewed. These clusters may be the laboratories of the universe, wherein the most salutary remedies for the decay of the whole are prepared.” The existence of such projectile forces is rendered probable, from the apparent changes of position of certain stars, and from a comparison of the best modern observations, with the most accurate of former times, there appears to have been a real change in the places of some of them. The Bull’s Eye, Sirius, and Arcturus, are now found to be half a degree more southerly than the ancients reckoned them, and the bright star in the shoulder of Orion, has, in Ptolemy, almost a whole degree of latitude more southerly than at present. Dr. Herschel has lately observed that the distance and position of the two stars forming the double star, in Draconis, is different from what it was in Flamstead’s time. So considerable is the change of distance (for it is 16".6) that he thinks we can hardly account for it otherwise, than by admitting a proper motion in the one or other of the stars or in our solar system; most probably he says, neither of the three are at rest. If our solar system do really change its place in absolute space, in process -of time, an apparent change in the angular distances of some of the fixed stars will appear-; and the nearest being more affected than such as are more remote, their relative positions may be seen to alter, although the stars were really immoveable. and vice versa, we may surmise, from the observed motions of the stars, that our sun with all its planets and comets, may have a motion towards some particular part of the heavens, on account of a greater quantity of matter collected in a number of stars, and their surrounding planets there situated, which may occasion a gravitation of our whole solar system towards it. On the other hand, if our system he at rest, and any of the stars really in motion, this might likewise vary their apparent position, and the more so, the nearer they are to us, or. the swifter their motions ‘are, or the more proper the direction of the motion is, to be rendered perceptible by us. From this brief theoretical sketch, we derive an idea, which the ancient philosophy would not give us, of the amazing grandeur, magnificence, and sublimity of universal being: all the visible part of, which, is hut a mere speck, a comparatively little, branching fragment of the extended universe. And although it is impossible for us to attain to an identifying sensibility, and actual retrospect, in consequence of our limited situation, yet there is every reason to conclude, from analogy, observation, and reflection, that infinite space is thus occupied, and diversified, and that God is a God of the universe, and not merely of this little, straggling world of ours; which is but a little planet, attached to a single star, which appears somewhat eccentrized, from the -regular strata of worlds, and which we have been in the habit of contemplating, as of vast and superior magnitude. It is a narrow, contracted, and local idea, that limits the boundaries of universal creation, to this little ball of earth, or this little solar system, of which we are a comparatively small member. The idea would appear more rational, and consistent, and more worthy of the munificent hand, that guides the stars in their courses, and grasps them in its palm, that could contemplate not only our own system, but the whole visible universe as a mere link of an infinitely extended system of being. But there is no error, the mind is more prone to, than, to substitute local, for general ideas; and to limit the boundaries of infinite being, to its own finite comprehension. Whereas, it does appear most reasonable, if we apply our mind to a right contemplation of things, and avail ourselves of the analogy of experience and fact, that nature travels on in infinitum. and is equally boundless in magnitude, and prolific in variety. A late important discovery was made by the celebrated Dr. Bradley, astronomer royal, of the aberration of the fixed stars; this was accidentally made, while endeavouring to ascertain the parallax of be earth’s orbit. This is a variation of their situation, in relation to the plane of the earth’s axis. Mr. Molyneuz and Dr. Bradley began to observe the bright star in the head of Draco, as it passed near the zenith, with an instrument made by Mr. Graham, for the purpose of discovering the parallax, and by often repeated observations, they found the star, about the beginning of March 1726, to be 20 seconds more southerly thin at the time of the first observation. It now indeed seemed to have arrived at its utmost limit southward ; because in several trials made about this time, no sensible difference was observed in its situation. : by the middle of April it appeared to he returning back again towards the north ; and about the beginning of June, it passed about the same distance from the zenith, as it had done in December, when it was first observed. In September following it appeared 39” more northerly than it was in March, just the contrary way to which it ought to appear by the annual parallax of the stars. This unexpected phenomenon perplexed the observers very much, and Mr. Molyneux died before the true cause of it was discovered. After this Dr. Bradley. with another instrument, more exact, and accurately adapted to the purpose, observed the appearances, not only in that, but many other stars ; and by the great regularity that appeared in a series of observations, made in ;J1 parts of the year. the doctor was full) satisfied with regard to the general laws of the phenomenon, and therefore endeavoured to find out the cause of them. He was already convinced that the apparent motion of the stars, was not owing to a mutation of the earth’s axis. The next thing that offered itself was an alteration in .the direction of the plumb line, by which the instrument was constantly rectified; but this proved insufficient, as well as a trial by refraction. At last this acute astronomer found, that the phenomena in question proceeded from the progressive motion of light, and the earth’s annual motion in its orbit: for he perceived, that if light was propagated in a given portion of time, the apparent place of a fix d object would not be the same when the eye is at rest, as when it is moving in any other direction, than that of the line passing through the eye and the object; and, that, when the eye is moving in different directions, the apparent place of the object would be different, from the true. 10th. The earth, or planet which we inhabit, is the third in magnitude and distance from the sun. it is computed to he 95.173,000 miles distant from the centre of its attraction, or the body of the sun; round which it revolves in the space of 365 days 5 hours and 49 minutes, or from any equinox, or solstice to the same again, but from any fixed star to the same again as seen from the sun, in 365 days 5 hours 9 minutes ; the former being the length of the tropical year, and the latter the length of the siderial. It travels at the rate of 68,000 miles every hour; a motion, which though upwards of 140 times swifter than a cannon ball, is little more than half as swift as Mercury’s motion in his orbit. The diameter of the earth is 7970 miles; and by turning round on its axis every 24 hours from west to east it causes an apparent motion of all the heavenly bodies from east to west. By this rapid motion of the earth on its axis, the inhabitants about the ‘equator are carried 1042 miles every hour, while those on the parallel of London are carried only about 580, besides the 68 thousand above mentioned, which is common to all places whatever A variety of circumstances afford the clearest evidence of the globular figure of the earth. 1. When we are at sea, we may be out of sight of land, even when the land i3 near enough to be visible, if it were not hid from the eye by the convexity of the water. 2. The higher the eye, the farther will the view be extended; it is very common for sailors to go up to the top of the mast to look out, as they term it, and thence they will discover land, or ships at a much greater distance than one could do from the deck. 3. When we are on shore, the highest part of a ship is visible at the greatest distance. If a ship is going from us, out to sea, we shall continue to see the mast, after the hull or body has disappeared, and the top of the mast will continue to he seen the longest. If a ship is coming towards us, the top of the mast comes first in view, and we see more and more, till at last the hull appears 4. Several navigators, as Ferdinand Magellan, Sir Francis Drake, Lord Anson, Captain Cook, &c. have sailed round the globe; not in an exact circle, the land preventing them, but by going in and out as the shores happen to lie. 5. All the appearances of the heavens are the same, whether at land or sea. 6. Eclipses of the moon arise from the shadow of the earth, which is always circular, although the earth presents, during several hours, different portions of its surface to the moon, yet still the shadow is round. The small inequalities upon the surface of the earth, bear no kind of proportion to its magnitude, sufficient to alter the appearance of its shadow. 7. The globular figure of the earth is also inferred from the operation of level ling in which it is found necessary, to make an allowance for the difference between the apparent, and true level. The earth’s axis makes an angle of 23 1/2 with the axis of its orbit, and its position at any one time, is parallel to its position at any other time. Thus it points always to the same quarter of the heavens throughout its annual course. That the earth moves round the sun, may be proved beyond a doubt, by the following arguments. 1st. The sun is found by the most accurate observations, to be immensely larger than the earth; for his diameter, as seen by us, subtends an angle of more than 80’, but it is certain, that the earth were it seen from the sun, would not subtend a greater angle than 1 7”, if, therefore, the sun be formed of materials, not very much rarer than the earth, (and there is no reason to believe it is less dense,) the quantity of matter in the sun, must far exceed the whole mass of matter in all the planets; and to suppose that gravity retains all the other planets in their orbits, without affecting the earth, would be as absurd, as to suppose that six cannon bullets might be projected up to different heights in the air, and that five of them should fall to the ground, and that the sixth, though neither the highest nor the lowest, should remain suspended in the air, without falling, and the earth move round it. There is no such thing in nature as a heavy body moving round a light one, as its centre of motion. A pebble fastened to a millstone by a string, may, by an easy impulse be made to circulate round the millstone: but no impulse could make a millstone circulate round a loose pebble; for the millstone would fly off and carry the pebble along with it. The sun is so much bigger and heavier than the earth, that, if he were moved out of his place, not only the earth, but all the planets, even if they were united in one mass, would be carried along with him, as the pebble would be with the millstone. 2. The celestial motions, on this principle become more simple and free of looped contortions, which must be supposed to occur in the other case; and which are extremely improbable, and incompatible with all that we know of motion. 3. If the earth revolve round the sun, then the analogy between the squares of the periodic times, and the cubes of the distances, will obtain in all the bodies, which circulate round a common centre ; whereas this will not be the case with the sun and moon, if both turn round the earth. Besides these, other proofs night be given: but the most complete proof of all, and which indeed amounts to a demonstration is, the aberration of the fixed stars, arising from the progressive motion of light, combined with the earth’s progressive motion round the sun, a discovery made by Dr. Bradley, and one of the finest in modern astronomy. The strongest objection, that can be urged against the earth’s moving round the sun like the other planets, is that in opposite points of the earth’s orbit, its axis, which always keeps a parallel direction, would point to different fixed stars; which is not found to be fact. But this objection is easily removed, by considering the immense distance of the stars, in respect to the diameter of the earth’s orbit; the latter being no more than a point, when compared to the former. If we lay a ruler on the side of a table, and along the edge of the ruler, view the top of a spire at ten miles distance; then lay the ruler on the opposite side of the table, in a parallel situation to what it had before, and the spire will still appear along the edge of the ruler; because, our eyes even when assisted by the best instruments, are incapable of distinguishing so small a change at so great a distance. As the apparent places of the stars, therefore, correspond with this theory, the motion of the earth, and the motion of light are at once determined. For by frequent observations of the eclipses of Jupiter’s satellites, it is found, that light is about 8 minutes in moving from the sun to the earth. And since the earth describes about I degree, or 3800’ in a day, or 1440 miles in minutes, it will describe 20” in its orbit; therefore, the velocity of light, is to the velocity of the earth in its orbit, as radius to an arch of 20”, or the third part ofa minute, that is, as one to 0002929/3 or, .00009697, or as 10,300 to 1, that is, the velocity of light is I 0,300 times greater than the velocity of the earth in its orbit. It is found that the sun, and those planets which have visible spots turn round on their own axes: for the spots in general move regular over their disks, allowing for the variations already noticed. Hence %ve may reasonably conclude, that the other planets on which we see no spots, and the earth which is likewise a planet, have such rotations. ‘But being incapable of leaving the earth to view it at a distance, and its rotation being smooth and uniform, we can neither see it move on its axis as we do the planets, nor feel ourselves affected by its motion. Yet there is one effect of such motion, which will enable us to judge with certainty, whether the earth revolves On its axis or not. All globes which do not turn round their axis, will be perfect spheres, on account of the equable pressure on their surface ; especially of the fluid parts. But all globes, which turn on their axis, will be oblate spheroides; that is their surface will be higher, or farther from the centre in the equatorial than in the polar regions: for as the equatorial parts move quickest, they will recede farthest from the axis of motion and enlarge the equatorial diameter. That our earth is really of this figure, is demonstrable from the unequal vibrations of a pendulum, and the unequal length of degrees in different latitudes -Since then, the earth is higher at the equator than at the poles, the sea, which naturally runs downwards, or towards the places which are nearest the centre, would run towards the polar regions, and leave the equatorial parts dry, if the centrifugal tbrce of those parts, by which the waters were carried there, did not keep them from returning. The earth’s equatorial diameter, is 36 miles longer than its axis. It is found that bodies near the Poles are heavier than those towards the equator, because they are nearer the earth’s centre, where the whole force of the earth’s attraction is accumulated. They are also heavier, because their contrifugal force is less, on account of their diurnal motion being slower. For both these reasons, bodies carried from the poles towards the equator, gradually loose their weight. Experiments prove, that a pendulum which vibrates seconds near the poles, vibrates slower near the equator, which shows that it is lighter, or less attracted there. To make it oscillate in the same time, it is found necessary to diminish its length. By comparing the different length of pendulums, swinging seconds at the equator and at London, it is found, that a pendulum must be 2 169/1000 lines (or 12th part of an inch) shorter at the equator than at the poles. A person on the earth can no more be sensible of its undisturbed motion on its axis, than one in the cabin of a ship, on smooth water, can be sensible of the ship’s motion, when it turns gently and uniformly round. It is therefore no argument against the earth’s diurnal motion, that we do not feel it; nor are the apparent revolutions of the celestial bodies every day, a proof of the reality of these motions; for whether we, or they revolve, the appearance is the very same. A person looking through the cabin window of a ship, as strongly fancies the objects on land to go round, when the ship turns, as if they were actually in motion. The other common objections against the earth’s motion on its axis, are easily answered. Some imagine, that if the earth turns eastward, as it actually does, if it turns at all, that a ball fired perpendicularly up in the air, should fall considerably westward of the place it was projected from. This objection will be found to have no weight, if we consider that the gun, and ball, both partake of the earth’s motion: and therefore, the ball being carried forward with the air, as quick as the earth and the air turn, must fall down on the same place. A stone let fall from the top of a main-mast, if it meets with no obstacle, the deck as near the foot of the mast, when the ship sails smoothly along, as when it stands still. for those scriptural expressions which seem to contradict the earth’s motion, this general answer may be made to them all, that, the scriptures were never intended to instruct us in philosophy, or astronomy; and therefore, on those subjects, expressions are not always to be taken in the literal sense, but for. the most part, as accommodated to the common apprehension of mankind. Men of sense, in all ages, when not treating of the science purposely, have used common language, and it would be absurd to adopt any other, in addressing the majority of mankind. The annual motion of the earth has been effectually confirmed by an argument drawn from the progressive motion of light; and from the same consideration, the truth of the diurnal motion may be completely established. In consequence of the progressive motion of light, the apparent place of a fixed star is east of its true place, and the difference is proportional to the cosine of the stars declination; this displacement of the fixed stars has changed, because of the procession of the equinoctial points. Therefore, if the diurnal revolution of the heavens were a real motion, the whole heavens must have changed their appearance; and the respective positions of the stars must be very different now, from what they were in the time of Hipparchus. A star which is now near the vernal equinox, must have changed its apparent distance at least 50 from another elliptical star which is 60 degrees east of it. Nay it is highly probable, that no zodiacal star could be ever visible; such would have been the direction, that the rays of light must have taken, because of their own proper motion being corn-pounded with that of the star, whose velocity must have been exceedingly great,, by reason of its distance from the poles of the motion. But since no such remarkable displacement of the stars has been observed, we may conclude, that the cause which would have produced it, has no existence; and that the revolutions of the heavens is not a real, but only an apparent motion. From the preceding select remarks and observations, we derive the following satisfactory conclusions. That the earth is a planet, moving in concert with the other planets, and like them, yielding, and exhibiting all the planetary evolutions, waxing, and waning, and revolving round its primary. That it participates in mutual relations, which are common to the system, of which it is a member. That whatever enters into the composition of the earth, is reciprocated through the system, supplied, and communicated by the current flow of attraction, from globe to globe. That this attraction, is a mutual relation. and Communication between worlds, but that it is diversified in degrees, of strength, as they are diversified in degrees of distance. Hence also we derive the physical conclusion, that two worlds cannot be suspended, and concentrated in the same orbit, or limit of attraction, but that their distances will be in an exact ratio, to the space which they are to occupy: so, that, if two worlds c could coalesce and drop. into one, for instance, the earth and .Jupiter, their new orbit would assume a mean distance, between their separate orbits, somewhere, about the orbit of Mars, and this would occur in consequence of, and in proportion to, the combined attraction of the Two spheres. Could such a phenomenon take place, the new world would immediately assume an orbit, whose distance from its centre would be in proportion to its relative quantity of attraction, to that centre: arid the new world would immediately assume, also, a rotatory motion on its axis, which would be in an exact ratio, to the proportion of its equatorial diameter, and its distance from the centre of revolving motion. Finally, we learn from this general review, that the same extensive and universal relations prevail, through the continuity of divisions, and subdivisions of worlds, and systems of worlds, as if the materials of the universe were spread out in uniform consistence, and rendered independent of the mundane laws of density, and rarefaction; gravitation, and attraction; concretion, and expansion; the general laws of motion and revolution; so that no arguments can weigh against the infinite continuity of worlds, and systems of worlds. The different seasons which we experience, are owing to the obliquity of the axis of rotation of the earth, to the plane of the earth’s orbit. But if the axis were perpendicular to it, there could be no variety in the length of days, in whatever part of the orbit the earth was; and all seasons would be alike. Thus the obliquity of the earth’s axis, to the ecliptic, or which is the same thing of the equinoctial to the ecliptic, is the cause of the different seasons, summer, winter, spring and autumn, during the year. Without this, there could be no difference of seasons; and consequently it could not be easy to know the length of the year, without observations of the stars. For the length of the year is known from the time of observation, when the sun is in the equinoctial points ; and there being no such points to observe by, there could be no method but to observe by the position of the stars, when the same star was again in opposition to the sun, which none but an astronomer could do. The sun appears 47 degrees higher in the summer tropic, than it does in the winter tropic; this phenomenon may be thus represented: take a small globe that has the equinoctials and parallels drawn upon it; and placing a candle upon a table, move the globe round the candle in a circle parallel to the table, so that the axis of the equator may be oblique to that circle, and be kept always in a parallel position whilst it moves about. The candle will illuminate the globe as it is carried round, just as the sun does the earth in its orbit; and the parallels will be the same way affected with light and darkness the globe. The opinion of astronomers, that the orbit of the earth being and the sun constantly keeping in its lower focus, which according to calculation, is, 1,617,941 miles from the middle point of the larger axis, the earth approaches twice as near, or, by computation 3,235;882 miles nearer the sun at one time of the year than at another; for the sun appearing under a larger angle in our winter than in our summer, proves that our earth approaches nearer the sun in winter, than in summer. ‘But here a very serious difficulty occurs, which they appear not to have been aware of, they did not consider in this instance, that whilst it was winter in the northern regions, it was summer in the southern regions of the earth, and that it was impossible, that the earth in 400 of north latitude, could be 3,235,832 miles nearer the sun, than the same earth in 400 of south latitude, the direct difference of which situations, would only amount to a very few miles, in proportion to the angular obliquity of the opposite points of parallel latitudes, north and south; they did not consider, that the part of the earth, which is nearest the sun, is that point on its circumference which has the sun in its zenith at meridian, and that in twelve hours time, that point of its circumference would be farthest from the sun: the angular phenomenon, on which astronomers have founded the hypothesis, vanishes at the equator, and in opposite parallels of latitude, consequently the hypothesis itself falls to the ground. No part of the earth, can, at the same time, be farther from the sun than another, at a distance exceeding its diameter, or 7964 miles, and that point of the earth which is nearest the sun at meridian, is farthest from it at midnight. One astronomer in 40 of north latitude computes the earth to be 3 1/4 millions of miles nearer the sun, in his northern winter, than it was in his northern summer; while an astronomer, in 40 of south latitude, at the very same instant, and from the very same data, is calculating the same earth to be 3 1/2 millions of miles, farther from the sun than the northern astronomer. while the diameter of the earth itself does not extend to 8000 miles. These remarks are only intended to apply to the hypothesis, that the earth is nearer the sun in winter than in summer, they are not intended to affect, by any means the doctrine of the ellipsis of the earth’s orbit, or to deny its perihelion and aphelion distances. Nor is it intended to deny that the earth is in its perihelion in winter; but it should be recollected, that if the earth is in its perihelion in winter, it is also in its perihelion in summer; for there is no winter but there, is at the same time a summer, and it is evident, that the part where it is summer, is nearer the sun, than the part where it is winter, and this for the reasons before assigned, viz, that of the direct position, of a point of the earth’s circumference to the sun: for the position of all the parts of the earth, where it is summer, is more direct, than the parallel parts where it is winter. Besides, from the nature of an ellipsis, the earth in its complete revolution, must be twice in is aphelion, and twice in its perihelion: and the difference of time will be, half, or the earth will be alternately in its perihelion, and aphelion every six months: consequently, if the earth is in its perihelion in winter, it will also be in its perihelion in summer, for the distance of time is six months, the distance mentioned. And the northern parts of the earth, cannot be in aphelia, at the same time that the southern are in perihelia Therefore, when it is winter in the north, and summer in the south; or summer in the north, and winter in the south, then is the earth in perihelia, then, computing the distance, the earth is 3,235,882 miles nearer the sun, than, when it is in the vernal and autumnal equinoxes: at which seasons, the atmosphere of the earth is more dilated and enlarged, than at the solstices, in consequence of the direct force of attraction, operating on the centre of its disk. The MOON is not a primary planet, but only a satellite, Or attendant on the earth, circulating round it in 29 days, 12 hours, 44 minutes, and round the sun along with the earth in a year. The moon’s dia. meter is computed at 2180 miles; and her distance from the earth’s centre 240,000; the period of her revolution in her orbit is 27 days, 7 hours, 43 minutes, moving at the mean rate of 2290 miles an hour; she is stated to revolve on her axis, in exactly the same time that she moves round the earth, which is the occasion of her exhibiting always the same face to us, and consequently her day and night taken together is as long as our month. The moon, like the earth, is an opaque globe, and shines by reflecting the light of the sun; therefore whilst that half of her, which is towards the sun is enlightened, the other half must be dark and invisible. Hence she disappears when she comes between us and the sun; because then her dark side is turned towards us. When she is gone a little way forward, we see a little of her enlightened side, which increases to our view as she advances until she comes opposite to the sun; when her whole enlightened side is towards us, and she appears a round illuminated orb, which we call the FULL MOON; her dark side being then turned away from the earth. From the full she seems to decrease gradually, as she goes through the other half of her course, showing us less of her enlightened side every day, till her next change or conjunction with the sun, when she disappears as before. The earth being an opaque body must appear as a moon, to the inhabitants of the moon, waxing and waning regularly, but appearing 13 times as big, and affording them 13 times as much light as she does changes to us, the earth appears full to her; and when she is in her first quarter to us, the earth is in its third quarter to her, and vice versa. From these peculiar circumstances of the month, the earth is never seen at all from the side opposite to the earth; from the middle of the other half it is always seen over bead; turning round almost 30 times as quick as the moon does. From the circle which our view of the moon, only one half of the earth’s side next her is seen; the other half being hid below the horizon of all places On that circle. To her inhabitants the earth appears the biggest body the universe, appearing full 13 times as big as she does to us. It has been observed by astronomers that the axis of the moon, is so nearly perpendicular to the ecliptic, that the sun never removes sensibly from the equator; and the obliquity of her orbit, as seen from the sun, which is next to nothing, cannot cause any sensible declination. Yet her inhabitants are not destitute of means for ascertaining the length of their year, or period of her revolution round the sun: though their method must be different from ours. We know the length of our year by the return of our equinox; but the Lunarians having always equal day and night, must have recourse to another method arid we may suppose, they measure their year by observing when either of the poles of our earth begins to be enlightened, and the other to disappear, which always takes place at our equinoxes: being conveniently situated to observe any particular phenomenon attached to our globe, and which must be extremely conspicuous to them. The year is of the same absolute length to the inhabitants of the earth and moon though very different as to the number of days; we having 365,k days, and the Lunarians only 1 27/19 every day and night in the moon, being as long as 29 1/2 on the earth. The inhabitants of the moon on the side next the earth, may find the longitude of their places, as easily as we can find the latitude of ours: for the earth being constantly or very nearly so, over one meridian of the moon, the east and west distances of places from that meridian are as easily found, as we can find our distances from the equator, by the altitude of our celestial poles. As the sun only enlightens that half of the earth which is towards it, and leaves the opposite half in darkness, so he does the same to the moon, but with this difference, that as the earth is surrounded with a superior atmosphere, we have twilight after the sun sets, and before he rises; but the moon, (as is supposed,) having no atmosphere of her own, must have an immediate transition from the brightest sunshine to the blackest darkness. The moon being an opaque spherical body, we can only see to part of her enlightened half, which is towards the earth. And the fore, when the moon is between us and the sun, her dark side is turn towards the earth, and she totally disappears, there being not light enough on that half to render it visible. When she comes to first octant, or has gone an eighth part of her orbit, from her conjunction, a quarter of her enlightened side is towards the earth, and appears horned. When she has gone a quarter of her orbit, in between the earth and the sun, she shows us one half of her enlightened side, and we say she is a quarter old. When she gains he third octant, by showing us more of her enlightened side, she appe gibbous. When she comes to her fourth octant, or has complete half her orbit, she is said to so in opposition to the sun; when t whole of her enlightened side is towards us, and we say it is full mo In her fifth octant, part of her dark side being towards the earth, s again appears gibbous, and is on the decrease. When she comes her sixth octant, we see just one half of her enlightened side, and s. appears half decreased, or as we say in her third quarter. In h seventh octant we only see a quarter of her enlightened side, when she again appears horned. At length having completed her course fr the sun to the sun again, she disappears; and we say it is new mo Thus in going through her first four octants, the moon continually seems to increase; and in her remaining four octants, to decree in the same proportion, having like phases at equal distances: but seen from the sun, or from Mercury, she appears always in the full. The moon does not appear perfectly round when she is full i the highest or lowest part of her orbit, because we have not a fill view of her enlightened side at that time. When full in the higher part of her orbit, a small deficiency appears on her lower edge; a the contrary when full in the lowest part of her orbit. It is evident, that when the moon changes to the earth, the earth in full to the moon, and vice versa. For when the moon is new to the earth, the whole enlightened side of the earth is towards the moon. And when the moon is full to the earth, its dark side is towards her Hence a new moon answers to a full earth, and a full moon to a earth. The quarters are also reversed to each other. The position of the moon’s cusps, or a right line touching the moon’s horns, is very differently inclined to the horizon, at different hours of the same days of her age. Sometimes she stands, as it were, upright on her lower horn, and then such a line is perpindicular to the horizon: when this happens, she is in what the astronomers call the nonagesimal degree ; which is the highest point of the ecliptic. But this never happens when the moon is on the meridian, except she is at the very beginning of cancer, or Capricorn. It appears that the moon turns round her axis in the time she goes round her orbit and that a spectator at rest without the periphery of the moon’s orbit would see all her sides turned regularly towards him in that time. She turns round her axis from any star, to the same star again in 27 days 8 hours; from the sun to the sun again, in 29 1/2 days; the former is the length of her siderial day, and the latter the length of her solar day. A body moving round the sun would have a solar day in every revolution, without turning on its axis; the same as if it had at rest, and the sun moved round it: but without moving round its axis, it could never have one siderial day, because it would always keep the same side towards any particular star. If the earth had no annual motion, the moon would go round it, so, to complete a lunation, a siderial, and a solar day, all in the same time. •But because the earth goes forward in its orbit, while the moon goes round the earth in her orbit, the moon must go as much more than round her orbit, from change to change, in completing a solar day, as the earth has gone forward in its orbit during that time, almost a twelfth part, of a circle. If the earth had no annual motion, the moon’s motion round the earth, and her track in open space, would be always the same. But as the earth and moon move round the sun, the moon’s real path in the heavens, is very different from, her visible, path round the earth; the latter being in a progressive circle, and the former in a curve of different degrees of concavity ; which would always be the same, in the same parts of the heavens, if the moon performed a complete number of lunations in a year without any fraction. To illustrate this, let the nail in the end of the axle of a chariot wheel, represent the earth. and a pin in the nave, the moon: if the body of the chariot be propped up so as to keep the wheel from touching the ground, and the wheel be then set in motion, the pin will then describe a circle both round the nail, and in the space it moves through. But if the prop be taken away, the horses put to, and the chariot driven over a l)iece of ground, which is circularly convex, the nail in the axle will describe a circular curve, and the pin in the nave will still describe a circle round the progressive nail in the axle, but not in the space through which it moves. In this case the curve described by the nail, will resemble in miniature, as much of the earth’s annual path round the sun, as it describes while the moon goes as often round the earth, as the pin does round the nail: and the curve described by the pin, will have some resemblance of the moon’s path during so many lunations. Many conjectures have been formed respecting the moon’s substance. Some have imagined that besides the light reflected from the sun, the moon hath also some, obscure light of her own, by which she would be visible without’ being illuminated by the sun’s beams; in proof of this it is urged, that during the time of even total eclipses, the moon is still visible, appearing of a dull red colour, as if obscured by a great deal of smoke. In reply to this it bath been advanced, that this is not always the case ; the moon sometimes disappearing, totally in the time of an eclipse, so as not to be described by the best glasses, while little stars of the fifth and sixth magnitudes were distinctly seen as usual: and when the moon is visible in a total eclipse a sufficient reason may be assigned for this appearance, from the refraction of the sun’s rays through our atmosphere, which are reflected back on the earth, by the otherwise dark surface of the moon. It has been a matter of much dispute, whether the moon has an atmosphere or not; the following arguments have been urged on the negative side. I. The moon constantly appears with the same brightness where there are no clouds in our atmosphere; which could not be the case, if she were surrounded with an atmosphere like ours, so variable in its density, and so frequently obscured by clouds and vapours. 2. In an appulse of the moon to a star, when she comes so near it that a part of her atmosphere is interposed between our eye and the star, refraction would cause the latter to seem to change its place; so that the body of the moon would appear to touch it later than by her own motion she would do. 3. Some philosophers are of opinion, that because there are no seas and lakes, and consequently no springs and rivers in the moon, there is therefore no atmosphere, as there is no water to be raised up in vapours. To these arguments it has been replied. I. That the moon does not always appear with the same brightness, even when our atmosphere appears equally clear. Hevelius relates, that he has several times found i n skies perfectly clear, when even stars of the 6th and 7th magnitude were visible, that at the same altitude of the moon, and the same elongation from the earth, and with one and the same telescope, that the moon and maculae do not appear equally lucid, clear, and conspicuous at all times; but are much brighter, and more distinct at some times than at others. From the circumstances of this observation, say they, it is evident, that the reason of this phenomenon is neither in our air, in the tube, in the room, nor in the spectator’s eye; but must be looked for in something existing about the moon. An additional argument is drawn from the different appearances of the moon in total eclipses, which are supposed to be owing to the different constitutions of the lunar atmosphere. 2. To the second argument, Dr. Long replies, that Sir Isaac Newton has shown, that the weight of any body upon the moon is but a third part of what the same would be upon the earth: now the expansion of the air is reciprocally as the weight that compresses it; the air, therefore, surrounding the moon, being pressed together by a weight, or being attracted towards the centre of the moon, by a force equal only to one third of that which attracts our air towards the centre of the earth, it ‘follows, that the lunar atmosphere is only one third as dense as that of the earth, which is too little to produce any sensible refraction of the stars’ light. Other astronomers have contended that such refraction was sometimes very apparent. Cassini says, that he frequently observed Saturn, Jupiter and the fixed stars, to have their circular figure changed into an elliptical one, when they approached either to the moon’s dark or illuminated limb, though they own, that in other occultations, no such change could be observed. With regard to the fixed stars, indeed, it has been urged, that granting the moon to have an atmosphere, of the same nature and quantity as ours, no such effect- as a diminution of light ought to take place; at least, that we could by no means he capable of perceiving it, our atmosphere is found to be so rare, at the height of 44 miles, as to be incapable of refracting the rays of light, the height is the 180th part of the earth’s diameter; but since clouds are never observed higher than four miles, we must conclude that the vaporous or obscure part is only 1980the. The mean apparent diameter of the moon is 31’ 29”, or 1889 seconds: therefore the obscure parts of her atmosphere, when viewed from the earth, must subtend an angle of less than one second; which space is passed over by the moon in less than two seconds of time. It could hardly therefore be expected, than the nicest observation should be adequate to determine, whether the supposed observation takes place or not. 3.The third argument is necessarily inconclusive, because we know not, whether there is any water in the moon or not; nor though this’ could be demonstrated, should it follow that the lunar atmosphere answers no other purpose than the raising of water into vapour. Farther, it may as well be doubted whether there is any solid matter, as fluid matter; for the presence of the one, argues the existence of the other ; nature furnishes no precedent, to justify the conclusion, that a solid body can exist, independent of a fluid state of that body all solids are concrete fluids, and all fluids are solids in solution, matter becomes solid by an abstraction of its menstruum, which being restored to it, reduces it to the fluid state; and being abstracted reduces it to the solid, besides, the admission of the doctrine, of the non-existence of a lunar atmosphere, or that of any other globe, would tend directly to destroy the doctrine of the law, and force of attraction; which, from reason and analogy, appears to be a stream, and supply, of all the elementary principles, and materials, of which a world is composed. 4.There is besides a strong argument in favour of the existence of a lunar atmosphere, taken from the appearance of a luminous ring round the moon in the time of solar eclipses ; a circumstance frequently observed by astronomers, particularly in the total eclipse of the sun in 1706; and in another total eclipse of the sun in April, 1715 When certain streaks of light were seen to dart from different places of the moon, during the time of total darkness, these were imagine to be flashes of lightning ; and hence the existence of clouds, and, vapours, and an atmosphere have been inferred. These flashes might be connected with such appearances, as Dr. Herschel, has with great probability, concluded to be volcanos, which has also been considered as a proof of the lunar atmosphere. We have already observed, that the occultations of the fixed stars and planets, by the moon, in general happened without any kind of refraction of their light by the lunar atmosphere, the contrary, however, has sometimes, it is said, been observed, and the stars have been seen manifestly to change their shape and colour on going behind the moon’s disk ; but by many this colour has been attributed rather to the different refrangibility of the rays, in the object glass of the telescope, than to any real variation of colour in the planets and stars from appulse to the moon. It is remarkable that the moon, during the week in which she is full about the time of harvest, rises sooner after sunsetting, than she does in any other full moon week throughout the year. By this means, she affords an immediate. supply of light after sunset, which is very beneficial for those employed in the harvest, and gathering the fruits of the earth. Hence this full moon is distinguished from all others in the year, by calling it the HARVEST-MOON. To conceive the reason of this phenomenon, it may first be consider. ed, that the moon is always opposite to the sun when she is full, and therefore, in the harvest months, she is full in Pisces and Aries, which are opposite to Virgo and Libra, the signs occupied by the sun at the same season. Now, the signs Pisces and Aries rise in a shorter space of time than others, as is easily shown and illustrated by a celestial globe; and the same thing may be conceived from this circumstance, that in northern latitudes, the smallest angle, made by the ecliptic and the horizon, is when Aries rises at which time Libra sets ; and it is obvious, that the smaller the angle contained by the ecliptic and horizon, the greater portion of the ecliptic will rise by the earth’s rotation, in a given time. Consequently when the moon is full in harvest, she rises with less difference of time, or more immediately after sunset, than at any other season of the year. In our winter, the moon is in Pisces and Aries, about the time of her first quarter, when she rises about noon, and therefore her rising is not then noticed. In spring, the moon is in Pisces and Aries, about the time of her change, but she then gives no light, and rises with the sun, her rising cannot be perceived. In summer the moon is in Pisces and Aries, at the time of her last quarter, and then she does not rise till midnight, her rising usually passes unobserved. . But in Autumn the moon is in Pisces and Aries at the time of her full, and rises soon after sunset, for several evenings successively; which makes her regular risings very conspicuous, at that time of the All this would happen, if the moon’s orbit lay in the ecliptic’; but her orbit makes with the ecliptic an angle of 50 18’, and crosses it in two points, called her nodes; so that her rising when in Pisces and Aries, will sometimes not differ above an hour and 40 minutes, through a whole week ; and at other times, in the same two signs, she will differ in a week 3 1/2 hours, in the times of her rising, according to the different positions of her nodes, with respect to these signs; which positions are always changing, because the nodes go backwards through the ecliptic, in 12 years 225 days. This revolution of the nodes, causes the harvest-moons to go through a whole course of the most advantageous and least beneficial states, with respect to the harvest every 19 years. They are most beneficial at present, in 1816, and will continue so till 1825, when the opposite period commences, and lasts to 1834 ; and again they will be most beneficial from 1835, to 1843, and so on. 12, The TIDES are found to follow periodically the course of the sun and moon, and hence it has been suspected in all ages, that the tides were somehow produced by the influence of those luminaries. Of this Pliny, Ptolemy, Macrobius, and others seem to have some knowledge. The celebrated Kepler formed some conjectures long ago, as to the true cause of the tides. “If (says he)’ the earth ceased to attract the waters towards itself, all the waters in the ocean would rise and flow into the moon. The sphere of the moon’s attraction extends to our earth, and draws up the water.” What Kepler only surmised, has been successfully investigated by the great Newton, and Dr. Halley from his principles. The general phenomena of the tides are as follows: 1. The sea is observed to flow for about 6 hours, from south to north gradually swelling; and after a flux of about 6 hours, it seems to rest for a quarter of an hour ; and then to ebb, or retire back again from north to south for 6 hours more. Then, after a seeming pause of about a quarter of an hour more, the sea again begins to flow ; and so on alternately. 2. Hence, the sea ebbs and flows twice a day, but falling every day later and later, by about 48 minutes, the period of a flux and reflux being on an average about 12 hours 24’, and the double of each 24 hours 48’, which is the period of a lunar day, or the time between the moon’s passing a meridian and coming to it again, so that the sea flows as often as the moon passes the meridian, both the arch above the horizon and that below it, and ebbs as often as she passes the horizon, both on the eastern and western side. These are the most obvious appearances: the other phenomena as follows: 3. The elevation towards the moon exceeds the opposite one a lit. tie, and the quantity of the ascent of the water is diminished from the middle latitudes, towards the equator, and towards the poles. 4. The sun raises and depresses the sea twice every day, in the same manner as the moon does; but the solar tides are much less than the lunar one ; although subject to the same laws. 5 The tides which depend upon the actions of the sun and moon, are not distinguished, hut compounded; and thus they form to appearance, one united tide, which increasing and decreasing, produces ‘what are called NEAP and SPRING tides. 6. In the syzygies, the elevations from the action of both luminaries concur, and the sea is more elevated; but the sea ascends less in the quadratures ; for where the water is elevated by the action of the moon, it is depressed by that of the sun, and vice versa. There. fore while the moon passes from syzygy to the quadrature, the daily elevations are continually diminished; on the contrary, they are increased, while the moon passes from the quadrature to the syzygy. At the new moon also cateris paribus the elevations are greater; and those that follow one another the same day, are more different than those at full moon. 7. The greatest elevation and depression takes place on the 2d or 3d day after the new or full moon, and they are the greater, the nearer these luminaries are to the plane of the equator ; being greatest in the syzygies, near the equinoxes. 8. The actions of the sun and moon are greater, the nearer those bodies are to the earth; and the greatest tides happen, when the sun is a little to the south of the equator ; but this does not happen regularly every year, because some variation may arise from the situation of the moon’s orbit, and the distance of the syzygy from the equinox. 9. The mean force of the moon to move the fluids of our globe is to that of the sun nearly as 4 1/2 to 1; and therefore, if the action of the sun alone produces a tide of 2 feet, which it is said to do, then that of the moon will be 9 feet; from which it follows, that the spring tides will be 11 feet, and the neap tides 7 feet. But such elevations, as far exceed these, happen from the motion of the water against some obstacles, and from the sea violently entering straits, bays, or guts, where the force is riot broken till the water rises higher. The preceding phenomena take place in the open sea, where the ocean is extended enough to be subject to those motions. But the particular situations of places, as to shores, capes, bays, &c. disturb in a considerable degree these general rules. We are now to show how these phenomena may be explained, from the principle of universal gravitation. If the earth were -entirely fluid and quiescent, its particles, by their common gravitation to the centre would naturally form themselves into an exact sphere. If a power were to act on all the particles of this spheres with an equal force, and in parallel directions, the whole mass would be moved together, but no change would be produced on its spherical figure, and its centre would have the same motion as each particle. Upon this hypothesis, if the motion of the earth, round the centre of gravity of the earth and moon, were destroyed, and the earth left to. the influence of its gravitation towards the moon, (and this independent of any repelling power) then the earth would fall or move straight towards the moon without changing its spherical figure. But the fact is, that the effects of the moon’s action as well as the action itself, on different parts of the earth, are not equal; those parts, by- the general laws of gravity, being most attracted, that are nearest to the moon, and those least attracted which are farthest from her; while the parts at a middle distance, are attracted by a mean degree of force; besides, all the parts are not acted upon in parallel lines, but in lines directed to a centre, on which accounts, the spherical figure of the fluid earth. must suffer some change from the action of the moon, so that in falling, as we have supposed, the nearer parts being most attracted, would fall quickest, the farther parts being least attracted, would fall slowest, and the fluid mass would be lengthened out, and take a kind of spheroidical form, or rather a conical shape. Hence it appears, (which must be carefully observed,) that it is not the action of the moon itself but the inequalities of that action, that cause any variations of the earth from a spherical figure; and that if this action were the same on all particles, as the central parts, and operating in the same direction, no such change would ensue. Let- us now admit the parts of the earth to gravitate towards its centre; then, as this gravitation far exceeds the action of the moon, and much more exceeds the difference of her actions on different parts of the earth, the effect of which results from the inequalities of these actions of the moon, will be only a small dimunition of the gravity of those parts of the earth, which it endeavoured in the former supposition to separate from its centre; that is those parts of the earth which are nearest to the moon, and those that are farther from her, will have their gravity ‘towards the earth somewhat abated, to say nothing of the lateral parts; so that supposing the earth entirely fluid, the columns from the centre, to the nearest, and to the farthest parts must rise, till, by their greater height, they are able to balance the other columns, whose gravity is less abated by the inequalities of the moon’s action, and thus the figure of the earth must still be an oblong spheroid. Let us now consider the earth, instead of falling towards the moon by its gravity, as projected in any direction, so as to move round the centre of gravity of the earth and moon, it is evident, that in this case the several parts of the fluid earth, will still preserve their relative position, and the figure of the earth will remain the same as if it fell freely towards the moon ; that is, the earth will still assume a spheroidical form, having its longest axis directed towards the moon. From the preceding reasoning, it appears, that the parts of the earth directly under the moon, and also the opposite parts, will have the flood or high water at the same time, while the parts at 900 distance, or where the moon appears in the horizon, wilt then have the ebb or lowest water. Hence as the earth turns round its axis from the moon to the moon again in 24 hours 48’, this oval of waters must shift with it ; and thus there will be two tides of flood and two of ebb at that time. It farther appears, that by the motion of the earth on its axis, the most elevated parts of the waters are carried beyond the moon in the direction of the rotation ; so that the water continues to rise after it has passed directly under the moon, though the immediate action of the moon there begins to decrease; arid comes not to its greatest elevation till it has got about half a quadrant farther. It continues to descend after it has passed at 90 from the point below the moon, to a like distance of half a quadrant. The greatest elevation, therefore, is not in the line drawn through the centres of the earth and moon, nor the lowest points, where the moon appears in the horizon, but all these are removed about half a quadrant eastward from these points in a direction of the motion of rotation. Thus in open seas, where the water flows freely. the moon is passed the meridian at high water in different distances, in proportion as she is near the syzygies, or quadratures; but in narrow seas, bays, and rivers, there is no rule, high water happening in such situations, according to the distances from the regular course of the tide. If the earth was subject to no other action than that of the moon, the distance of time, from the moon’s passing the meridian, till the time of high water, would be uniform; but this distance of time varies in proportion as the attractive force of the moon coincides with that of the sun. This coincidence takes place, when the moon is in her 1James 3:1-18 d quarters ; but the tides happen later in the 2d and 4th quarters; and the reason of this is obvious ‘for the waters are partly raised by the action of the sun, when the action of the moon begins to exert itself upon them. In former remarks, we only adverted to the action of the moon, in producing the tides, but it is evident, that for the very same reasons, the inequality of the sun’s action, on different parts of the earth, would produce a like effect, and a like deviation from an exact spherical figure; so that in reality, there are two tides every natural day, from the action of the sun, as there are every lunar day from the action of the moon, subject to the same laws ; and the lunar tide is somewhat varied by the action of the sun, and this variation takes place. every day on account of the inequality between the natural and lunar day. Notwithstanding the gravitation of the earth towards the sun, is much greater than its gravitation towards the moon ; yet by reason of the sun’s immense distance, to which the earth’s diameter bears but a small proportion, his action on the side of the earth next to him differs but little, from that, which is exerted on the side furthest from him, and it is only the inequalities in that action, which produces the solar tide : arid it should be recollected, that the earth and its satellite, the moon, gravitate together towards the sun, in one line of attraction; consequently the mutual gravitation of the earth and moon, will be in a just relation to their magnitudes and distances. However the effect of the sun is very distinctly sensible, though that of the moon is more perceptible; for by its proximity to the earth. there is a greater proportion of inequality, both in the direction of its action, and in the intensity of that action on different parts of the earth. Hence it is easy to see that the tides must be greatest, at new and full moon, because the actions of the sun and moon are then exerted in the same directions. These are called SPRING TIDES ; whereas when the sun and moon are 90 distant, the action of the one luminary, raises the tides, just where that of the other depresses them; and thus are produced what are called TIDES. Newton has calculated these effects of the sun and moon respectively upon the tides from their attractive powers, the former he finds to be, to the force of gravity, as I to 12,868,200. And be concludes, that the force of the moon, is to that of the sun, as 44.815 to 1.. Dr.. Horsely, however, in his edition of Newton’s Principia, estimates the force of the moon to that of th sun, as 50,469 to I ; and other authors have given different proportions. But Newton computes, from his proportion that the moon may raise the waters 9 feet 1 1/3 inch, and the sun and moon together may produce an elevation of about 1 feet 3 inches, and about 12 1/4 feet, when the moon is at her nearest distance. Now this is found by observation, to he nearly the case, in the average occurrence of tide on the coasts of the open and deep ocean. It must be observed, that the spring tides do not happen precisely at new and full moon. nor the neap tides precisely at the quarters, but a day or two after, because, as in Other cases, so in this, the effect is not greatest or least, when the immediate influence of the cause is greatest or least, for if the actions of the sun and moon were to cease, yet the titles would continue for some time; as the waves of the sea continue for some time after a storm. The different distances of the moon from the earth, produce a sensible variation in the tides, and Newton has shown. that they increase, as the cubes of their distances decrease, so that the moon at half her distance, would produce a tide eight times greater. The moon describes a path round the earth, of an oval figure; and at her nearest distance, produces a tide sensibly greater than at her farthest distance. Hence two great spring tides never succeed each other, at the distance of 14 days, for if the moon be at her least distance at the change, and therefore produce a great spring tide, she will be at her greatest distance at the full, and therefore the spring tide will be less. The spring tides are highest, and the neap tides lowest, about the time of the equinoxes, because, were the sun, or moon in the pole of the world, there would be no tide; for their action would raise the water at the equator, or any parallel, equally round the earth: therefore, the nearer they are to the equator, the greater will be their effect. When the sun and moon traverse the equator, the tides, which are under them, ivill traverse the greatest circle, and the waters will be put into the greatest agitation. They will also be the greater at these times, because the whole force of attraction, is concentrated on the equator, and exerted to either pole, about the middle of March, and September. As the greatest of the two tides, happening in every diurnal revolution of the moon, is that in which the moon is nearest the zenith, or nadir, therefore, while the sun is in the northern signs, the greater of the two diurnal tides, in the northern regions, will be that arising from the moon, when above the horizon; and when the sun is in the southern signs, the greatest is that arising from the moon, when below the horizon. Thus, the evening tides in summer exceed the morning tides, and the morning tides in winter exceed the evening tides. Such would the tides regularly be, if the earth were covered all over with the sea, to a great depth, so that the water might freely follow the influence of the sun and moon; hut, as the tides pass over shoals, and run through straights and bays of the sea, their motions become various, and their height in consequence, will depend on a great many circumstances. That the tides may have their free and full motion, the ocean in which they are produced, ought to be extended at least 90 from east to west; because that is the distance, between the greatest elevation, and the greatest depression, produced on the waters by the moon. Hence it appears, that it is only in the great oceans, that such tides as we have described can be produced, and why in the larger Pacific ocean they exceed those in the Atlantic ocean.-Hence it may be considered as one reason why the tides are not so great in the torrid zone between Africa and America, where the ocean is narrower, as in the temperate zones on either side ; and why they are so small in islands at a great distance from the shores. It would likewise appear, that the waters cannot rise on one shore of the Atlantic ocean, without descending on the other, so that at the intermediate islands it must remain at a mean height, between its elevations on those two shores. The tides, that enter the mouths of rivers from the ocean, are greatly retarded in their progress by the currents of the rivers. Mr. Condamine, while in South America, observed, that in the river Amazon, there were five high waters, and four intermediate low waters at once ; a similar circumstance takes place in the Hudson, in the Thames, and most long rivers.—The tide propagated in the German ocean, by the moon, when she is three hours past the meridian, takes twelve hours to reach London bridge, so, that when it is high water at the bridge, a new tide is already come to its height in the ocean, and in some intermediate place, it must be low water at the same time. At several places, it is high water three hours before the moon comes to her meridian ; but that tide, which the moon pushes as it were before her, is only the tide opposite to, that, which was raised by her, when she was nine hours past the opposite meridian. There are no sensible tides in the Baltic, the Mediterranean, or the Black seas ; for they communicate with the ocean, by such inlets, as are of such immense extent, that they cannot speedily receive, and empty water enough, to raise, and depress their surfaces sensibly. In the Caspian sea, the American lakes, &c. the moon’s attraction is nearly the same on all parts of their surface, so that no sensible swelling can take place in their waters. We have already observed, that the immediate cause of the tide, was the force of attraction, exerted by the action of the sun and moon, on the fluid parts of our globe. But we have hitherto restricted our observations, to the effect of this force upon our waters : it now remains to take a more extended review of the effect of this force, upon our globe generally. Not only our waters, but the whole body of our earth, is amenable to the law which governs the tides ; even animals, and vegetables are subject to its operation, and there is unquestionably a kind of ebbing and flowing of the fluids, which enter into their composition; all the particles of our earth will be liable to be affected in proportion to their capacity of expansion. Our atmosphere, particularly, will be liable to be more affected by the power of this attractive law it consists of particles so attenuated, and capable of such extreme expansion, that it must be considered as a principal agent in the production of the phenomenon of the tides. If the pressure of our atmosphere were uniform, and undeviating, on the surface of the earth, and waters, no such thing as tide, could take place ; but, in consequence of its yielding texture, it conforms itself,.’ en masse, to all the impressions of attractive force ; and by its expansive, and condensive powers, it forms a due medium, between the attraction and repulsion of the earth to and from its centre. It has already been noticed, in the notes to Vol. I. page 450, that the force of attraction exerts itself ill direct lines, from the centre, to the circumference, and that the force is reciprocal, and proportional to the distance : that, in consequence of’ this rectilinear impulse, certain phenomena would naturally occur; the force of attraction is exerted on a point of the circumference of the globe, and passes through in a straight line, that in this line the greatest dilatations of the atmosphere take place, and consequently the greatest elevation of the waters, and this is what we call high tides. As the earth recedes from this point, and attains to 900 distant from it, it meets with a correspondent compression, its surface being parallel with the line of attraction, consequently, its waters will be proportionally depressed, and this we Call low tide. Could the earth remain a sufficient length of time in this situation, and the force of attraction continue to be exerted upon it, these points on the equatorial circumference, being rectangular to the line of attraction, would become flatted hike the poles; hence it would appear that the particular configuration of’ the globe, from a round to a spheroidal form, proceeded from two causes, viz, that of attraction, whereby its fluid parts are more immediately affected; and that of rotation, which gives spheroidity to its solid, and adhesive parts. Considering the expansive powers of our atmosphere, as a mean, whereby the earth is suspended in its orbit, at a proportionate distance from its centre of attraction, it would follow, as a natural consequence, that the bulk of our atmosphere, consists of such materials, as are capable of being compressed, and dilated beyond their equilibrium ; and that in the first instance, when it is exceedingly compressed, the centrifugal force will prevail, and it will fly off to a greater distance from the centre of gravity. On the other hand, should the atmosphere become exceedingly dilated, the centripetal force will prevail, and the earth will be impelled towards its centre of gravity, and will approach it, until it regains its equilibrium, or exceeds it, in proportion to the impetus it had acquired, when it will again he driven back, or farther from its centre of gravity, and so on alternately, approaching to, and receding from its centre, impelled by principles, and causes coexistent with itself, with which the all-wise Creator has invested all worlds, and which we call attraction. Hence it will be readily perceived, why the earth cannot approach nearer to, or recede farther from the sun, than a certain given distance; that it will consequently be preserved and retained in its orbit, at a mean proportionate distance from the sun; that the path which it describes round the ‘sun, will not be a circle, but a very eccentric ellipsis, projected in unequal curves ; and that all the particles of which it is composed will be perpetually, and uniformly responsive to its various evolutions. It ought to be observed, that this general compression, and dilatation’ of the bulk of the atmosphere, which are effected by what are termed the solar and lunar attractions, are different from those local compressions and dilatations of the various strata of the atmosphere, whence originates storms, hurricanes, whirlwinds, &c. But it is a force which is exerted on the whole broad disk of the globe, producing at once, a dilatation in the apex, and so in a straight line, through the whole diameter of the globe, comprehending the atmosphere, and which produces the high tide; and a compression in the rectangles, of the earth’s diameter, which produces the low tide. The spring and neap tides, proceed from greater and less degrees of dilatation, and compression, occasioned by the different eccentric positions of the earth in its orbit. We say the attraction of the sun, the attraction of the moon, &c. which expressions should be corrected, being apt to give an incorrect idea of the phenomenon; attraction being reciprocal between two globes, and in a ratio proportionate to their comparative diameters, magnitudes, and distances. Hence the true place of the sun is not in the centre of the system, but it revolves round the centre in common with the planets; nor is the earth the true centre of the moon’s orbit, but it describe an orbit with the moon, round the common centre. Before the time of Kepler, astronomers supposed that the planets moved in circular orbits with uniform motions. But this justly celebrated astronomer, instead of taking for granted the truth of the hypothesis of his predecessors, applied himself with diligence to make observations on the heavenly bodies, and who, from his great accuracy and sagacity, has been considered as at the head of modern reformed astronomy. After much labour and many mistakes, he at last discovered the great laws of motion, which are hence called Kepler’s laws: They are as follows :— 1.The primary planets and comets describe round the sun, and the secondary planets describe round their respective primaries, areas proportional to the times. 2.The orbits described round the sun, and round the primary planets, are ellipses having the sun and the primary planets in the focus. 3.The squares, or the periodic times of planets revolving round common centres, are proportional to the cubes of their mean distances, These laws were deduced by Kepler entirely from observation, and it is obvious, they are the very same which Sir Isaac Newton has investigated by geometrical reasoning, as the necessary consequence of a body revoking in an ellipse, by a force directed towards one of its foci. We are therefore warranted to conclude that the planets are kept in their orbits by a force which is directed towards the sun ; that this force is reciprocal, and proportionate to their diameters that all the planets are suspended in equilibrium from their centres, and this, by virtue of their expansive forces that though the sun attracts the earth, the earth attracts the sun, but the sun has a superior attraction, inasmuch as he is of superior magnitude. Thus, our earth being of superior magnitude to the moon, it has an attraction proportionally superior to the moon ; hence the tides are raised more by its own attraction, than by that of the moon. To a spectator placed in the sun, all the planets would appear to describe circles annually in the heavens : for though their motions are really elliptical, the eccentricity is so small, that the difference between them and true circles is not easily perceived even on earth; and at the sun, whether great or small, it would entirely vanish.— These circles which would be apparently described among the fixed stars, are called the heliocentric circles of the planets. To a spectator in the sun, the comets though moving inn the most eccentric orbits, would also appear to describe circles in the heavens : for though their orbits are in reality very long ellipses, the planes of them extended to the heavens, would mark a great circle, of which the eye would be the centre; only as the real motion is an ellipsis, the body would appear to move much more slowly in some parts of the circle than others, and to differ excessively in magnitude. To an inhabitant of any planet, however, the sun appears to go round in its own heliocentric circle, or to describe in the heavens, that same curve, which the planet would appear to do if seen from the sun. The heliocentric circle of the earth is called the ecliptic ; because eclipses of the sun or moon can only happen when the latter are in or near it. Although the sun appears to go round the earth annually in this circle, we cannot determine his place by mere inspection, as we do that of any other of the heavenly bodies ; for the fixed stars are the only marks by which we can determine the place of any of the heavenly bodies ; and the superior brightness of the sun renders them totally invisible, except in the time of a great eclipse, when his light is for a time totally obscured. But though we cannot know the place of the sun directly, it is easily found from a knowledge of those fixed stars which are opposite to him. The LATITUDE of any planet is either heliocentric, or geocentric The heliocentric latitude is its distance from the ecliptic as seen from the sun, and its geocentric as seen from the earth. As the orbits of the planets are inclined in different angles to the ecliptic, the heliocentric latitude of any planet, is almost always different from its geocentric latitude. The two points where the heliocentric of any planet cuts the ecliptic, are called its nodes ; that point where it cuts the ecliptic to pass into north latitude is called the ascending node, and that to the south, the descending node. A line drawn from one node to the other, is called, the line of nodes, which is the common section of the plane of the ecliptic, and that of the planet produced on each side to the fixed stars. A motion in the heavens, in the order of the signs of the ecliptic, as through Aries, Taurus, Gemini, &c. is called a motion in consequence; such, are the true motions of all the planets, though sometimes their apparent motions are contrary, then they are said to move in antecedence. The local zodiac, is not always invariably the same, as to the places of the several signs, though the whole always takes up the same place in the heavens, viz. 10 on each side of the ecliptic. The points where the celestial equator cuts the ecliptic, are found to have a motion in antecedence of about 50 seconds a year. This change of place of the first point of the ecliptic, from whence the signs are counted, occasions a like change in the signs themselves which, though scarcely sensible for a few years, has now become very considerable. The LONGITUDE of a phenomenon in the heavens, is the number of degrees counted from the first point of Aries on the ecliptic, to the place, where a circle of latitude drawn through tine phenomenon would cut the ecliptic at right angles. Every phenomenon in the heavens, whether in the zodiac or not, is thus referred to the ecliptic, by its circle of latitude, or great circle passing through the phenomenon, and cutting the ecliptic at right angles; and whatever sign the circle of latitude passes through, the phenomenon is said to have its place in that sign, though ever so far distant from it. The common way of reckoning the longitude of a phenomenon is to take v for the first point of the ecliptic, and not to number the degrees quite round that circle, as a continued series, but to make a new beginning at the first point of every sign, and to reckon from thence only the length of 30, then the phenomenon is stated to be in such a degree and minute of such a sign: thus, 13 40’; or Mercury in the ascending node in Taurus, and so of any other. A point in the heavens is expressed, by setting down its longitude and latitude. Every planet like the moon, is sometimes in CONJUNCTION, sometimes in OPPOSITION with the sun. Its conjunction is when the geocentric place of the planet is the same with that of the sun; though an exact and central conjunction can only take place, when the of its nodes passes through the earth, and the planet itself is in one of its nodes at the time.. It is however, termed a conjunction when the same circle of latitude passes through the sun and planet at the same time. When the geocentric place of a planet is in 90, or a quarter of a circle from the sun’s place, it is said to be in quadrature or in a quartile aspect with the sun’; and these terms are use4 in a like sense when applied to any two of the heavenly bodies. Thus the sun moon, or the moon and any planets, or any two planets, may be in conjunction, opposition, or quadrature. The inferior planets have two kinds of conjunctions with the sun one in the inferior part of their semicircles, the other in the superior part. In the former the planet is between the earth and the sun; the latter the sun is between the earth and planet. The. inferior planets can never be in opposition to the sun, nor even appear at a great distance from him. The length they go is called their elongation. The greatest possible elongation of Mercury, or his aphelion distance, is found by astronomical observations, to be about 28 and that of Venus, about 48. The inferior planets in their elongations, are sometimes eastward and sometimes westward of the sun; in the: former case they appear in the evening, in the latter in the morning The smallness of Mercury, and his nearness to the sun, prevents him from being taken notice of; but the largeness and beauty of Venus, have made her ‘celebrated in all ages as the evening and morning star.., The planets sometimes appear to go forward, sometimes to go backwards, and sometimes to stand still. These different conditions are by astronomers called direct, retrograde, and stationary. Were they to l)e viewed, from the sun, they would always appear direct; but, when viewed from the earth, the inferior planets appear direct while moving in their upper semicircles: retrograde while moving in their lower ones, and stationary while changing from direct to retrograde, or retrograde to direct. When the earth is in the line of nodes of an inferior planet, the, apparent motion of the former is then in a straight line, because the plane of it passes through the eye: if in a conjunction in his upper. semicircle, he passes behind the sun, if in his lower semicircle, he. passes before it, and will then be seen by an observer on earth to pass over the sun’s disk like a round and very black spot. Were the plane of his orbit coincident with the ecliptic, this appearance would be seen. every year; but by reason of the obliquity of the two planes to each’. other it is much more rare. MERCURY however was seen in this manner November 12th, 1782,. at3 hours 44’, in the afternoon; May 4th, 1786, at 6 hours 37’, in the morning; December 6th, 1789, at 3 hours 5’, in the afternoon. Is like manner VENUS sometimes appears like a black spot on the sun, but much more seldom than Mercury. She was thus seen first in 1639 afterward in the years 1761, and 1769; but will not again be visible in this manner till the year 1874. An inferior planet, when in conjunction with the sun, in its inferior semicircle, is said to be in PERIGEE, and when in the other, to be in APOGEE, on account of its different distances from the earth. Their real distances from the earth when in perigee, are variable, partly owing to the eccentricities of their orbits, as well as that of the earth and partly owing to the different bodies by which they are in perigee, in different parts of their orbits. The least possible distance is, when the perigee happens at the time that the earth is in its perihelion and when the planet is in its aphelion. The difference between the earth and inferior planets, at different times, makes a considerable variation at different times, which indeed is very observable in all the planets ; and thus, they sometimes look considerably larger than at others. This difference of magnitude in Mercury is nearly as 5 1/2 to one; and in Venus no less than 32 to I, any person unassisted by instruments, may observe an inferior planet alternately approach nearer and nearer the sun, until at last it comes into conjunction with him, and then retires farther and farther, till it is at its greatest elongation, which will be first on one side, and then on the other: but if we observe the apparent change of a place of an inferior planet, in the sphere of the heavens, its direct motions, stations and retrogradations, measuring its diameter ‘frequently with the mecrometer, we shall find, by its decrease at some times, and increase at others, that its distance from us is very considerably varied. The apparent paths of Mercury and Venus are looped curves. As the superior planets move in larger orbits than the earth, they can only be in conjunction with the sun, when they are on that side opposite to the earth; as on the other hand they are in opposition to him when the earth is between the sun and them. They are in quadrature with him, when the geocentric places are at 90 distance from the sun. The DIRECT MOTION of a superior planet is swifter the nearer it is to a conjunction, and slower as it approaches to a quadrature with the sun. The RETROGRADE MOTION of a superior planet, is swifter the nearer it is to an opposition, and slower as it approaches to a quadrature with the sun. A superior planet is in APOGEE when in conjunction with the sun, and in PERIGEE when in opposition; and every one of the superior planets, is at its least possible distance from the earth, where it is in perigee and perihelion at the same time. Their apparent diameters are variable, according to their distances, like those of the inferior planets; and this as might naturally be expected, is most remarkable in the planet MARS, who is nearest us. In his nearest approach, this planet is 25 times larger than when farthest off, Jupiter twice and a half, and Saturn once and a half. As the times of conjunction, utmost elongation, direct or retrograde motion, of the inferior planets depend on the combinations of their motions in their orbits with the motion of the earth in its orbit; any of these appearances will h€ more frequent in Mercury than in Venus, because the former moves with a swifter motion in his orbit, and consequently, must more frequently pass through those places, where he is in conjunction, &c. The time in which any of the inferior planets will return into a given situation, may be easily known. Compute the diurnal hello. centric motions of Venus and the earth: the difference of their motions, is the diurnal motion of Venus from the earth, or the quantity by which Venus would be seen to recede from the earth every day, by a spectator placed in the sun: thus the motion of Venus is every day about 59 minutes and 8 seconds; the difference is 37 minutes Therefore, as 37 minutes is to 360 degrees, or to 21,600 minutes, so is one day to the time wherein Venus, having left the earth, recedes from her 36O degrees; that is, to the time wherein she returns to the earth again, or the time between two conjunctions of the same kind. The calculations of the times are here made according to mean or equable motions of the planets, and is therefore called a mean conjunction: but because Venus and the earth are really carried in elliptic orbits, in which their motions are sometimes swifter and sometimes slower, the true conjunctions may happen some days either sooner or later than what these rules will give. The time of the true conjunction is to be computed from that of the mean conjunction, in the following manner. Find by astronomical tables the place of Venus and the earth in the ecliptic, from which we shall have the distance of the two as seen from the sun ; compute also the angular motions of these two planets for any given time, suppose six hours. As this difference is to the arc between the places of Venus and the earth, at the time of a mean conjunction, so is six hours to the time between the mean conjunction and the true. This time added to, or subtracted from, the time of the mean conjunction, according as Venus is in antecedence or consequence from the earth, shows the time of the true conjunction. As to the conjunctions, oppositions, direct, and retrograde motions, &c. of the superior planets, they depend on the combinations of their motions with that of the earth, and are more frequent in Saturn than in Jupiter, and in Jupiter than in Mars; but most frequent of all in Herschel; because the slower the motion of the planet is, the sooner the earth will overtake in so as to have it again in any given situation. Thus suppose Saturn to be in conjunction with the sun in Aries, if he were to stand still one year, then he would again be in conjunction with the sun in Aries, but, as he goes on slowly, according to the order of the signs, about 12 degrees annually, the earth must therefore go through almost 13 degrees more than an entire revolution, so that there will be almost a year and 13 days, between any conjunction between the sun and Saturn, and the conjunction immediately following. As Jupiter moves in his orbit, with greater velocity than Saturn, the earth must have a proportionably larger space added to the year; and as Mars moves swifter still, the time between any two of his conjunctions, must be still longer. The time when any superior planet will return into any given situation, may be found by the methods already laid down for the inferior planets; and the true conjunctions, &c. may be found in the superior planets as in the inferior. Here it is worth while to pause a few moments, and contemplate the immense scale of being, to consider the magnitudes, relations, order, and arrangement of those immense globes, which occupy the unlimited regions of space, and diffuse their lustre and beneficence around us. And, 1. None of them interfere with each other. Had the universe been the work of any but the wise Architect, there would have been many inconveniences in the situation of such a prodigious number of immense globes. Some would have been too near or too far off; some would have incommoded others. But instead of this, all the globes which fall under our notice, are set at such a due distance as not only to avoid all violent concourse, but not to shade each other, so as to hinder each others kindly influence, or to occasion noxious ones. 2. As it is one great instance of the skill of an architect, to give due proportion to his works, so this abundantly appears in all the heavenly bodies that come under our cognizance. Curious order, and due and nice proportions are observed in their situations. The sun is placed in the centre of his system, to give all his planets heat and light. Then follow the several planets surrounding him, not scattered at all adventures, but at due distances from the sun, as well as from one another. And this is discernible, not only in the primary, but the secondary planets too: in the five moons that attend Saturn, and the four that accompany Jupiter. The wisdom of the Creator appears, secondly, from the motions of the heavens and the earth. That these vast globes should move at all, proves some being that has power to put them in motion: seeing matter cannot move itself. And suppose them moved by the sun, the ether, or some other primary mover, still we must recur to some first cause who was able to put the mover into motion. And this could be no other than the hand of the Almighty. What farther shows both his power and wisdom, is, that those motions are not at random, or in inconvenient lines and orbs, but such as manifest the deepest counsel. That every planet should have as many and various motions, as the world and its inhabitants have occasion for, must be the work of a wise and kind, as well as omnipotent Creator. In particular, the diurnal motion of these globes shows the wisdom of the Creator. Of what prodigious use is this Were the planets always to stand still, half of each globe would be dazzled and parched with unceasing day, and the other half wrapt in everlasting darkness Were this the case with our globe, a great part of it at least would scarce be habitable. It would neither agree with the state of man or other animals, nor of vegetables. How could the vapours be raised to supply the earth with cooling clouds and fruitful showers ‘low could the winds be excited to fan the atmosphere with their pleasant and healthful gales How could vegetables be raised up by the kindly heat of the day, and tempered by the dews arid cool of the night How could men and other animals gather their food, and perform the various labours of the day, and then under the salutary influences of the night recruit themselves with rest and sleep - And as the diurnal, so the annual motion of the heavenly bodies, is a clear manifestation of the Creator’s wisdom : especially when we consider the different paths of their diurnal and annual motions. These lie not in a very different plane, nor in the same, but a little crossing one another: the diurnal lying in or parallel to the equator: the annual, at an inclination of twenty-three degrees and a half A glorious contrivance this for the good of our globe, and for all the rest that have the same annual motion! For were the earth’s annual motion to be always in the same plane with the diurnal, we might indeed he sometimes nearer to the sun than we now are. But we should miss of those kindly increases of day and night, which the approach of the earth to one or the other pole occasions. This is likewise the great cause of summer and winter. Indeed one cause of them is, the longer or shorter continuance of the sun above the horizon. As it continues longer in summer, it increases the heat, as much as it lengthens the day : and just the contrary in winter. But the chief cause is, the oblique or perpendicular direction of the sun’s rays. For, 1. Perpendicular rays strike on any plane with greater force than oblique. And, 2. A greater number of rays fall within the same compass, in a perpendicular than in an oblique direction. A farther manifestation of the Creator’s wisdom we have in the perpetuity. constancy and regularity of those motions. How without an Almighty guide should those vast bodies continue their course throughout all ages How should they perform their usual stages, without the least intermission or disorder What piece of clockwork under heaven, was ever comparable to this How steadily do all these motions conspire, to answer the ends of divine Providence, to despatch the noble offices of the several globes, to comfort amid cherish every thing residing on them, by the useful change of day and night, and the several seasons of the year! We may learn the wisdom of Cod, thirdly, from the figure of the heavenly bodies, so well suited to the motions, and to the whole state and convenience of them. And, 1. They are all nearly spherical: I say, nearly, to allow for their difference between their polar and equatorial diameter. Now this figure is both more capacious than any other, and more agreeable to a mass in motion, each part of it being at a due distance from the centre of motion and gravity: besides, without this, there could have been no such agreeable alterations of day and night, of heat and cold. And as to our own globe, the winds could not have fanned the air, as now, but must have been greatly retarded, if not wholly stopped, by the angles and jettings out of other figures. Lastly, the waters would have had intolerable confluences; here too much, there none at all. So that instead of habitable world, far the greatest part would have been a desert, or an useless bed of waters. And all the parts of the earth are so distributed as may best minister to their several uses. Thus, the two grand parts, the solids and fluids, instead of being jumbled into one mass, are admirably parted, and as nicely disposed of in proper places. The strata conveying sweet water in all or most parts of the world, consist of proper, pervious matter, remain distinct from the other strata, and lie at such due depths, as either to break out in fountains, or to be dug into for wells: all of which is a manifest demonstration of the concern of a Wise Agent. And not only the planets are a demonstration of this, but the very comets also: though their motions are so far from being always the same way, that they move sometimes contrary to each other. Their planes and directions lie every way, and their orbits are exceedingly eccentrical. But this very eccentricity is an admirable contrivance of the Creator, to prevent their disturbing either the planets, or one another, by mutual attractions. By this means they have sufficient room to revolve in; and by ascending to very great heights, and spending almost all their time in the remote regions of the universe, at vast distances both from the planets and each other, they incommode neither. Whereas had they moved in the same plane with the planets, they would sometimes have come too near them: and possibly have disturbed their motions, or even dashed against them. But what would all the planets have done, had they not been sup. plied with light and heat And what an indulgent provision of these is made even for the most distant of them See the sun, that prodigious mass of elementary matter placed in the centre of the system, to scatter his light throughout the whole, and to warm and cherish us by day: and such a noble retinue of moons and stars, attending and assisting us by night! And we see the same care of the Creator, extended to all the other planets. According to their several distances, they have proportionably a great number of moons, and Saturn a stupendous ring besides, to supply the decrease of light and heat. Who can help being amazed at such well contrived, such stately works of God! Who can partake of their beneficial influences, and not adore the wisdom and kindness of their Maker! That he who dispenses existence at his will, should multiply, extend, enlarge, and add a kind of immensity to his works, is not properly what surprises me; at least my amazement is chiefly founded on my own extreme littleness. But what astonishes me most is to see, that notwithstanding this, my extreme littleness, he has vouchsafed to regulate his immense works, by the advantages I was to receive from them! The heavens declare the grandeur and glory of God, from one end of the world to the other. But the sun alone affects us more than all the beauties the heavens can display to our sight: the heavens are only a. pavilion to the sun. The richly embroidered veil which seemed to bide him from us for a season, is removed when he advances. At first, he appears as a young bridegroom, coming out of his chamber. His splendour is then full of mildness, and he is easy of access. But he is commissioned to convey the heat and the life, as well as the light, every where. He darts more and more fire as he ascends. He passes from one end of the heavens to the other. There is nothing can either be hid from his light, or subsist without his heat. And by his penetrating fires he reaches those very places which are inaccessible to his rays. And yet we need his absence at proper intervals, no less than we do his presence. For night and sleep are so connected, that when we want repose, we generally procure a kind of artificial night. Our senses are seldom unbent, but by the removal of that which agitates them. And this is the service for which night is appointed, and which it excellently well performs. It does not come in a blunt and abrupt manner, to extinguish the light of the day, and all on a sudden to rob us of the sight of the objects we are intent on: but advances only by slow steps, and brings on darkness by degrees. It is not till after reminding us of the necessity of taking rest, that it covers the face of nature. During the time of man’s repose, night hushes every noise. It indeed suffers a few animals, whose grim aspect might scare him, to go forth, and silently seek their food. It permits, however, the animal that stands center by him, to give him notice of what concerns him. But it keeps the horse, the ox, and all his domestics fast asleep around him. it disperses the birds, and sends each to his respective abode. As it comes on, it gradually hushes the winds, to secure the lord of nature’s rest. It causes his repose to be reverenced every where: the moment of which is no sooner come, but all creatures retire, and for several hours, an universal silence reigns. Nor yet is nature’s palace wholly void of light. As some may be constrained to travel by night, several flambeaus are scattered through the firmament. But these, though they prevent total darkness, yield only a gentle light. Nor ought those who then wake to be supplied with such alight, as would interrupt the repose of others. But it is not, by its darkness only, that night is useful to us. Its coolness likewise is of use: and this increasing the spring of the air, makes it capable of working with greater activity, and giving new vigour both to the dry plants and the enfeebled animals. It is to preserve this cool, that the moon reflecting the light of the sun, gives it without any sensible heat. In vain do we collect her rays by the strongest burning glass. An admirable caution of the Divine Artificer, who has reserved for the night season, a light strong enough to remove darkness, yet too weak to alter the coolness of the air. When man is inclined to have the benefit of this, he sees no more the prospects of the day; but night in her turn, favours him with another, that has charms to itself. We cannot doubt but these immense globes of fire, which enlighten our night, have all their peculiar appointments, which answer, in God’s purposes, the magnificence of their appearance. But who shall presume to explain, what the Almighty has thought fit to conceal The small glimpses which a few are permitted to have, being quite unknown to the bulk of mankind. It is not in the particular destination of each star, nor in the general harmony of all, that we are to look for the means of instructing man, or regulating his affections. But yet what we do see, and know concerning them, is matter for the deepest admiration. We see innumerable fires hung up in the magnificent ceiling of our abode; and the dark azure which serves them as a ground, still heightens their beauty and brightness. But their rays are dispersed through spaces so immense, that when they come to us, they are quite destitute of heat. Thus by the Creator’s providence we enjoy the sight of a multititude of fiery globes, without any danger of destroying the coolness of our night, or the quiet of our repose. The sum of what has been said, with some farther improvements, we add in the words of Mr. Hervey. “ The earth is, in fact, a round body, though in some parts raised into hills, or sunk into vallies, in others spread out into wide ‘and immeasurable plains. For the loftiest mountains bear no more proportion to the whole surface of the ball, than a particle of dust on the astronomer’s globe, bears to its whole circumference. We may fancy that it has deep foundations, and rests on some solid basis. But it is pendant in the wide transparent ether, without any visible support either from above or beneath. It may seem to remain still and motionless: but it is continually sailing through the depths of the sky, and in the space of twelve months finishes the mighty voyage. This periodical rotation produces the seasons, and completes the year. And all the time it proceeds in its annual circle, it spins upon its own centre, and turns ‘its sides alternately to the great fountain of light. By this means the day dawns in one hemisphere, while the night succeeds in the other. Without this expedient, one part of its regions would, during half the great revolution, be scorched with excessive heat, and languish under an uninterrupted glare: while the other would be frozen to ice, and buried under dismal and destructive darkness. “ The earth in the revolution which it performs daily on its own axis, whirls about at the rate of above a thousand miles an hour. What an amazing force must be requisite to protrude so vast a globe, and wheel it on, loaded with huge rocks and mountains, with such a prodigious degree of rapidity! “ Mean time the sun which seems to perform its daily stages, is fixed and immoveable. It is the great axle of heaven, about which the earth and many larger orbs wheel their stated courses. And small as it seems, it is far larger than the earth : Sir Isaac Newton supposes, 900,000 times. Are we ready to cry out, how mighty is the Being who kindled such a prodigious fire! And keeps alive from age to age, such an enormous mass of flame! And yet this sun, with all its attendant planets, are but a very small part of that grand machine, the universe. Every star is really a vast globe, like the sun in size and in glory. Nay, every star, as some suppose, is not merely a world, but the centre of a magnificent system; has a retinue of worlds enlightened by its beams, and revolving round its orb: all which are lost to our sight, in immeasurable wilds of ether. “But could you soar farther yet, could you wing your way to the highest apparent star, you would there see other skies expanded, another sun distributing his beams by day, with other stars, that gild the horrors of the alternate night: and other, perhaps nobler, systems established, through the boundless dimensions of space. Nor does the dominion of the great Sovereign, terminate even here. Even at the end of this vast tour, you would find yourself advanced no farther than the suburbs of creation: arrived only at the frontiers of the great Jehovah’s kingdom “Think on this. When innumerable bodies, many of them more than a hundred thousand miles in diameter, are set in motion: when the orbits in which they move are extended to hundreds of millions of miles: when each has a distinct and separate spheres for finishing his vast circuit; when none is cramped, but each freely expatiates in his unbounded career: when every one is so immensely distant from the others, that they appear each to other as only so many spots of light: how astonishing is the expanse which yields room for them all, and their widely diffused operations! To what lengths did the Almighty Builder stretch his line, when he marked out the stupendous platform! I wonder at such an immeasurable extent: my. thoughts are lost in this abyss of space. “To go one step farther still: when I contemplate those ample and amazing structures, erected in endless magnificence, over all the etherial plains: when I look on them as so many repositories of light, or fruitful abodes of life : when I remember, there are orbs vastly more remote than those which appear to our unaided sight; when I stretch my thoughts to the innumerable orders of beings, which inhabit all those spacious systems, from the highest seraph to the puny nations that tinge the plume with blue, or mantle the standing poor with green. How various are the links in this immense chain, the gradations in this universal scale of existence ! Yet all these are the work of God’s hand, and are full of his presence! “He rounded in his palm those dreadfully large globes, which are pendulous in the vault of heaven. He kindled those astonishingly bright fires, which fill the firmament with a flood of glory. By him they are suspended in fluid ether, arid never can be shaken; by him they dispense a perpetual tide of beams, and never are exhausted.— He formed that exquisitely tine collection of tubes, that unknown multiplicity of subtle springs, which organize and actuate the frame of the minutest insect, lie bids the crimson current roll, the vital movements play, and joins together a world of wonders, even in an animated point. For there are living creatures abundantly smaller than a mite. Mr. Bradly mentions some, which by computation he found to be a thousand times less than the least visible grain of sand; at the same time he declares, that this was a bulky beinz, compared to others discovered by Mr. Lewenhock. If then we consider the several limbs. which compose such an organized particle: the different springs which actuate those limbs; the flow of spirits which put those springs in motion; the various fluids which circulate: the different secretions which must necessarily be performed; together with the proportion-able minuteness of the solids, before they arrive at their full growth: we shall see the utmost reason to own, that the Creator is greatly glorious even in his smallest works. “ To conclude this head. If the stars are magazines of fire, and immense reservoirs of light, undoubtedly they have some grand uses, suited to the magnificence of their nature. To determine what Uses, is not possible, in our present state of distance and ignorance. This however is clear, they are disposed in such a manner, as is most pleasing and serviceable to mankind. They are not placed at such an infinite remove, as to lie beyond our sight neither are they brought so near to our abode, as to annoy us with their beams.” ======================================================================== CHAPTER 29: PART 05 - CHAPTER 3 - OF SOME PARTICULAR PROPERTIES OF MATTER AND THE ELEMENTS OF NATURAL BODIES ======================================================================== Chapter 3 - Of Some Particular Properties of Matter and the Elements of Natural Bodies 1. Having spoken of the particular species of bodies, it remains only to speak of bodies in general. And it may be observed of them all, that they are extended, solid, divisible, figured, and capable of motion. We cannot conceive any body that is not extended, or composed of several parts. 2. It has long been thought that there is such a thing in nature as a vacuum, that is, space without substance ; but this is a circumstance of being, which is now satisfactorily ascertained to exist only in the imagination, being entirely without foundation, either in reason or experience. All matter is endued with the capacity to expand itself to an astonishing, and inconceivable degree, and when this capacity is exerted in a very great degree, on a body of matter occupying a certain space, as, in the receiver of an air pump, the space which it occupies, in this situation, is termed a vacuum, or void space; but, nothing is more incorrect; there is not a particle of space, which is not occupied by a particle of matter; it is only the matter within the space, which is reduced to an extreme degree of rarefication: in this case the space is just as extensively occupied, by substantial matter, as if the matter had been condensed, and impacted in it in an equal extreme. This astonishing elasticity of matter is a wonderful provision of Almighty power; it is this universal property and susceptibility of matter, which gives laws to the motion of its particles, and retains the solid globe itself in its orbit. Every particle, and every body of matter in the universe, is endued with a certain capacity, in relation to other particles, and other bodies, by which they are rendered assimilant, or repellant towards those particles, •r bodies. This is not only the case between individual particles and particular bodies, but it is an universal law, and relation, which governs and subsists between, WORLDS; which are suspended at relative distances, proportionate to their mutual capacities of approximation and recession. 3. One property of body is solidity, whereby it resists another body, moving it out of its place. Not much different from this, is impenetrability whereby a body excludes another from the place where it is. Solidity is not the same with hardness, the former belonging to all, the latter to some bodies only. Hardness consists in the firm cohesion of the parts, so as not easily to be separated. As the solidity of bodies flows from the intrinsic nature of matter, it is vain to assign as the cause of it, either the figure or rest of the parts, or the pressure of the air, or of some subtile matter. By these solutions we do not at all explain the thing, but only entangle ourselves in fresh difficulties. 4. Divisibility likewise belongs to all bodies. For since no body can be conceived that is not extended, and extension supposes parts, it follows, that every body, however small, is divisible: perhaps not by the art of man, but in its own nature. Nor is it any objection, that our understanding cannot comprehend infinite divisibility; It cannot:nor can it comprehend infinite number: or indeed infinities of any kind. It is true, there is no such thing, strictly speaking, as parts infinitely small. Yet the smallness of the particles of several bodies, is such as vastly surpasses our conception. And there are innumerable instances in nature of such parts actually separated from each other. Mr. Boyle gives us several instances of this. He speaks of a silken thread, three hundred yards long, that weighed but two grains and a half. Fifty square inches of leaf gold weighed but one grain. Now if the length of an inch be divided into two hundred parts, the eye may distinguish them all. Therefore there are in one square inch forty thousand visible parts, and in one grain of leaf gold, two millions of such parts : which visible parts no ode will deny to be farther visible. In odoriferous bodies, we may discern a still greater subtlety of parts, yea, of parts actually separated from each other. Several bodies scarce loose any thing of their weight in a long time, and yet continually fill a large space with odoriferous, particles. Several animals are but just visible with the finest microscope. And yet these have all the parts necessary for life, as blood and other juices. How wonderful must the subtlety of the parts be, whereof those fluids are composed! And hence the following strange theorem is deduced and demonstrated by Dr. Keil. “ Any particle of matter, how small soever, and any finite space, how large soever, being given, it is possible for that particle to be diffused through all that space, and to fill it in such a manner, that there shall be no pore in it, whose diameter shall exceed any given line." 5. The last general property of matter is motion and rest. For it. is plain, all matter is either at rest or in motion. God is the first and universal cause of motion, as well as of all things. The immediate cause of it, is either matter or spirit. It is beyond doubt, that a body moved, communicates its motion to another, though in its own nature it be purely passive. Nor can we reasonably deny that a spirit is able to move matter, although the manner of its doing this We cannot comprehend. 6. All the laws of motion may be reduced to three. 1. Every moving body is moved by another. 2. Every moving body communicates its motion to any body it meets. 3. Every moving body continues in motion till it communicates that notion to another. While these laws remain in force, and concur in producing various effects, those effects are termed natural. When any of these laws are suspended, this is properly a miracle. 7. As the elements or first stamina of bodies are too small to be discerned by any of our senses, we can only form conjectures concerning them. The chemists have now introduced, and adopted a. new nomenclature, comprising a new order and arrangement, of all the known simple bodies, which enter into and constitute compound bodies. They have also ascertained, as far as is practicable by human means, the ‘relative capacities of the several elementary ingredients to each other. Sir T. Bergman has gone far in calculating these relative capacities, and has reduced their ratios to a tubular form, showing their numerical proportions, and the constancy of their relations. Experiment has been abundantly ample, to afford the most satisfactory evidence of the universal existence amid operation of this principle. But it is remarkable that in alt these operations, caloric seems to be the principal agent, being, in the process of every combination of elementary matter, either given out, or absorbed. 8. Caloric becomes fixed in all bodies constituting various degrees of temperature; it may be elicited from all bodies, by combustion, by friction, by compression, and by decomposition ; it penetrates all bodies in proportion to the quantity present, reducing them to an equal temperature with that quantity; by a degree of intensity, proportionate to the variable capacities of bodies, it reduces them to a state of fluidity, and finally to the airiform state. All substances at present known, have by its agency been converted into air. In short it would require a pretty elaborate essay, to give a mere outline ‘of the extent and operation of this single element; suffice it to say its presence is universal, and its agency gives motion to all bodies. 9. But though caloric is thus formidable in its effects, and universal in its operation, yet, its operation is infinitely slow compared with that of LIGHT. Light is now ranked among the elements, and is considered a most formidable agent, in the operations of nature; it is especially characterized by its incomparable velocity, it travelling at the inconceivable rate of 11,875,000 miles in a minute. It would appear, that to the fixidity, and developement of this formidable element, electricity owes its astonishing powers; electricity appears to partake of the velocity of light, travelling at an inconceivable rate, and darting forth bright rays like the sun. Its violence, and power would appear to be in a ratio proportionate to the quantity of light, which enters into its composition, being always most destructive, when it is most vivid and bright. Light seems to be one of the most subtile bodies in the universe. The grand reservoir thereof is the sun: but it is likewise emitted by many other bodies, and by almost all, when they are on lire. When it falls on any body which it cannot pass through and so is beat back, it is said to be reflected. But when it passes from one transparent body into another, which is either rarer or denser, it moves obliquely, its rays being bent, and is said to be refracted. When it passes through a body in straight lines, it is said to be transmitted. Those which emit the light are termed lucid bodies; those which reflect it, opaque. The particles of light, minute as they are, are attracted by those of other bodies. Hence in their passage near the edges of bodies, whether opaque or transparent, they are diverted from the right lines, and reflected towards those bodies. This action of bodies on light exerts itself at some distance, but increases as the distance is diminished: and appears in the passage of a ray between the edges of two thin plates at different apertures to which it is peculiar that the attraction of one edge is increased, as the other is brought nearer it. The rays of light passing out of glass into a vacuum, are not only inflected toward the glass, but if they fall too obliquely, they will revert back to the glass, and be totally reflected. This reflection cannot be owing to any resistance of the vacuum, but merely to the attracting power of the glass. This appears farther from hence : if you wet the posterior surface of the glass, the rays, which would otherwise have been reflected, will pass into and through that liquor: which shows that the rays are not reflected, till they come to the posterior surf ace of the glass; nor even till they begin to go out of it. For if at their going out, they fall into any liquor, they are not reflected, but persist in their course, the attraction of the liquor counterbalancing that of the glass. From this mutual attraction between the particles of light and other bodies, arises the reflection and the refraction of light. The determination of any moving body is changed, by the interposal of another body. Thus light meeting any solid body, is turned out of its way, and reflected: hut with this peculiar circumstance : it is not reflected from the body itself, but by something diffused over the surface of that body, before it touches it. It is the same thing in refraction, The rays refracted come very near the refracting body ; yet do not touch it. Those that actually touch solid bodies, adhere to them, and are as it were extinguished and lost. This entirely agrees with the curious observation of an ingenious writer. “ It is common to admire the lustre of the drops of rain, that lie on the leaves of coieworts and some other vegetables. Upon inspecting them narrowly, I find the lustre rises from a copious reflection of the light, from the flattened parts of its surface, contiguous to the plant. When the drop rolls along a Part which has beep wetted, it immediately loses all its lustre. The green plant being then seen clearly through it, whereas in the other case it is hardly to be discerned, “From these two observations laid together we may conclude, the drop, when it has the lustre, does not really touch the plant, but hangs in the air at some distance from it, by the force of a repulsive power. For there could not be so copious a reflection of light from its under surface, unless there were a real interval between it and the surface of the plant. “Now if that surface were perfectly smooth, the under surface of the drop would be so likewise, and would therefore reflect the image of the illuminating body, like a piece of polished silver. But as it is rough, the under surface of the drop becomes rough likewise; and so reflecting the light copiously in different directions, assumes the colour of unpolished silver.” Again. Rays passing from a more rare into a more dense medium, are turned out of their right line, because more strongly attracted by the denser medium. Rays of light differ in respect of refraction, reflection and colour.— Those that agree in the first of these, agree in all, and may therefore be termed homogeneal. Colours exhibited by them we may call homogeneal colours. This being premised, we may observe, I. That the sun’s light consists of rays variously refrangible. 2. The rays variously refrangible, when separated from each other, exhibit different colours. 3. That there are as many simple, homogeneal colours, as there are degrees of refrangibility. 4. A composition of all the simple colours, is requisite to constitute whiteness. 5. The rays of light do not act upon one another, in passing through the same medium. 6. Neither do they thereby suffer any refraction. 7. The sun’s rays contain all homogeneous colours, which may therefore be called primitive. As some rays of light are less than others, so they are more refrangible. Those which are most refrangible, constitute violet colour, that is, the smallest rays excite the most languid colour. Those which are largest, and so least refrangible, constitute red, the most vivid colour. The other rays excite intermediate sensations, according to their respective size and refrangibility. Bodies reflect, instead of transmitting light, that is, are opaque, not transparent not for want of pores; but either because of the unequal density of their parts, or the magnitude of their pores. Either their pores are empty, or they are filled with matter of a different kind’, whereby the rays are variously refracted and reflected, till they are quite absorbed. Hence paper and wood are opaque, while glass is transparent.— For in the confines of parts alike in density, such as those of glass and water, there arises no refraction or reflection, by reason of the equal attraction every way ; so that the rays which enter the first surface, pass straight through the body. But in the parts of wood and paper, which are unequal in density, and contain much air in their large pores, the refractions and reflections are very great; so that the rays cannot; pass through them, but are bandied about till they are extinguished Hence opaque bodies become transparent, when their pores are filled with a substance of equal density : as paper dipped in water or oil. And on the contrary, transparent bodies, by emptying their pores, or separating their parts, become opaque. Thus, salts and wet paper become opaque by drying, glass by pulverizing. Yea, water itself, if beat into froths, loses its transparency. That light is corporeal cannot now be doubted, having been proved by a thousand experiments. By reflection and refraction it may be turned more or less out of its way according to the different densities of the reflecting or refracting medium. Its rays in their progressive motion may be intercepted by the interposal of any opaque object. And when this is removed, they proceed again, in the same straight course as before. They may likewise be contracted into a less, or diffused through a larger space, while the quantity of light continues the same neither increased nor diminished. So in the focus of a burning glass, all the rays which would otherwise pass directly through the glass, are contracted into one bright spot, while the circumambient space, for the breadth of the glass, is deprived of its light, and left shaded. And the action of light thus condensed, is proportional to its quantity, and produces all the effects of the most intense fire, yea, such as no culinary fire will produce. Whence it is plain, that light and caloric are intimately connected and the condensation of light gives out the caloric. The materiality of light, is farther confirmed by its motion. For vision is propagated through this medium successively, as sound is through air. This has been demonstrated from the eclipses of Jupiter’s satellites. For the satellites having been hid behind the planet, it requires a certain time, after it emerges, before its light can reach the eye, namely, seven minutes and a half: which is a motion, six hundred thousand times swifter than that of sound through the air, The quantity of elementary light, is caeteris paribus, every where the same at the same distance from the sun. But its action is more or less intense, as the rays are more direct or oblique. These are in a continual vibrating motion, going and returning to and from the resisting medium, in exceeding short and imperceptible intervals, which make the element seem to be at perfect ‘rest. All the rays are refracted and reflected alternately ; so that the same incident ray, which is refracted at one interval, is reflected at the next. This is visible in transparent mediums, where the rays fall upon glass, water, and the like. But in opaque bodies, though the fact is the same, it is not so sensible. When the rays fall upon glass, they are reflected one moment, and transmitted the next. And this vibrating motion seems to be essential to light when its rays are put into motion. In talking of light and sound, we are apt to confound the sensation with the motion of the medium that excites it. Thus in a deep calm we say, there is no air, because we feel none: though there is really the same quantity of air in equal space, as if it blew a storm. And so in deep darkness we say, there is no light in the room: although there is supposed to be as much light there, as there was at noonday. Only its rays are quiescent, and make no impression upon the visage organs. Sound is said to move about fourteen miles in a minute, which is performed thus: the stroke given by the sounding body to the contiguous air, is communicated to the next, and so on till it reaches the ear. The oscillations of the air are required to succeed each other with a certain velocity; and in order to render them audible, they must not be fewer than thirty in a second of time. But the more frequent these sonorous waves are in a given time, the sharper is the sound heard, and the more strongly does it affect us; till we come to the most acute of audible sounds. which have 7520 tremors in a second. Acute sounds, are in general, yielded from bodies that are hard, brittle, and violently shook or struck ; grave sounds are from the contrary. Cords or other bodies, that yield the same number of vibrations in a given time, are said to be unison; as those which make double the number of oscillations in that time, yield a tone that is an octave, or eight notes higher; and other proportions betwixt the number of the vibrations, have different names assigned to them in musical scale. The shorter cords produce sharper tones, and the reverse in a proportion directly as their lengths; also those, which are more stretched, afford sharper sounds. The sound, whether acute or grave, strong or weak, is carried through the air about 1038 Paris feet in a second, and that with an uniform velocity, without abating in the larger distances. But a contrary wind, causing the vibrations to extend more slowly, retards the progression of sound about one twelfth of its velocity. Density and dryness of the air increase the sound, as the rarefaction and moisture ‘of the air lessen it. Hence in summer time sound moves swifter; and in Guinea, it has been observed to pass at the rate of 1398 Parisian feet in one second. Plutarch says, deers and horses are, of all irrational creatures, the most affected with music. Mr. Playford says the same thing, and adds, Myself, as I travelled some years since, near Royston, met about twenty stags upon the road, following a bagpipe and violin; which when the music played, went forward, when it ceased, they all stood still. And in this manner they were brought from Yorkshire to Hampton Court. Lions likewise, and elephants, are susceptible of the powers of music. So are many dogs, and most, if not all singing birds." A late author gives a stranger account still. Monsieur de , captain of the regiment of Navarre, was cop-fined in prison six months. He begged leave of the governor that he might send for his lute. After four days he was astonished, to see at the time of his playing, the mice come out of their holes, and the spiders descend from their webs, which came and formed a circle round him, to hear him with attention. This at first so surprised him, that be left off, on which they all retired quietly to their lodgings. It was six days before he recovered from his astonishment. He then began to play again. They came again, and in still increasing numbers, till after a time he found a hundred of them about him. I saw a very large and fierce lion which was then kept at the infirmary at Edinburgh, quite transported with the sound of a bagpipe, and rolling upon its back with the utmost satisfaction. I saw likewise the old lion in the tower of London, listen with the utmost attention to a German flute. Mean time a young tiger leaped up and down incessantly, till the music ceased. So it may be literally true! Sound travels slowly compared with the amazing velocity of light, it depends, in a measure, on the degree of density of the medium through which it traverses, it is louder in a denser medium, and weakens in proportion as the medium becomes rarefied, hence when more rarefied bodies are exploded, the report is louder, as in the instance of the aurum futininans. The atmosphere is the proper vehicle of sound, and there are certain attendant phenomena which are very remarkable. The report of any explosion will be in proportion to the capacity of rarefaction, in the article exploded, and the density of the medium in which the explosion takes place. A piece of ordnance fired off in a medium consisting of a degree of rarity, equal to the capacity of expansion of the charge, would make no report. And this degree of rarity is not far distant from the surface of the earth, where no resistance would be given to the explosion of gunpowder: In such a situation, no report could be heard. How inconceivably rare then must be;. that region of space, in which the orbit of our moon is situated, which is quite in our neighbourhood, it could not oppose the least possible resistance to a moving body. And yet this degree of rarity is incomparable with that which extends to the regions of the fixed stars: the utmost stretch of human imagination would be incompetent to form any idea of it. However, it must be such, as to do away all surprise at continued motion; for when once a moving body had acquired the impetus of its motion, in so perfect, a non-resisting medium, it must continue to move for ever, independent of accelerating power. And this relative position of central space, would be one of a continued series of uniform ratios Thus we may contemplate the firmament of the universe, as divided into centres of density, and rarity; and every globe suspended in, and adapted to its proper grade of density, in which grade it revolves to its own proper centre, within a well defined circular stratum. 10.When we cast our eyes up to the firmament, let us seriously ask ourselves, what power built over our heads that vast and magnificent arch, and “spread out the heavens like a curtain “ Who garnished these heavens with such a variety of resplendent objects,’ all floating in the liquid ether, and regular in their motions Who painted the clouds with such variety of colours, and in such diversity’ of shades and figures, as it is not in the power of the finest pencil’ on earth to emulate Who formed the sun of such a determinate size, and placed it at such a convenient distance, as not to scorch or annoy, but to cherish all things with his genial heat For a succession of ages he never failed to rise at his appointed time,, or to send out the dawn as his forerunner, to proclaim his approach. By whose skilful hand is it directed, in its diurnal and annual course, to give us the grateful vicissitude of night and day, and the regular succession of the seasons That it should always proceed in the same path, and never once step aside: that it should go on, in a space where there is nothing to obstruct, but turn at a determinate point: that the moon should supply the absence of the sun, and re move the horror of the night: that it should regulate the flux and reflux of the sea, thereby preserving the waters from putrefaction, anti at the same time accommodating mankind with so manifold conveniences, that all the innumerable hosts of heaven, should perform their revolutions with such exactness, as never once to fail, in a course of six thousand years, but constantly to come about in the same round to the hundredth part of a minute: this is such an incontestible proof of a Divine Architect, arid of the care and wisdom wherewith he governs the universe, as made the Roman philosopher conclude whoever imagines, that the wonderful order anti incredible constancy of the heavenly bodies and their motions, whereon “the welfare and preservation of things depend, are not governed by an intelligent being, is himself destitute of understanding. For shall we when we see an artfully contrived engine, suppose a dial or s sphere immediately acknowledge that it is the result of reason and yet, when we behold the heavens, so admirably contrived, moved with such incredible velocity, and finishing their anniversary revolutions, with such unerring constancy, make any doubt of their being the work, not only of reason, but of an excellent, a divine reason But if from that very imperfect knowledge of astronomy which his time afforded, even the heathen could be so confident, that the heavenly bodies were framed and moved by a wise and understanding mind what would he have said, had he been acquainted with our modern discoveries Had he known the immense greatness of that part of the world which falls under our observation The exquisite regulation of the motions of the planets, without any deviation or confusion: the inexpressible nicety of adjustment, in the velocity of the earth’s annual motion; the wonderful proportion of its diurnal motion about its own axis; the densities of the planets, exactly proportioned to their distances from the sun; the admirable order of the several satellites which move round their respective planets; - the motion of the comets equally regular and periodical, with that of the other planetary bodies; and lastly, the preservation of the several planets and comets, from falling upon, or interfering with each other Certainly could argument avail, atheism would now be utterly ashamed to show its bead, and forced to acknowledge, that it was an eternal and almighty Being, it was God alone, who gave to each of the celestial bodies, its proper magnitude and measure of beats its dueness of distance, and regularity of motion: or in the language of the prophet, “who established the world by his wisdom, and stretched out the heavens by his understanding.” If from the firmament we descend to the orb on which we dwell. what a glorious proof have we of the Divine Wisdom, in this intermediate expansion of the air, which is so wonderfully contrived, to answer so many important ends at once It receives and supports clouds to water the earth It affords us winds, for health, for pleasure, for a thousand conveniences : by its spring, it ministers to the respiration of animals, by its motion to the conveyance of sounds, and by its transparency, to the transmission of light, from one end of heaven to the other. Whose power made so thin and fluid an element, a safe repository for thunder and lightning By whose command, and out of whose treasuries, are these dreadful, yet useful meteors sent forth to purify the air which would otherwise stagnate and consume the vapours that would otherwise breed various diseases By what skilful hand are those immense quantities of water, which are Continually drawn from the sea, by a natural distillation made fresh, sent forth upon the wings of the wind, into the most distant countries, and distributed in showers over the face of the earth Whose power and wisdom was it that hanged the earth upon nothing and gave it a spherical figure, the most commodious which could be devised, both for the consistency of its parts, and the velocity of its motion Who was it that “weighed the mountains in scales, and the hills in a balance,” and disposed them in their most proper places, both for fruitfulness and health Who diversified the climates of the earth, into such an agreeable variety, that, remote as they are from each other, each has his proper seasons, day and night, winter and summer Who was it that clothed the face of it with plants and flowers, so exqusitely adorned with various and inimitable beauties ! That placed the plant in the seed, in such elegant complications, as afford at once both a pleasing and an astonishing spectacle That painted and perfumed the flowers, that gave them the sweet odours which they diffuse through the air for our delight, and with one and’ the same water dyed them into different colours, surpassing the imitation, nay, and the comprehension of mankind For can the wisest of men tell, "Why does one climate and one soil endue The blushing poppy with a crimson hue, Yet leave the lily pale, and tinge the violet blue.” Who replenished the earth, the water, the air with such an infinite variety of living creatures, and so formed, that of the innumerable particulars wherein each creature differs from all others, every one is found upon examination, to have its singular beauty and peculiar use Some walk, some creep, some fly, some swim. But every one has all its members and its various organs accurately fitted for its peculiar motions. In short, the stateliness of the horse, and the feathers of the swan, the largeness of the elephant, and the smallness of the mite, are to a considerate mind equal demonstration of an infinite wisdom and power. Nay, rather the smaller the creature is, the more amazing is the workmanship. When in the mite, for instance, we see a head, a body, legs and feet, all as well proportioned as those of an elephant, and consider withal that in every part of this living atom, there are muscles, nerves, veins, arteries, and blood, every particle of which blood is composed of various other particles: when we consider all this, can we help being lost in wonder and astonishment!.. Can we refrain from crying out, on this account also, “0 the depth of the riches both of the wisdom, and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his works, and his ways” of creation and providence “ past finding out !“ Natural instinct another thing in animals, no less wonderful than their frame: and is indeed nothing else than the. direction of an All-Wise and All-Powerful mind. What else teaches birds to build their nests hard or soft, according to the constitution of their young What else makes them keep so constantly in their nest, during the time of incubation, as if they knew the efficacy of their own warmth, and its aptness for animation What else causes the salmon every year to come up a river, perhaps hundreds of miles, to cast its spawn, and secure it in banks of sand, till the young ones are excluded To go no farther, can we behold the spider’s net, the silk worm’s web, the bees’ cells, or the ants’ granaries, without being forced to acknowledge the Infinite Wisdom, which directs their unerring steps, and has made them fit to be an emblem of art, industry, and frugality to mankind If from the earth and the creatures that live upon it, we cast our eyes upon the water, we soon perceive that had it been more or less rarefied, it had not been so proper for the use of man. And who gave it that just configuration of parts and exact degree of motion, which makes it so fluent, and yet so strong as to carry, and waft away the most enormous burdens Who has instructed the rivers to run in so many winding streams, through the vast tracts of land, in order to water them the more plentifully Then to disembogue themselves into the ocean, so making it the common centre of commerce: and thence to return through the earth and air, to their fountain heads, in one perpetual circulation Who replenished these rivers with fish of all kinds, which glide through the limpid streams, and run heedlessly into the fisher’s net, for the entertainment of men The great and wide sea is a very awful and stupendous work of God. Whose hands make it ebb and flow with such exactness A little more or less motion in the fluid mass, would disorder all nature, and a small increase of a tide, might ruin whole kingdoms. Who then was so wise as to take exact measures of those immense bodies, and who so strong as to rule at pleasure the rage of that furious element “He who bath placed the sand for the bound of these, by a perpetual decree that it cannot pass. So that though the waves thereof toss themselves, they cannot prevail, though they roar, they cannot pass over it.” If from the world itself we turn our eyes more particularly on man, whom it bath pleased the Lord of all to appoint for its principal inhabitant, no understanding surely can be so low, no heart so stupid and insensible, as not plainly to see, that nothing but Infinite Wisdom. could in so wonderful a manner have fashioned his body, and breathed into it a reasonable soul, “whereby he teacheth us more than the beasts of the field, and maketh us wiser than the fowls of heaven.” Should any of us see a lump of clay rise immediately from the ground, into the complete figure of a man full of beauty and Symmetry, and endowed with all the powers and faculties, which we perceive in ourselves, yea., and that in a more eminent degree of perfection, than any of the present children of men : should we presently after observe him perform all the offices of life, sense and reason : move as gracefully, talk as eloquently, reason as justly, and discharge every branch of duty, with as much accuracy as the most accomplished man breathing, how great must be our astonishment! Now this was the very case in that moment when God created man upon the earth. But to impress this in a more lively manner upon the mind, let us suppose the figure, above mentioned, rises by degrees, and is finished part by part in some succession of time. When the whole is completed, the veins and arteries bored, the sinews and tendons laid, the joints fitted, the blood and juices lodged in the vessels prepared for them, God infuses into it a vital principle. The image moves, it walks, it speaks. Were we to see all this transacted before our eyes, we could not but be astonished ! A consideration of this made David break out into that rapturous acknowledgment, “I will give thee thanks for I am fearfully and wonderfully made! Marvellous are thy works, and that my soul knoweth right well. Thine eyes did see my substance yet being imperfect, and in thy book were all my members written.” Thus which way soever we turn our eyes, whether we look upward or downward, without us, or within us, upon the animate or inanimate parts of the creation, we find abundant reason to say, “0 Lord, how manifold are thy works ! In wisdom hast thou made them all.” Let us observe a little farther the terraqueous globe. How admirably are all things thereon chained together, that they may all aim at the ultimate end, which God proposed in all his works! And how vast. a number of intermediate ends are subservient to this! To perpetuate the established course of nature, in a continued series, the Divine Wisdom has thought fit, that all living creatures should constantly be employed in producing individuals ; that all natural things should lend helping hand toward preserving every species ; and lastly, that the destruction of one thing should always conduce to the production of another. This globe contains what are called the three kingdoms of nature the fossil, vegetable, and animal. The fossil constitutes the crust of the earth, lying beneath the visible surface. The vegetable adorns the face of the globe, and draws much of its nourishment from the fossil kingdom. The animal is almost wholly sustained by the vegetable kingdom. If we go deeper into the earth, the rule which generally obtains with regard to the strata thereof is this ; the upper part consists of ragstone, the next of slate, the third of marble, filled with petrefactions, the fourth of slate again, and lastly, the lowest which we are able to discover, of freestone. That the sea once overspread a Jar greater part of the earth, thanit does at present, we learn not only from geographers, but from its yearly decrease, observable in many places: partly occasioned bythe vast quantities of shells and all kinds of rubbish, which the tides continually leave on the shores. Hence most shores are usually full of wreck, of dead, testaceous animals, of stones, dirt or sand of various kinds, and heaps of other things. Rivers likewise; especially those which have a rapid stream, wear away whatever they touch, particularly soft and friable earth, which they carry and deposit on distant, winding shores : whence it is certain the sea continually subsides, and the land gains no small increase. Water retained in low grounds occasions marshes. But what a wonderful provision has nature made, that many of these, even without the help of man, shall again become firm ground More and more mossy tumps are seen therein. Some of these are brought dawn by the water, from the higher grounds adjoining, and others are produced by putrefying plants. Thus the marsh is dried up, and new meadows arise. And this is done in a shorter time, whenever the sphaguum, a kind of moss, has laid the foundation. For this, in process of time, changes into a porous kind of mould, till almost all the marsh is filled with it. After this the rush begins to strike root, and together with the cotton-grass, constitutes a turf, wherein the roots get continually higher, and thus lay a firm foundation for other plants, till the whole marsh is covered with herbs and grass, and becomes a pleasant and fruitful meadow, I shall add only one reflection more, with regard to the scale of beings. As the microscope discovers almost every drop of water, every blade of grass, every leaf, flower, and grain of earth, to he swarming with inhabitants: a thinking mind is naturally led to consider that part of the scale of beings, which descends lower and lower from himself, to the lowest of all sensitive creatures. Among these some are so little above dead matter, that it is hard to determine whether they live or no. Others that are lifted one step higher. have no sense beside feeling and taste. Some again have the additional one of hearing: others of smell, and others of sight. It is wonderful to observe, by what a gradual progression the world of life advances, through an immense variety of species, before a creature is found, that is complete in all its senses. And among these there are so many different degrees of perfection in the senses which one animal enjoys above another, that though each sense in different animals, comes under the same common denomination, yet it seems almost of a different nature. If, after this, we attentively consider, the inward endowments of animals, their cunning and sagacity, and what we usually comprehend under the general name of instinct, we find them rising one above another, in the same imperceptible manner, and receiving higher and higher improvements, according to the species in which they are implanted. The whole progress of nature is so gradual, that the entire chasm from a plant to man, is filled up with divers kinds of creatures, rising one above another, by so gentle an ascent, that the transitions from one species to another, are almost insensible. And time intermediate space is so well husbanded, that there is scarce a degree of perfection which does not appear in some. Now since the scale of being advances by such regular steps as high as man, is it not probable, that it still proceeds gradually upwards, through beings of a superior nature As there is an infinitely greater space between the Supreme Being and man, than between man and the lowest insect. This thought is thus enlarged upon by Mr. Locke. “That there should be more species of intelligent creatures above us, than there are of sensible and material below us, is probable from hence, that in all the visible and corporeal world, we see no chasm, no gaps. All quite down from man, the descent is by easy steps: there is a continued series of things that in each remove differ the least that can be conceived from each other. There are fishes that have wings, and are not strangers to the airy regions. And there are birds which are inhabitants of the waters, whose blood is as cold as that of fishes, There are animals so near akin both to birds and beasts, that they are in the middle between both. Amphibious animals link the terrestrial and aquatic together. Seals live either on land or in the sea. Porpoises have the warm blood and entrails of a hog. There are’ brutes that seem to have as much knowledge and reason, as some that are called men. Again: the animal and vegetable kingdoms are so closely joined, that between the lowest of the one, and the highest of the other, there is scarce any perceptible difference. And if we go on, till we come to the lowest and most inorganical parts of matter, we shall find every where, that the several species are linked together and differ in almost insensible degrees. “Now when we consider on the other band, the infinite power and wisdom of the Creator, does it not appear highly suitable to the magnificent harmony of the universe, and the infinite goodness of the Architect, that the species of creatures should also by gentle degrees ascend upwards from us, as they gradually descend from us downwards, toward his infinite perfection, it is not necessary to creating power, that the receptacle of the soul should be a ponderous body, consisting of flesh and blood; if it consisted with Infinite Wisdom, the power which organized the human body, and ordained it a receptacle for an intelligent soul, could also prepare a body of rarer materials, which should be light as ether, and capable of traversing rarer regions, with the velocity of light. And it only betrays a feebleness of mind to suppose, that there are no more, and no other kind of intelligent beings in the universe, besides what inhabit this little globe of ours.” This reflection upon the scale of beings, is pursued at large, by one of the finest writers of the age, Mr. Bonnet of Geneva, in that beautiful work, “ The Contemplation of Nature.” When I first read this, I designed to make only some extracts from it, to be inserted under their proper heads. But upon farther consideration, I judged it would be more agreeable, as well as profitable to the reader, to give an abridgement of the whole, that the admirable chain of reasoning may be preserved, and the adorable wisdom and goodness of the great Author of nature, placed in the strongest light. ======================================================================== Source: https://sermonindex.net/books/a-compendium-of-natural-philosophy-by-john-wesley/ ========================================================================