Part Ii. Note on Silene.

The various secretions of vegetables, as of odour, fruit, gum, resin, wax, honey, seem brought about in the same manner as in the glands of animals; the tasteless moisture of the earth is converted by the hop-plant into a bitter juice; as by the caterpillar in the nut-shell the sweet kernel is converted into a bitter powder. While the power of absorption in the roots and barks of vegetables is excited into action by the fluids applied to their mouths like the lacteals and lymphatics of animals.

2. The individuals of the vegetable world may be considered as inferior or less perfect animals; a tree is a congeries of many living buds, and in this respect resembles the branches of coralline, which are a congeries of a multitude of animals. Each of these buds of a tree has its proper leaves or petals for lungs, produces its viviparous or its oviparous offspring in buds or seeds; has its own roots, which extending down the stem of the tree are interwoven with the roots of the other buds, and form the bark, which is the only living part of the stem, is annually renewed, and is superinduced upon the former bark, which then dies, and with its stagnated juices gradually hardening into wood forms the concentric circles, which we see in blocks of timber.

The following circumstances evince the individuality of the buds of trees. First, there are many trees, whose whole internal wood is perished, and yet the branches are vegete and healthy. Secondly, the fibres of the barks of trees are chiefly longitudinal, resembling roots, as is beautifully seen in those prepared barks, that were lately brought from Otaheita. Thirdly, in horizontal wounds of the bark of trees, the fibres of the upper lip are always elongated downwards like roots, but those of the lower lip do not approach to meet them. Fourthly, if you wrap wet moss round any joint of a vine, or cover it with moist earth, roots will shoot out from it. Fifthly, by the inoculation or engrafting of trees many fruits are produced from one stem. Sixthly, a new tree is produced from a branch plucked from an old one, and set in the ground. Whence it appears that the buds of deciduous trees are so many annual plants, that the bark is a contexture of the roots of each individual bud; and that the internal wood is of no other use but to support them in the air, and that thus they resemble the animal world in their individuality.

The irritability of plants, like that of animals, appears liable to be increased or decreased by habit; for those trees or shrubs, which are brought from a colder climate to a warmer, put out their leaves and blossoms a fortnight sooner than the indigenous ones.

Professor Kalm, in his Travels in New York, observes that the apple-trees brought from England blossom a fortnight sooner than the native ones. In our country the shrubs, that are brought a degree or two from the north, are observed to flourish better than those, which come from the south. The Siberian barley and cabbage are said to grow larger in this climate than the similar more southern vegetables. And our hoards of roots, as of potatoes and onions, germinate with less heat in spring, after they have been accustomed to the winter's cold, than in autumn after the summer's heat.

II. The stamens and pistils of flowers shew evident marks of sensibility, not only from many of the stamens and some pistils approaching towards each other at the season of impregnation, but from many of them closing their petals and calyxes during the cold parts of the day. For this cannot be ascribed to irritation, because cold means a defect of the stimulus of heat; but as the want of accustomed stimuli produces pain, as in coldness, hunger, and thirst of animals, these motions of vegetables in closing up their flowers must be ascribed to the disgreeable sensation, and not to the irritation of cold. Others close up their leaves during darkness, which, like the former, cannot be owing to irritation, as the irritating material is withdrawn.

The approach of the anthers in many flowers to the stigmas, and of the pistils of some flowers to the anthers, must be ascribed to the passion of love, and hence belongs to sensation, not to irritation.

III. That the vegetable world possesses some degree of voluntary powers, appears from their necessity to sleep, which we have shewn in Sect. XVIII. to consist in the temporary abolition of voluntary power. This voluntary power seems to be exerted in the circular movement of the tendrils of vines, and other climbing vegetables; or in the efforts to turn the upper surface of their leaves, or their flowers to the light.

IV. The associations of fibrous motions are observable in the vegetable world, as well as in the animal. The divisions of the leaves of the sensitive plant have been accustomed to contract at the same time from the absence of light; hence if by any other circumstance, as a slight stroke or injury, one division is irritated into contraction, the neighbouring ones contract also, from their motions being associated with those of the irritated part. So the various stamina of the class of syngenesia have been accustomed to contract together in the evening, and thence if you stimulate one of them with a pin, according to the experiment of M. Colvolo, they all contract from their acquired associations.

To evince that the collapsing of the sensitive plant is not owing to any mechanical vibrations propagated along the whole branch, when a single leaf is struck with the finger, a leaf of it was slit with sharp scissors, and some seconds of time passed before the plant seemed sensible of the injury; and then the whole branch collapsed as far as the principal stem: this experiment was repeated several times with the least possible impulse to the plant.

V. 1. For the numerous circumstances in which vegetable buds are analogous to animals, the reader is referred to the additional notes at the end of the Botanic Garden, Part I. It is there shewn, that the roots of vegetables resemble the lacteal system of animals; the sap-vessels in the early spring, before their leaves expand, are analogous to the placental vessels of the foetus; that the leaves of land-plants resemble lungs, and those of aquatic plants the gills of fish; that there are other systems of vessels resembling the vena portarum of quadrupeds, or the aorta of fish; that the digestive power of vegetables is similar to that of animals converting the fluids, which they absorb, into sugar; that their seeds resemble the eggs of animals, and their buds and bulbs their viviparous offspring. And, lastly, that the anthers and stigmas are real animals, attached indeed to their parent tree like polypi or coral insects, but capable of spontaneous motion; that they are affected with the passion of love, and furnished with powers of reproducing their species, and are fed with honey like the moths and butterflies, which plunder their nectaries. See Botanic Garden, Part I. add. note XXXIX.

The male flowers of vallisneria approach still nearer to apparent animality, as they detach themselves from the parent plant, and float on the surface of the water to the female ones. Botanic Garden, Part II. Art. Vallisneria. Other flowers of the classes of monecia and diecia, and polygamia, discharge the fecundating farina, which floating in the air is carried to the stigma of the female flowers, and that at considerable distances. Can this be effected by any specific attraction? or, like the diffusion of the odorous particles of flowers, is it left to the currents of winds, and the accidental miscarriages of it counteracted by the quantity of its production?

2. This leads us to a curious enquiry, whether vegetables have ideas of external things? As all our ideas are originally received by our senses, the question may be changed to, whether vegetables possess any organs of sense? Certain it is, that they possess a sense of heat and cold, another of moisture and dryness, and another of light and darkness; for they close their petals occasionally from the presence of cold, moisture, or darkness. And it has been already shewn, that these actions cannot be performed simply from irritation, because cold and darkness are negative quantities, and on that account sensation or volition are implied, and in consequence a sensorium or union of their nerves. So when we go into the light, we contract the iris; not from any stimulus of the light on the fine muscles of the iris, but from its motions being associated with the sensation of too much light on the retina: which could not take place without a sensorium or center of union of the nerves of the iris with those of vision. See Botanic Garden, Part I. Canto 3. l. 440. note.

Besides these organs of sense, which distinguish cold, moisture, and darkness, the leaves of mimosa, and of dionæa, and of drosera, and the stamens of many flowers, as of the berbery, and the numerous class of syngenesia, are sensible to mechanic impact, that is, they possess a sense of touch, as well as a common sensorium; by the medium of which their muscles are excited into action. Lastly, in many flowers the anthers, when mature, approach the stigma, in others the female organ approaches to the male. In a plant of collinsonia, a branch of which is now before me, the two yellow stamens are about three eights of an inch high, and diverge from each other, at an angle of about fifteen degrees, the purple style is half an inch high, and in some flowers is now applied to the stamen on the right hand, and in others to that of the left; and will, I suppose, change place to-morrow in those, where the anthers have not yet effused their powder.

I ask, by what means are the anthers in many flowers, and stigmas in other flowers, directed to find their paramours? How do either of them know, that the other exists in their vicinity? Is this curious kind of storge produced by mechanic attraction, or by the sensation of love? The latter opinion is supported by the strongest analogy, because a reproduction of the species is the consequence; and then another organ of sense must be wanted to direct these vegetable amourettes to find each other, one probably analogous to our sense of smell, which in the animal world directs the new-born infant to its source of nourishment, and they may thus possess a faculty of perceiving as well as of producing odours.

Thus, besides a kind of taste at the extremities of their roots, similar to that of the extremities of our lacteal vessels, for the purpose of selecting their proper food: and besides different kinds of irritability residing in the various glands, which separate honey, wax, resin, and other juices from their blood; vegetable life seems to possess an organ of sense to distinguish the variations of heat, another to distinguish the varying degrees of moisture, another of light, another of touch, and probably another analogous to our sense of smell. To these must be added the indubitable evidence of their passion of love, and I think we may truly conclude, that they are furnished with a common sensorium belonging to each bud and that they must occasionally repeat those perceptions either in their dreams or waking hours, and consequently possess ideas of so many of the properties of the external world, and of their own existence.

* * * * *

SECT. XIV.

OF THE PRODUCTION OF IDEAS.

I. Of material and immaterial beings. Doctrine of St. Paul. II. 1. Of the sense of touch. Of solidity. 2. Of figure. Motion. Time. Place. Space. Number. 3. Of the penetrability of matter. 4. Spirit of animation possesses solidity, figure, visibility, &c. Of Spirits and angels. 5. The existence of external things. III. Of vision. IV. Of hearing. V. Of smell and taste. VI. Of the organ of sense by which we perceive heat and cold, not by the sense of touch. VII. Of the sense of extension, the whole of the locomotive muscles may be considered as one organ of sense. VIII. Of the senses of hunger, thirst, want of fresh air, suckling children, and lust. IX. Of many other organs of sense belonging to the glands. Of painful sensations from the excess of light, pressure, heat, itching, caustics, and electricity.

I. Philosophers have been much perplexed to understand, in what manner we become acquainted with the external world; insomuch that Dr. Berkly even doubted its existence, from having observed (as he thought) that none of our ideas resemble their correspondent objects. Mr. Hume asserts, that our belief depends on the greater distinctness or energy of our ideas from perception; and Mr. Reid has lately contended, that our belief of external objects is an innate principle necessarily joined with our perceptions.

So true is the observation of the famous Malbranch, "that our senses are not given us to discover the essences of things, but to acquaint us with the means of preserving our existence," (L. I. ch. v.) a melancholy reflection to philosophers!

Some philosophers have divided all created beings into material and immaterial: the former including all that part of being, which obeys the mechanic laws of action and reaction, but which can begin no motion of itself; the other is the cause of all motion, and is either termed the power of gravity, or of specific attraction, or the spirit of animation. This immaterial agent is supposed to exist in or with matter, but to be quite distinct from it, and to be equally capable of existence, after the matter, which now possesses it, is decomposed.

Nor is this theory ill supported by analogy, since heat, electricity, and magnetism, can be given to or taken from a piece of iron; and must therefore exist, whether separated from the metal, or combined with it. From a parity of reasoning, the spirit of animation, would appear to be capable of existing as well separately from the body as with it.

I beg to be understood, that I do not wish to dispute about words, and am ready to allow, that the powers of gravity, specific attraction, electricity, magnetism, and even the spirit of animation, may consist of matter of a finer kind; and to believe, with St. Paul and Malbranch, that the ultimate cause only of all motion is immaterial, that is God. St. Paul says, "in him we live and move, and have our being;" and, in the 15th chapter to the Corinthians, distinguishes between the psyche or living spirit, and the pneuma or reviving spirit. By the words spirit of animation or sensorial power, I mean only that animal life, which mankind possesses in common with brutes, and in some degree even with vegetables, and leave the consideration of the immortal part of us, which is the object of religion, to those who treat of revelation.

II. 1. Of the Sense of Touch.

The first idea we become acquainted with, are those of the sense of touch; for the foetus must experience some varieties of agitation, and exert some muscular action, in the womb; and may with great probability be supposed thus to gain some ideas of its own figure, of that of the uterus, and of the tenacity of the fluid, that surrounds it, (as appears from the facts mentioned in the succeeding Section upon Instinct.)

Many of the organs of sense are confined to a small part of the body, as the nostrils, ear, or eye, whilst the sense of touch is diffused over the whole skin, but exists with a more exquisite degree of delicacy at the extremities of the fingers and thumbs, and in the lips. The sense of touch is thus very commodiously disposed for the purpose of encompassing smaller bodies, and for adapting itself to the inequalities of larger ones. The figure of small bodies seems to be learnt by children by their lips as much as by their fingers; on which account they put every new object to their mouths, when they are satiated with food, as well as when they are hungry. And puppies seem to learn their ideas of figure principally by the lips in their mode of play.

We acquire our tangible ideas of objects either by the simple pressure of this organ of touch against a solid body, or by moving our organ of touch along the surface of it. In the former case we learn the length and breadth of the object by the quantity of our organ of touch, that is impressed by it: in the latter case we learn the length and breadth of objects by the continuance of their pressure on our moving organ of touch.

It is hence, that we are very slow in acquiring our tangible ideas, and very slow in recollecting them; for if I now think of the tangible idea of a cube, that is, if I think of its figure, and of the solidity of every part of that figure, I must conceive myself as passing my fingers over it, and seem in some measure to feel the idea, as I formerly did the impression, at the ends of them, and am thus very slow in distinctly recollecting it.

When a body compresses any part of our sense of touch, what happens? First, this part of our sensorium undergoes a mechanical compression, which is termed a stimulus; secondly, an idea, or contraction of a part of the organ of sense is excited; thirdly, a motion of the central parts, or of the whole sensorium, which is termed sensation, is produced; and these three constitute the perception of solidity.

2. Of Figure, Motion, Time, Place, Space, Number.

No one will deny, that the medulla of the brain and nerves has a certain figure; which, as it is diffused through nearly the whole of the body, must have nearly the figure of that body. Now it follows, that the spirit of animation, or living principle, as it occupies this medulla, and no other part, (which is evinced by a great variety of cruel experiments on living animals,) it follows, that this spirit of animation has also the same figure as the medulla above described. I appeal to common sense! the spirit of animation acts, Where does it act? It acts wherever there is the medulla above mentioned; and that whether the limb is yet joined to a living animal, or whether it be recently detached from it; as the heart of a viper or frog will renew its contractions, when pricked with a pin, for many minutes of time after its exsection from the body.--Does it act any where else?--No; then it certainly exists in this part of space, and no where else; that is, it hath figure; namely, the figure of the nervous system, which is nearly the figure of the body. When the idea of solidity is excited, as above explained, a part of the extensive organ of touch is compressed by some external body, and this part of the sensorium so compressed exactly resembles in figure the figure of the body that compressed it. Hence, when we acquire the idea of solidity, we acquire at the same time the idea of FIGURE; and this idea of figure, or motion of a part of the organ of touch, exactly resembles in its figure the figure of the body that occasions it; and thus exactly acquaints us with this property of the external world.

Now, as the whole universe with all its parts possesses a certain form or figure, if any part of it moves, that form or figure of the whole is varied: hence, as MOTION is no other than a perpetual variation of figure, our idea of motion is also a real resemblance of the motion that produced it.

It may be said in objection to this definition of motion, that an ivory globe may revolve on its axis, and that here will be a motion without change of figure. But the figure of the particle x on one side of this globe is not the same figure as the figure of y on the other side, any more than the particles themselves are the same, though they are similar figures; and hence they cannot change place with each other without disturbing or changing the figure of the whole.

Our idea of TIME is from the same source, but is more abstracted, as it includes only the comparative velocities of these variations of figure; hence if it be asked, How long was this book in printing? it may be answered, Whilst the sun was passing through Aries.

Our idea of PLACE includes only the figure of a group of bodies, not the figures of the bodies themselves. If it be asked where is Nottinghamshire, the answer is, it is surrounded by Derbyshire, Lincolnshire and Leicestershire; hence place is our idea of the figure of one body surrounded by the figures of other bodies.

The idea of SPACE is a more abstracted idea of place excluding the group of bodies.

The idea of NUMBER includes only the particular arrangements, or distributions of a group of bodies, and is therefore only a more abstracted idea of the parts of the figure of the group of bodies; thus when I say England is divided into forty counties, I only speak of certain divisions of its figure.

Hence arises the certainty of the mathematical sciences, as they explain these properties of bodies, which are exactly resembled by our ideas of them, whilst we are obliged to collect almost all our other knowledge from experiment; that is, by observing the effects exerted by one body upon another.

3. Of the Penetrability of Matter.

The impossibility of two bodies existing together in the same space cannot be deduced from our idea of solidity, or of figure. As soon as we perceive the motions of objects that surround us, and learn that we possess a power to move our own bodies, we experience, that those objects, which excite in us the idea of solidity and of figure, oppose this voluntary movement of our own organs; as whilst I endeavour to compress between my hands an ivory ball into a spheroid. And we are hence taught by experience, that our own body and those, which we touch, cannot exist in the same part of space.

But this by no means demonstrates, that no two bodies can exist together in the same part of space. Galilæo in the preface to his works seems to be of opinion, that matter is not impenetrable; Mr. Michel, and Mr. Boscowich in his Theoria. Philos. Natur. have espoused this hypothesis: which has been lately published by Dr. Priestley, to whom the world is much indebted for so many important discoveries in science. (Hist. of Light and Colours, p. 391.) The uninterrupted passage of light through transparent bodies, of the electric æther through metallic and aqueous bodies, and of the magnetic effluvia through all bodies, would seem to give some probability to this opinion. Hence it appears, that beings may exist without possessing the property of solidity, as well as they can exist without possessing the properties, which excite our smell or taste, and can thence occupy space without detruding other bodies from it; but we cannot become acquainted with such beings by our sense of touch, any more than we can with odours or flavours without our senses of smell and taste.

But that any being can exist without existing in space, is to my ideas utterly incomprehensible. My appeal is to common sense. To be implies a when and a where; the one is comparing it with the motions of other beings, and the other with their situations.

If there was but one object, as the whole creation may be considered as one object, then I cannot ask where it exists? for there are no other objects to compare its situation with. Hence if any one denies, that a being exists in space, he denies, that there are any other beings but that one; for to answer the question, "Where does it exist?" is only to mention the situation of the objects that surround it.

In the same manner if it be asked--"When does a being exist?" The answer only specifies the successive motions either of itself, or of other bodies; hence to say, a body exists not in time, is to say, that there is, or was, no motion in the world.

4. Of the Spirit of Animation.

But though there may exist beings in the universe, that have not the property of solidity; that is, which can possess any part of space, at the same time that it is occupied by other bodies; yet there may be other beings, that can assume this property of solidity, or disrobe themselves of it occasionally, as we are taught of spirits, and of angels; and it would seem, that THE SPIRIT OF ANIMATION must be endued with this property, otherwise how could it occasionally give motion to the limbs of animals?--or be itself stimulated into motion by the obtrusions of surrounding bodies, as of light, or odour?

If the spirit of animation was always necessarily penetrable, it could not influence or be influenced by the solidity of common matter; they would exist together, but could not detrude each other from the part of space, where they exist; that is, they could not communicate motion to each other. No two things can influence or affect each other, which have not some property common to both of them; for to influence or affect another body is to give or communicate some property to it, that it had not before; but how can one body give that to another, which it does not possess itself?--The words imply, that they must agree in having the power or faculty of possessing some common property. Thus if one body removes another from the part of space, that it possesses, it must have the power of occupying that space itself: and if one body communicates heat or motion to another, it follows, that they have alike the property of possessing heat or motion.

Hence the spirit of animation at the time it communicates or receives motion from solid bodies, must itself possess some property of solidity. And in consequence at the time it receives other kinds of motion from light, it must possess that property, which light possesses, to communicate that kind of motion; and for which no language has a name, unless it may be termed Visibility. And at the time it is stimulated into other kinds of animal motion by the particles of sapid and odorous bodies affecting the senses of taste and smell, it must resemble these particles of flavour, and of odour, in possessing some similar or correspondent property; and for which language has no name, unless we may use the words Saporosity and Odorosity for those common properties, which are possessed by our organs of taste and smell, and by the particles of sapid and odorous bodies; as the words Tangibility and Audibility may express the common property possessed by our organs of touch, and of hearing, and by the solid bodies, or their vibrations, which affect those organs.

5. Finally, though the figures of bodies are in truth resembled by the figure of the part of the organ of touch, which is stimulated into motion; and that organ resembles the solid body, which stimulates it, in its property of solidity; and though the sense of hearing resembles the vibrations of external bodies in its capability of being stimulated into motion by those vibrations; and though our other organs of sense resemble the bodies, that stimulate them, in their capability of being stimulated by them; and we hence become acquainted with these properties of the external world; yet as we can repeat all these motions of our organs of sense by the efforts of volition, or in consequence of the sensation of pleasure or pain, or by their association with other fibrous motions, as happens in our reveries or in sleep, there would still appear to be some difficulty in demonstrating the existence of any thing external to us.

In our dreams we cannot determine this circumstance, because our power of volition is suspended, and the stimuli of external objects are excluded; but in our waking hours we can compare our ideas belonging to one sense with those belonging to another, and can thus distinguish the ideas occasioned by irritation from those excited by sensation, volition, or association. Thus if the idea of the sweetness of sugar should be excited in our dreams, the whiteness and hardness of it occur at the same time by association; and we believe a material lump of sugar present before us. But if, in our waking hours, the idea of the sweetness of sugar occurs to us, the stimuli of surrounding objects, as the edge of the table, on which we press, or green colour of the grass, on which we tread, prevent the other ideas of the hardness and whiteness of the sugar from being exerted by association. Or if they should occur, we voluntarily compare them with the irritative ideas of the table or grass above mentioned, and detect their fallacy. We can thus distinguish the ideas caused by the stimuli of external objects from those, which are introduced by association, sensation, or volition; and during our waking hours can thus acquire a knowledge of the external world. Which nevertheless we cannot do in our dreams, because we have neither perceptions of external bodies, nor the power of volition to enable us to compare them with the ideas of imagination.

III. Of Vision.

Our eyes observe a difference of colour, or of shade, in the prominences and depressions of objects, and that those shades uniformly vary, when the sense of touch observes any variation. Hence when the retina becomes stimulated by colours or shades of light in a certain form, as in a circular spot; we know by experience, that this is a sign, that a tangible body is before us; and that its figure is resembled by the miniature figure of the part of the organ of vision, that is thus stimulated.

Here whilst the stimulated part of the retina resembles exactly the visible figure of the whole in miniature, the various kinds of stimuli from different colours mark the visible figures of the minuter parts; and by habit we instantly recall the tangible figures.

Thus when a tree is the object of sight, a part of the retina resembling a flat branching figure is stimulated by various shades of colours; but it is by suggestion, that the gibbosity of the tree, and the moss, that fringes its trunk, appear before us. These are ideas of suggestion, which we feel or attend to, associated with the motions of the retina, or irritative ideas, which we do not attend to.

So that though our visible ideas resemble in miniature the outline of the figure of coloured bodies, in other respects they serve only as a language, which by acquired associations introduce the tangible ideas of bodies. Hence it is, that this sense is so readily deceived by the art of the painter to our amusement and instruction. The reader will find much very curious knowledge on this subject in Bishop Berkley's Essay on Vision, a work of great ingenuity.

The immediate object however of the sense of vision is light; this fluid, though its velocity is so great, appears to have no perceptible mechanical impulse, as was mentioned in the third Section, but seems to stimulate the retina into animal motion by its transmission through this part of the sensorium: for though the eyes of cats or other animals appear luminous in obscure places; yet it is probable, that none of the light, which falls on the retina, is reflected from it, but adheres to or enters into combination with the choroide coat behind it.

The combination of the particles of light with opake bodies, and therefore with the choroide coat of the eye, is evinced from the heat, which is given out, as in other chemical combinations. For the sunbeams communicate no heat in their passage through transparent bodies, with which they do not combine, as the air continues cool even in the focus of the largest burning-glasses, which in a moment vitrifies a particle of opaque matter.

IV. Of the Organ of Hearing.

It is generally believed, that the tympanum of the ear vibrates mechanically, when exposed to audible sounds, like the strings of one musical instrument, when the same notes are struck upon another. Nor is this opinion improbable, as the muscles and cartilages of the larynx are employed in producing variety of tones by mechanical vibration: so the muscles and bones of the ear seem adapted to increase or diminish the tension of the tympanum for the purposes of similar mechanical vibrations.

But it appears from dissection, that the tympanum is not the immediate organ of hearing, but that like the humours and cornea of the eye, it is only of use to prepare the object for the immediate organ. For the portio mollis of the auditory nerve is not spread upon the tympanum, but upon the vestibulum, and cochlea, and semicircular canals of the ear; while between the tympanum and the expansion of the auditory nerve the cavity is said by Dr. Cotunnus and Dr. Meckel to be filled with water; as they had frequently observed by freezing the heads of dead animals before they dissected them; and water being a more dense fluid than air is much better adapted to the propagation of vibrations. We may add, that even the external opening of the ear is not absolutely necessary for the perception of sound: for some people, who from these defects would have been completely deaf, have distinguished acute or grave sounds by the tremours of a stick held between their teeth propagated along the bones of the head, (Haller. Phys. T. V. p. 295).

Hence it appears, that the immediate organ of hearing is not affected by the particles of the air themselves, but is stimulated into animal motion by the vibrations of them. And it is probable from the loose bones, which are found in the heads of some fishes, that the vibrations of water are sensible to the inhabitants of that element by a similar organ.

The motions of the atmosphere, which we become acquainted with by the sense of touch, are combined with its solidity, weight, or vis intertiæ; whereas those, that are perceived by this organ, depend alone on its elasticity. But though the vibration of the air is the immediate object of the sense of hearing, yet the ideas, we receive by this sense, like those received from light, are only as a language, which by acquired associations acquaints us with those motions of tangible bodies, which depend on their elasticity; and which we had before learned by our sense of touch.

V. Of Smell and of Taste.

The objects of smell are dissolved in the fluid atmosphere, and those of taste in the saliva, or other aqueous fluid, for the better diffusing them on their respective organs, which seem to be stimulated into animal motion perhaps by the chemical affinities of these particles, which constitute the sapidity and odorosity of bodies with the nerves of sense, which perceive them.

Mr. Volta has lately observed a curious circumstance relative to our sense of taste. If a bit of clean lead and a bit of clean silver be separately applied to the tongue and palate no taste is perceived; but by applying them in contact in respect to the parts out of the mouth, and nearly so in respect to the parts, which are immediately applied to the tongue and palate, a saline or acidulous taste is perceived, as of a fluid like a stream of electricity passing from one of them to the other. This new application of the sense of taste deserves further investigation, as it may acquaint us with new properties of matter.

From the experiments above mentioned of Galvani, Volta, Fowler, and others, it appears, that a plate of zinc and a plate of silver have greater effect than lead and silver. If one edge of a plate of silver about the size of half a crown-piece be placed upon the tongue, and one edge of a plate of zinc about the same size beneath the tongue, and if their opposite edges are then brought into contact before the point of the tongue, a taste is perceived at the moment of their coming into contact; secondly, if one of the above plates be put between the upper lip and the gum of the fore-teeth, and the other be placed under the tongue, and their exterior edges be then brought into contact in a darkish room, a flash of light is perceived in the eyes.

These effects I imagine only shew the sensibility of our nerves of sense to very small quantities of the electric fluid, as it passes through them; for I suppose these sensations are occasioned by slight electric shocks produced in the following manner. By the experiments published by Mr. Bennet, with his ingenious doubler of electricity, which is the greatest discovery made in that science since the coated jar, and the eduction of lightning from the skies, it appears that zinc was always found minus, and silver was always found plus, when both of them were in their separate state. Hence, when they are placed in the manner above described, as soon as their exterior edges come nearly into contact, so near as to have an extremely thin plate of air between them, that plate of air becomes charged in the same manner as a plate of coated glass; and is at the same instant discharged through the nerves of taste or of sight, and gives the sensations, as above described, of light or of saporocity; and only shews the great sensibility of these organs of sense to the stimulus of the electric fluid in suddenly passing through them.

VI. Of the Sense of Heat.

There are many experiments in chemical writers, that evince the existence of heat as a fluid element, which covers and pervades all bodies, and is attracted by the solutions of some of them, and is detruded from the combination of others. Thus from the combinations of metals with acids, and from those combinations of animal fluids, which are termed secretions, this fluid matter of heat is given out amongst the neighbouring bodies; and in the solutions of salts in water, or of water in air, it is absorbed from the bodies, that surround them; whilst in its facility in passing through metallic bodies, and its difficulty in pervading resins and glass, it resembles the properties of the electric aura; and is like that excited by friction, and seems like that to gravitate amongst other bodies in its uncombined state, and to find its equilibrium.

There is no circumstance of more consequence in the animal economy than a due proportion of this fluid of heat; for the digestion of our nutriment in the stomach and bowels, and the proper qualities of all our secreted fluids, as they are produced or prepared partly by animal and partly by chemical processes, depend much on the quantity of heat; the excess of which, or its deficiency, alike gives us pain, and induces us to avoid the circumstances that occasion them. And in this the perception of heat essentially differs from the perceptions of the sense of touch, as we receive pain from too great pressure of solid bodies, but none from the absence of it. It is hence probable, that nature has provided us with a set of nerves for the perception of this fluid, which anatomists have not yet attended to.

There may be some difficulty in the proof of this assertion; if we look at a hot fire, we experience no pain of the optic nerve, though the heat along with the light must be concentrated upon it. Nor does warm water or warm oil poured into the ear give pain to the organ of hearing; and hence as these organs of sense do not perceive small excesses or deficiences of heat; and as heat has no greater analogy to the solidity or to the figures of bodies, than it has to their colours or vibrations; there seems no sufficient reason for our ascribing the perception of heat and cold to the sense of touch; to which it has generally been attributed, either because it is diffused beneath the whole skin like the sense of touch, or owing to the inaccuracy of our observations, or the defect of our languages.

There is another circumstance would induce us to believe, that the perceptions of heat and cold do not belong to the organ of touch; since the teeth, which are the least adapted for the perceptions of solidity or figure, are the most sensible to heat or cold; whence we are forewarned from swallowing those materials, whose degree of coldness or of heat would injure our stomachs.

The following is an extract from a letter of Dr. R.W. Darwin, of Shrewsbury, when he was a student at Edinburgh. "I made an experiment yesterday in our hospital, which much favours your opinion, that the sensation of heat and of touch depend on different sets of nerves. A man who had lately recovered from a fever, and was still weak, was seized with violent cramps in his legs and feet; which were removed by opiates, except that one of his feet remained insensible. Mr. Ewart pricked him with a pin in five or six places, and the patient declared he did not feel it in the least, nor was he sensible of a very smart pinch. I then held a red-hot poker at some distance, and brought it gradually nearer till it came within three inches, when he asserted that he felt it quite distinctly. I suppose some violent irritation on the nerves of touch had caused the cramps, and had left them paralytic; while the nerves of heat, having suffered no increased stimulus, retained their irritability."

Add to this, that the lungs, though easily stimulated into inflammation, are not sensible to heat. See Class. III. 1. 1. 10.

VII. Of the Sense of Extension.

The organ of touch is properly the sense of pressure, but the muscular fibres themselves constitute the organ of sense, that feels extension. The sense of pressure is always attended with the ideas of the figure and solidity of the object, neither of which accompany our perception of extension. The whole set of muscles, whether they are hollow ones, as the heart, arteries, and intestines, or longitudinal ones attached to bones, contract themselves, whenever they are stimulated by forcible elongation; and it is observable, that the white muscles, which constitute the arterial system, seem to be excited into contraction from no other kinds of stimulus, according to the experiments of Haller. And hence the violent pain in some inflammations, as in the paronychia, obtains immediate relief by cutting the membrane, that was stretched by the tumour of the subjacent parts.

Hence the whole muscular system may be considered as one organ of sense, and the various attitudes of the body, as ideas belonging to this organ, of many of which we are hourly conscious, while many others, like the irritative ideas of the other senses, are performed without our attention.

When the muscles of the heart cease to act, the refluent blood again distends or elongates them; and thus irritated they contract as before. The same happens to the arterial system, and I suppose to the capillaries, intestines, and various glands of the body.

When the quantity of urine, or of excrement, distends the bladder, or rectum, those parts contract, and exclude their contents, and many other muscles by association act along with them; but if these evacuations are not soon complied with, pain is produced by a little further extension of the muscular fibres: a similar pain is caused in the muscles, when a limb is much extended for the reduction of dislocated bones; and in the punishment of the rack: and in the painful cramps of the calf of the leg, or of other muscles, for a greater degree of contraction of a muscle, than the movement of the two bones, to which its ends are affixed, will admit of, must give similar pain to that, which is produced by extending it beyond its due length. And the pain from punctures or incisions arises from the distention of the fibres, as the knife passes through them; for it nearly ceases as soon as the division is completed.

All these motions of the muscles, that are thus naturally excited by the stimulus of distending bodies, are also liable to be called into strong action by their catenation, with the irritations or sensations produced by the momentum of the progressive particles of blood in the arteries, as in inflammatory fevers, or by acrid substances on other sensible organs, as in the strangury, or tenesmus, or cholera.

We shall conclude this account of the sense of extension by observing, that the want of its object is attended with a disagreeable sensation, as well as the excess of it. In those hollow muscles, which have been accustomed to it, this disagreeable sensation is called faintness, emptiness, and sinking; and, when it arises to a certain degree, is attended with syncope, or a total quiescence of all motions, but the internal irritative ones, as happens from sudden loss of blood, or in the operation of tapping in the dropsy.

VIII. Of the Appetites of Hunger, Thirst, Heat, Extension, the want of fresh Air, animal Love, and the Suckling of Children.

Hunger is most probably perceived by those numerous ramifications of nerves that are seen about the upper opening of the stomach; and thirst by the nerves about the fauces, and the top of the gula. The ideas of these senses are few in the generality of mankind, but are more numerous in those, who by disease, or indulgence, desire particular kinds of foods or liquids.

A sense of heat has already been spoken of, which may with propriety be called an appetite, as we painfully desire it, when it is deficient in quantity.

The sense of extension may be ranked amongst these appetites, since the deficiency of its object gives disagreeable sensation; when this happens in the arterial system, it is called faintness, and seems to bear some analogy to hunger and to cold; which like it are attended with emptiness of a part of the vascular system.

The sense of want of fresh air has not been attended to, but is as distinct as the others, and the first perhaps that we experience after our nativity; from the want of the object of this sense many diseases are produced, as the jail-fever, plague, and other epidemic maladies. Animal love is another appetite, which occurs later in life, and the females of lactiferous animals have another natural inlet of pleasure or pain from the suckling their offspring. The want of which either owing to the death of their progeny, or to the fashion of their country, has been fatal to many of the sex. The males have also pectoral glands, which are frequently turgid with a thin milk at their nativity, and are furnished with nipples, which erect on titillation like those of the female; but which seem now to be of no further use, owing perhaps to some change which these animals have undergone in the gradual progression of the formation of the earth, and of all that it inhabit.

These seven last mentioned senses may properly be termed appetites, as they differ from those of touch, sight, hearing, taste, and smell, in this respect; that they are affected with pain as well by the defect of their objects as by the excess of them, which is not so in the latter. Thus cold and hunger give us pain, as well as an excess of heat or satiety; but it is not so with darkness and silence.

IX. Before we conclude this Section on the organs of sense, we must observe, that, as far as we know, there are many more senses, than have been here mentioned, as every gland seems to be influenced to separate from the blood, or to absorb from the cavities of the body, or from the atmosphere, its appropriated fluid, by the stimulus of that fluid on the living gland; and not by mechanical capillary absorption, nor by chemical affinity. Hence it appears, that each of these glands must have a peculiar organ to perceive these irritations, but as these irritations are not succeeded by sensation, they have not acquired the names of senses.

However when these glands are excited into motions stronger than usual, either by the acrimony of their fluids, or by their own irritability being much increased, then the sensation of pain is produced in them as in all the other senses of the body; and these pains are all of different kinds, and hence the glands at this time really become each a different organ of sense, though these different kinds of pain have acquired no names.

Thus a great excess of light does not give the idea of light but of pain; as in forcibly opening the eye when it is much inflamed. The great excess of pressure or distention, as when the point of a pin is pressed upon our skin, produces pain, (and when this pain of the sense of distention is slighter, it is termed itching, or tickling), without any idea of solidity or of figure: an excess of heat produces smarting, of cold another kind of pain; it is probable by this sense of heat the pain produced by caustic bodies is perceived, and of electricity, as all these are fluids, that permeate, distend, or decompose the parts that feel them.

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SECT. XV.

OF THE CLASSES OF IDEAS.

I. 1. Ideas received in tribes. 2. We combine them further, or abstract from these tribes. 3. Complex ideas. 4. Compounded ideas. 5. Simple ideas, modes, substances, relations, general ideas. 6. Ideas of reflexion. 7. Memory and imagination imperfectly defined. Ideal presence. Memorandum-rings. II. 1. Irritative ideas. Perception. 2. Sensitive ideas, imagination. 3. Voluntary ideas, recollection. 4. Associated ideas, suggestion. III. 1. Definitions of perception, memory. 2. Reasoning, judgment, doubting, distinguishing, comparing. 3. Invention. 4. Consciousness. 5. Identity. 6. Lapse of time. 7. Free-will.

I. 1. As the constituent elements of the material world are only perceptible to our organs of sense in a state of combination; it follows, that the ideas or sensual motions excited by them, are never received singly, but ever with a greater or less degree of combination. So the colours of bodies or their hardnesses occur with their figures: every smell and taste has its degree of pungency as well as its peculiar flavour: and each note in music is combined with the tone of some instrument. It appears from hence, that we can be sensible of a number of ideas at the same time, such as the whiteness, hardness, and coldness, of a snow-ball, and can experience at the same time many irritative ideas of surrounding bodies, which we do not attend to, as mentioned in Section VII. 3. 2. But those ideas which belong to the same sense, seem to be more easily combined into synchronous tribes, than those which were not received by the same sense, as we can more easily think of the whiteness and figure of a lump of sugar at the same time, than the whiteness and sweetness of it.

2. As these ideas, or sensual motions, are thus excited with greater or less degrees of combination; so we have a power, when we repeat them either by our volition or sensation, to increase or diminish this degree of combination, that is, to form compounded ideas from those, which were more simple; and abstract ones from those, which were more complex, when they were first excited; that is, we can repeat a part or the whole of those sensual motions, which did constitute our ideas of perception; and the repetition of which now constitutes our ideas of recollection, or of imagination.

3. Those ideas, which we repeat without change of the quantity of that combination, with which we first received them, are called complex ideas, as when you recollect Westminster Abbey, or the planet Saturn: but it must be observed, that these complex ideas, thus re-excited by volition, sensation, or association, are seldom perfect copies of their correspondent perceptions, except in our dreams, where other external objects do not detract our attention.

4. Those ideas, which are more complex than the natural objects that first excited them, have been called compounded ideas, as when we think of a sphinx, or griffin.

5. And those that are less complex than the correspondent natural objects, have been termed abstracted ideas: thus sweetness, and whiteness, and solidity, are received at the same time from a lump of sugar, yet I can recollect any of these qualities without thinking of the others, that were excited along with them.

When ideas are so far abstracted as in the above example, they have been termed simple by the writers of metaphysics, and seem indeed to be more complete repetitions of the ideas or sensual motions, originally excited by external objects.

Other classes of these ideas, where the abstraction has not been so great, have been termed, by Mr. Locke, modes, substances, and relations, but they seem only to differ in their degree of abstraction from the complex ideas that were at first excited; for as these complex or natural ideas are themselves imperfect copies of their correspondent perceptions, so these abstract or general ideas are only still more imperfect copies of the same perceptions. Thus when I have seen an object but once, as a rhinoceros, my abstract idea of this animal is the same as my complex one. I may think more or less distinctly of a rhinoceros, but it is the very rhinoceros that I saw, or some part or property of him, which recurs to my mind.

But when any class of complex objects becomes the subject of conversation, of which I have seen many individuals, as a castle or an army, some property or circumstance belonging to it is peculiarly alluded to; and then I feel in my own mind, that my abstract idea of this complex object is only an idea of that part, property, or attitude of it, that employs the present conversation, and varies with every sentence that is spoken concerning it. So if any one should say, "one may sit upon a horse safer than on a camel," my abstract idea of the two animals includes only an outline of the level back of the one, and the gibbosity on the back of the other. What noise is that in the street?--Some horses trotting over the pavement. Here my idea of the horses includes principally the shape and motion of their legs. So also the abstract ideas of goodness and courage are still more imperfect representations of the objects they were received from; for here we abstract the material parts, and recollect only the qualities.

Thus we abstract so much from some of our complex ideas, that at length it becomes difficult to determine of what perception they partake; and in many instances our idea seems to be no other than of the sound or letters of the word, that stands for the collective tribe, of which we are said to have an abstracted idea, as noun, verb, chimæra, apparition.

6. Ideas have been divided into those of perception and those of reflection, but as whatever is perceived must be external to the organ that perceives it, all our ideas must originally be ideas of perception.

7. Others have divided our ideas into those of memory, and those of imagination; they have said that a recollection of ideas in the order they were received constitutes memory, and without that order imagination; but all the ideas of imagination, excepting the few that are termed simple ideas, are parts of trains or tribes in the order they were received; as if I think of a sphinx, or a griffin, the fair face, bosom, wings, claws, tail, are all complex ideas in the order they were received: and it behoves the writers, who adhere to this definition, to determine, how small the trains must be, that shall be called imagination; and how great those, that shall be called memory.

Others have thought that the ideas of memory have a greater vivacity than those of imagination: but the ideas of a person in sleep, or in a waking reverie, where the trains connected with sensation are uninterrupted, are more vivid and distinct than those of memory, so that they cannot be distinguished by this criterion.

The very ingenious author of the Elements of Criticism has described what he conceives to be a species of memory, and calls it ideal presence; but the instances he produces are the reveries of sensation, and are therefore in truth connections of the imagination, though they are recalled in the order they were received.

The ideas connected by association are in common discourse attributed to memory, as we talk of memorandum-rings, and tie a knot on our handkerchiefs to bring something into our minds at a distance of time. And a school-boy, who can repeat a thousand unmeaning lines in Lilly's Grammar, is said to have a good memory. But these have been already shewn to belong to the class of association; and are termed ideas of suggestion.

II. Lastly, the method already explained of classing ideas into those excited by irritation, sensation, volition, or association, we hope will be found more convenient both for explaining the operations of the mind, and for comparing them with those of the body; and for the illustration and the cure of the diseases of both, and which we shall here recapitulate.

1. Irritative ideas are those, which are preceded by irritation, which is excited by objects external to the organs of sense: as the idea of that tree, which either I attend to, or which I shun in walking near it without attention. In the former case it is termed perception, in the latter it is termed simply an irritative idea.

2. Sensitive ideas are those, which are preceded by the sensation of pleasure or pain; as the ideas, which constitute our dreams or reveries, this is called imagination.

3. Voluntary ideas are those, which are preceded by voluntary exertion, as when I repeat the alphabet backwards: this is called recollection.

4. Associate ideas are those, which are preceded by other ideas or muscular motions, as when we think over or repeat the alphabet by rote in its usual order; or sing a tune we are accustomed to; this is called suggestion.

III. 1. Perceptions signify those ideas, which are preceded by irritation and succeeded by the sensation of pleasure or pain, for whatever excites our attention interests us; that is, it is accompanied with, pleasure or pain; however slight may be the degree or quantity of either of them.

The word memory includes two classes of ideas, either those which, are preceded by voluntary exertion, or those which are suggested by their associations with other ideas.

2. Reasoning is that operation of the sensorium, by which we excite two or many tribes of ideas; and then re-excite the ideas, in which they differ, or correspond. If we determine this difference, it is called judgment; if we in vain endeavour to determine it, it is called doubting.

If we re-excited the ideas, in which they differ, it is called distinguishing. If we re-excite those in which they correspond, it is called comparing.

3. Invention is an operation of the sensorium, by which we voluntarily continue to excite one train of ideas, suppose the design of raising water by a machine; and at the same time attend to all other ideas, which are connected with this by every kind of catenation; and combine or separate them voluntarily for the purpose of obtaining some end.

For we can create nothing new, we can only combine or separate the ideas, which we have already received by our perceptions: thus if I wish to represent a monster, I call to my mind the ideas of every thing disagreeable and horrible, and combine the nastiness and gluttony of a hog, the stupidity and obstinacy of an ass, with the fur and awkwardness of a bear, and call the new combination Caliban. Yet such a monster may exist in nature, as all his attributes are parts of nature. So when I wish to represent every thing, that is excellent, and amiable; when I combine benevolence with cheerfulness, wisdom, knowledge, taste, wit, beauty of person, and elegance of manners, and associate them in one lady as a pattern to the world, it is called invention; yet such a person may exist,--such a person does exist!--It is ---- ----, who is as much a monster as Caliban.

4. In respect to consciousness, we are only conscious of our existence, when we think about it; as we only perceive the lapse of time, when we attend to it; when we are busied about other objects, neither the lapse of time nor the consciousness of our own existence can occupy our attention. Hence, when we think of our own existence, we only excite abstracted or reflex ideas (as they are termed), of our principal pleasures or pains, of our desires or aversions, or of the figure, solidity, colour, or other properties of our bodies, and call that act of the sensorium a consciousness of our existence. Some philosopher, I believe it is Des Cartes, has said, "I think, therefore I exist." But this is not right reasoning, because thinking is a mode of existence; and it is thence only saying, "I exist, therefore I exist." For there are three modes of existence, or in the language of grammarians three kinds of verbs. First, simply I am, or exist. Secondly, I am acting, or exist in a state of activity, as I move. Thirdly, I am suffering, or exist in a state of being acted upon, as I am moved. The when, and the where, as applicable to this existence, depends on the successive motions of our own or of other bodies; and on their respective situations, as spoken of Sect. XIV. 2. 5.

5. Our identity is known by our acquired habits or catenated trains of ideas and muscular motions; and perhaps, when we compare infancy with old age, in those alone can our identity be supposed to exist. For what else is there of similitude between the first speck of living entity and the mature man?--every deduction of reasoning, every sentiment or passion, with every fibre of the corporeal part of our system, has been subject almost to annual mutation; while some catenations alone of our ideas and muscular actions have continued in part unchanged.

By the facility, with which we can in our waking hours voluntarily produce certain successive trains of ideas, we know by experience, that we have before reproduced them; that is, we are conscious of a time of our existence previous to the present time; that is, of our identity now and heretofore. It is these habits of action, these catenations of ideas and muscular motions, which begin with life, and only terminate with it; and which we can in some measure deliver to our posterity; as explained in Sect. XXXIX.

6. When the progressive motions of external bodies make a part of our present catenation of ideas, we attend to the lapse of time; which appears the longer, the more frequently we thus attend to it; as when we expect something at a certain hour, which much interests us, whether it be an agreeable or disagreeable event; or when we count the passing seconds on a stop-watch.

When an idea of our own person, or a reflex idea of our pleasures and pains, desires and aversions, makes a part of this catenation, it is termed consciousness; and if this idea of consciousness makes a part of a catenation, which we excite by recollection, and know by the facility with which we excite it, that we have before experienced it, it is called identity, as explained above.

7. In respect to freewill, it is certain, that we cannot will to think of a new train of ideas, without previously thinking of the first link of it; as I cannot will to think of a black swan, without previously thinking of a black swan. But if I now think of a tail, I can voluntarily recollect all animals, which have tails; my will is so far free, that I can pursue the ideas linked to this idea of tail, as far as my knowledge of the subject extends; but to will without motive is to will without desire or aversion; which is as absurd as to feel without pleasure or pain; they are both solecisms in the terms. So far are we governed by the catenations of motions, which affect both the body and the mind of man, and which begin with our irritability, and end with it.

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SECT. XVI.

OF INSTINCT.

Haud equidem credo, quia sit divinitus illis Ingenium, aut rerum fato prudentia major.--Virg. Georg. L. I. 415.

I. Instinctive actions defined. Of connate passions. II. Of the sensations and motions of the foetus in the womb. III. Some animals are more perfectly formed than others before nativity. Of learning to walk. IV. Of the swallowing, breathing, sucking, pecking, and lapping of young animals. V. Of the sense of smell, and its uses to animals. Why cats do not eat their kittens. VI. Of the accuracy of sight in mankind, and their sense of beauty. Of the sense of touch in elephants, monkies, beavers, men. VII. Of natural language. VIII. The origin of natural language; 1. the language of fear; 2. of grief; 3. of tender pleasure; 4. of serene pleasure; 5. of anger; 6. of attention. IX. Artificial language of turkies, hens, ducklings, wagtails, cuckoos, rabbits, dogs, and nightingales. X. Of music; of tooth-edge; of a good ear; of architecture. XI. Of acquired knowledge; of foxes, rooks, fieldfares, lapwings, dogs, cats, horses, crows, and pelicans. XII. Of birds of passage, dormice, snakes, bats, swallows, quails, ringdoves, stare, chaffinch, hoopoe, chatterer, hawfinch, crossbill, rails and cranes. XIII. Of birds nests; of the cuckoo; of swallows nests; of the taylor bird. XIV. Of the old soldier; of haddocks, cods, and dog fish; of the remora; of crabs, herrings, and salmon. XV. Of spiders, caterpillars, ants, and the ichneumon. XVI. 1. Of locusts, gnats; 2. bees; 3. dormice, flies, worms, ants, and wasps. XVII. Of the faculty that distinguishes man from the brutes.

I. All those internal motions of animal bodies, which contribute to digest their aliment, produce their secretions, repair their injuries, or increase their growth, are performed without our attention or consciousness. They exist as well in our sleep, as in our waking hours, as well in the foetus during the time of gestation, as in the infant after nativity, and proceed with equal regularity in the vegetable as in the animal system. These motions have been shewn in a former part of this work to depend on the irritations of peculiar fluids, and as they have never been classed amongst the instinctive actions of animals, are precluded from our present disquisition.

But all those actions of men or animals, that are attended with consciousness, and seem neither to have been directed by their appetites, taught by their experience, nor deduced from observation or tradition, have been referred to the power of instinct. And this power has been explained to be a divine something, a kind of inspiration; whilst the poor animal, that possesses it, has been thought little better than a machine!

The irksomeness, that attends a continued attitude of the body, or the pains, that we receive from heat, cold, hunger, or other injurious circumstances, excite us to general locomotion: and our senses are so formed and constituted by the hand of nature, that certain objects present us with pleasure, others with pain, and we are induced to approach and embrace these, to avoid and abhor those, as such sensations direct us.

Thus the palates of some animals are gratefully affected by the mastication of fruits, others of grains, and others of flesh; and they are thence instigated to attain, and to consume those materials; and are furnished with powers of muscular motion, and of digestion proper for such purposes.

These sensations and desires constitute a part of our system, as our muscles and bones constitute another part: and hence they may alike be termed natural or connate; but neither of them can properly be termed instinctive: as the word instinct in its usual acceptation refers only to the actions of animals, as above explained: the origin of these actions is the subject of our present enquiry.

The reader is intreated carefully to attend to this definition of instinctive actions, lest by using the word instinct without adjoining any accurate idea to it, he may not only include the natural desires of love and hunger, and the natural sensations of pain or pleasure, but the figure and contexture of the body, and the faculty of reason itself under this general term.

II. We experience some sensations, and perform some actions before our nativity; the sensations of cold and warmth, agitation and rest, fulness and inanition, are instances of the former; and the repeated struggles of the limbs of the foetus, which begin about the middle of gestation, and those motions by which it frequently wraps the umbilical chord around its neck or body, and even sometimes ties it on a knot; are instances of the latter. Smellie's Midwifery, (Vol. I. p. 182.)

By a due attention to these circumstances many of the actions of young animals, which at first sight seemed only referable to an inexplicable instinct, will appear to have been acquired like all other animal actions, that are attended with consciousness, by the repeated efforts of our muscles under the conduct of our sensations or desires.

The chick in the shell begins to move its feet and legs on the sixth day of incubation (Mattreican, p. 138); or on the seventh day, (Langley); afterwards they are seen to move themselves gently in the liquid that surrounds them, and to open and shut their mouths, (Harvei, de Generat. p. 62, and 197. Form de Poulet. ii. p. 129). Puppies before the membranes are broken, that involve them, are seen to move themselves, to put out their tongues, and to open and shut their mouths, (Harvey, Gipson, Riolan, Haller). And calves lick themselves and swallow many of their hairs before their nativity: which however puppies do not, (Swammerden, p. 319. Flemyng Phil. Trans. Ann. 1755. 42). And towards the end of gestation, the foetus of all animals are proved to drink part of the liquid in which they swim, (Haller. Physiol. T. 8. 204). The white of egg is found in the mouth and gizzard of the chick, and is nearly or quite consumed before it is hatched, (Harvie de Generat. 58). And the liquor amnii is found in the mouth and stomach of the human foetus, and of calves; and how else should that excrement be produced in the intestines of all animals, which is voided in great quantity soon after their birth; (Gipson, Med. Essays, Edinb. V. i. 13. Halleri Physiolog. T. 3. p. 318. and T. 8). In the stomach of a calf the quantity of this liquid amounted to about three pints, and the hairs amongst it were of the same colour with those on its skin, (Blasii Anat. Animal, p.m. 122). These facts are attested by many other writers of credit, besides those above mentioned.

III. It has been deemed a surprising instance of instinct, that calves and chickens should be able to walk by a few efforts almost immediately after their nativity: whilst the human infant in those countries where he is not incumbered with clothes, as in India, is five or six months, and in our climate almost a twelvemonth, before he can safely stand upon his feet.

The struggles of all animals in the womb must resemble their mode of swimming, as by this kind of motion they can best change their attitude in water. But the swimming of the calf and chicken resembles their manner of walking, which they have thus in part acquired before their nativity, and hence accomplish it afterwards with very few efforts, whilst the swimming of the human creature resembles that of the frog, and totally differs from his mode of walking.

There is another circumstance to be attended to in this affair, that not only the growth of those peculiar parts of animals, which are first wanted to secure their subsistence, are in general furthest advanced before their nativity: but some animals come into the world more completely formed throughout their whole system than others: and are thence much forwarder in all their habits of motion. Thus the colt, and the lamb, are much more perfect animals than the blind puppy, and the naked rabbit; and the chick of the pheasant, and the partridge, has more perfect plumage, and more perfect eyes, as well as greater aptitude to locomotion, than the callow nestlings of the dove, and of the wren. The parents of the former only find it necessary to shew them their food, and to teach them to take it up; whilst those of the latter are obliged for many days to obtrude it into their gaping mouths.

IV. From the facts mentioned in No. 2. of this Section, it is evinced that the foetus learns to swallow before its nativity; for it is seen to open its mouth, and its stomach is found filled with the liquid that surrounds it. It opens its mouth, either instigated by hunger, or by the irksomeness of a continued attitude of the muscles of its face; the liquor amnii, in which it swims, is agreeable to its palate, as it consists of a nourishing material, (Haller Phys. T. 8. p. 204). It is tempted to experience its taste further in the mouth, and by a few efforts learns to swallow, in the same manner as we learn all other animal actions, which are attended with consciousness, by the repeated efforts of our muscles under the conduct of our sensations or volitions.

The inspiration of air into the lungs is so totally different from that of swallowing a fluid in which we are immersed, that it cannot be acquired before our nativity. But at this time, when the circulation of the blood is no longer continued through the placenta, that suffocating sensation, which we feel about the precordia, when we are in want of fresh air, disagreeably affects the infant: and all the muscles of the body are excited into action to relieve this oppression; those of the breast, ribs, and diaphragm are found to answer this purpose, and thus respiration is discovered, and is continued throughout our lives, as often as the oppression begins to recur. Many infants, both of the human creature, and of quadrupeds, struggle for a minute after they are born before they begin to breathe, (Haller Phys. T. 8. p. 400. ib pt. 2. p. 1). Mr. Buffon thinks the action of the dry air upon the nerves of smell of new-born animals, by producing an endeavour to sneeze, may contribute to induce this first inspiration, and that the rarefaction of the air by the warmth of the lungs contributes to induce expiration, (Hist. Nat. Tom. 4. p. 174). Which latter it may effect by producing a disagreeable sensation by its delay, and a consequent effort to relieve it. Many children sneeze before they respire, but not all, as far as I have observed, or can learn from others.

At length, by the direction of its sense of smell, or by the officious care of its mother, the young animal approaches the odoriferous rill of its future nourishment, already experienced to swallow. But in the act of swallowing, it is necessary nearly to close the mouth, whether the creature be immersed in the fluid it is about to drink, or not: hence, when the child first attempts to suck, it does not slightly compress the nipple between its lips, and suck as an adult person would do, by absorbing the milk; but it takes the whole nipple into its mouth for this purpose, compresses it between its gums, and thus repeatedly chewing (as it were) the nipple, presses out the milk, exactly in the same manner as it is drawn from the teats of cows by the hands of the milkmaid. The celebrated Harvey observes, that the foetus in the womb must have sucked in a part of its nourishment, because it knows how to suck the minute it is born, as any one may experience by putting a finger between its lips, and because in a few days it forgets this art of sucking, and cannot without some difficulty again acquire it, (Exercit. de Gener. Anim. 48). The same observation is made by Hippocrates.

A little further experience teaches the young animal to suck by absorption, as well as by compression; that is, to open the chest as in the beginning of respiration, and thus to rarefy the air in the mouth, that the pressure of the denser external atmosphere may contribute to force out the milk.

The chick yet in the shell has learnt to drink by swallowing a part of the white of the egg for its food; but not having experienced how to take up and swallow solid seeds, or grains, is either taught by the felicitous industry of its mother; or by many repeated attempts is enabled at length to distinguish and to swallow this kind of nutriment.

And puppies, though they know how to suck like other animals from their previous experience in swallowing, and in respiration; yet are they long in acquiring the art of lapping with their tongues, which from the flaccidity of their cheeks, and length of their mouths, is afterwards a more convenient way for them to take in water.

V. The senses of smell and taste in many other animals greatly excel those of mankind, for in civilized society, as our victuals are generally prepared by others, and are adulterated with salt, spice, oil, and empyreuma, we do not hesitate about eating whatever is set before us, and neglect to cultivate these senses: whereas other animals try every morsel by the smell, before they take it into their mouths, and by the taste before they swallow it: and are led not only each to his proper nourishment by this organ of sense, but it also at a maturer age directs them in the gratification of their appetite of love. Which may be further understood by considering the sympathies of these parts described in Class IV. 2. 1. 7. While the human animal is directed to the object of his love by his sense of beauty, as mentioned in No. VI. of this Section. Thus Virgil. Georg. III. 250.

Nonne vides, ut tota tremor pertentat equorum Corpora, si tantum notas odor attulit auras? Nonne canis nidum veneris nasutus odore Quærit, et erranti trahitur sublambere linguâ? Respuit at gustum cupidus, labiisque retractis Elevat os, trepidansque novis impellitur æstris Inserit et vivum felici vomere semen.-- Quam tenui filo cæcos adnectit amores Docta Venus, vitæque monet renovare favillam!--ANON.

The following curious experiment is related by Galen. "On dissecting a goat great with young I found a brisk embryon, and having detached it from the matrix, and snatching it away before it saw its dam, I brought it into a certain room, where there were many vessels, some filled with wine, others with oil, some with honey, others with milk, or some other liquor; and in others were grains and fruits; we first observed the young animal get upon its feet, and walk; then it shook itself, and afterwards scratched its side with one of its feet: then we saw it smelling to every one of these things, that were set in the room; and when it had smelt to them all, it drank up the milk." L. 6. de locis. cap. 6.

Parturient quadrupeds, as cats, and bitches, and sows, are led by their sense of smell to eat the placenta as other common food; why then do they not devour their whole progeny, as is represented in an antient emblem of TIME? This is said sometimes to happen in the unnatural state in which we confine sows; and indeed nature would seem to have endangered her offspring in this nice circumstance! But at this time the stimulus of the milk in the tumid teats of the mother excites her to look out for, and to desire some unknown circumstance to relieve her. At the same time the smell of the milk attracts the exertions of the young animals towards its source, and thus the delighted mother discovers a new appetite, as mentioned in Sect. XIV. 8. and her little progeny are led to receive and to communicate pleasure by this most beautiful contrivance.

VI. But though the human species in some of their sensations are much inferior to other animals, yet the accuracy of the sense of touch, which they possess in so eminent a degree, gives them a great superiority of understanding; as is well observed by the ingenious Mr. Buffon. The extremities of other animals terminate in horns, and hoofs, and claws, very unfit for the sensation of touch; whilst the human hand is finely adapted to encompass its object with this organ of sense.

The elephant is indeed endued with a fine sense of feeling at the extremity of his proboscis, and hence has acquired much more accurate ideas of touch and of sight than most other creatures. The two following instances of the sagacity of these animals may entertain the reader, as they were told me by some gentlemen of distinct observation, and undoubted veracity, who had been much conversant with our eastern settlements. First, the elephants that are used to carry the baggage of our armies, are put each under the care of one of the natives of Indostan, and whilst himself and his wife go into the woods to collect leaves and branches of trees for his food, they fix him to the ground by a length of chain, and frequently leave a child yet unable to walk, under his protection: and the intelligent animal not only defends it, but as it creeps about, when it arrives near the extremity of his chain, he wraps his trunk gently round its body, and brings it again into the centre of his circle. Secondly, the traitor elephants are taught to walk on a narrow path between two pit-falls, which are covered with turf, and then to go into the woods, and to seduce the wild elephants to come that way, who fall into these wells, whilst he passes safe between them: and it is universally observed, that those wild elephants that escape the snare, pursue the traitor with the utmost vehemence, and if they can overtake him, which sometimes happens, they always beat him to death.

The monkey has a hand well enough adapted for the sense of touch, which contributes to his great facility of imitation; but in taking objects with his hands, as a stick or an apple, he puts his thumb on the same side of them with his fingers, instead of counteracting the pressure of his fingers with it: from this neglect he is much slower in acquiring the figures of objects, as he is less able to determine the distances or diameters of their parts, or to distinguish their vis inertiæ from their hardness. Helvetius adds, that the shortness of his life, his being fugitive before mankind, and his not inhabiting all climates, combine to prevent his improvement. (De l'Esprit. T. 1. p.) There is however at this time an old monkey shewn in Exeter Change, London, who having lost his teeth, when nuts are given him, takes a stone into his hand, and cracks them with it one by one; thus using tools to effect his purpose like mankind.

The beaver is another animal that makes much use of his hands, and if we may credit the reports of travellers, is possessed of amazing ingenuity. This however, M. Buffon affirms, is only where they exist in large numbers, and in countries thinly peopled with men; while in France in their solitary state they shew no uncommon ingenuity.

Indeed all the quadrupeds, that have collar-bones, (claviculæ) use their fore-limbs in some measure as we use our hands, as the cat, squirrel, tyger, bear and lion; and as they exercise the sense of touch more universally than other animals, so are they more sagacious in watching and surprising their prey. All those birds, that use their claws for hands, as the hawk, parrot, and cuckoo, appear to be more docile and intelligent; though the gregarious tribes of birds have more acquired knowledge.

Now as the images, that are painted on the retina of the eye, are no other than signs, which recall to our imaginations the objects we had before examined by the organ of touch, as is fully demonstrated by Dr. Berkley in his treatise on vision; it follows that the human creature has greatly more accurate and distinct sense of vision than that of any other animal. Whence as he advances to maturity he gradually acquires a sense of female beauty, which at this time directs him to the object of his new passion.

Sentimental love, as distinguished from the animal passion of that name, with which it is frequently accompanied, consists in the desire or sensation of beholding, embracing, and saluting a beautiful object.

The characteristic of beauty therefore is that it is the object of love; and though many other objects are in common language called beautiful, yet they are only called so metaphorically, and ought to be termed agreeable. A Grecian temple may give us the pleasurable idea of sublimity, a Gothic temple may give us the pleasurable idea of variety, and a modern house the pleasurable idea of utility; music and poetry may inspire our love by association of ideas; but none of these, except metaphorically, can be termed beautiful; as we have no wish to embrace or salute them.

Our perception of beauty consists in our recognition by the sense of vision of those objects, first, which have before inspired our love by the pleasure, which they have afforded to many of our senses: as to our sense of warmth, of touch, of smell, of taste, hunger and thirst; and, secondly, which bear any analogy of form to such objects.

When the babe, soon after it is born into this cold world, is applied to its mother's bosom; its sense of perceiving warmth is first agreeably affected; next its sense of smell is delighted with the odour of her milk; then its taste is gratified by the flavour of it: afterwards the appetites of hunger and of thirst afford pleasure by the possession of their objects, and by the subsequent digestion of the aliment; and, lastly, the sense of touch is delighted by the softness and smoothness of the milky fountain, the source of such variety of happiness.

All these various kinds of pleasure at length become associated with the form of the mother's breast; which the infant embraces with its hands, presses with its lips, and watches with its eyes; and thus acquires more accurate ideas of the form of its mother's bosom, than of the odour and flavour or warmth, which it perceives by its other senses. And hence at our maturer years, when any object of vision is presented to us, which by its waving or spiral lines bears any similitude to the form of the female bosom, whether it be found in a landscape with soft gradations of rising and descending surface, or in the forms of some antique vases, or in other works of the pencil or the chissel, we feel a general glow of delight, which seems to influence all our senses; and, if the object be not too large, we experience an attraction to embrace it with our arms, and to salute it with our lips, as we did in our early infancy the bosom of our mother. And thus we find, according to the ingenious idea of Hogarth, that the waving lines of beauty were originally taken from the temple of Venus.

This animal attraction is love; which is a sensation, when the object is present; and a desire, when it is absent. Which constitutes the purest source of human felicity, the cordial drop in the otherwise vapid cup of life, and which overpays mankind for the care and labour, which are attached to the pre-eminence of his situation above other animals.

It should have been observed, that colour as well as form sometimes enters into our idea of a beautiful object, as a good complexion for instance, because a fine or fair colour is in general a sign of health, and conveys to us an idea of the warmth of the object; and a pale countenance on the contrary gives an idea of its being cold to the touch.

It was before remarked, that young animals use their lips to distinguish the forms of things, as well as their fingers, and hence we learn the origin of our inclination to salute beautiful objects with our lips. For a definition of Grace, see Class III. 1. 2. 4.

VII. There are two ways by which we become acquainted with the passions of others: first, by having observed the effects of them, as of fear or anger, on our own bodies, we know at sight when others are under the influence of these affections. So when two cocks are preparing to fight, each feels the feathers rise round his own neck, and knows from the same sign the disposition of his adversary: and children long before they can speak, or understand the language of their parents, may be frightened by an angry countenance, or soothed by smiles and blandishments.

Secondly, when we put ourselves into the attitude that any passion naturally occasions, we soon in some degree acquire that passion; hence when those that scold indulge themselves in loud oaths, and violent actions of the arms, they increase their anger by the mode of expressing themselves: and on the contrary the counterfeited smile of pleasure in disagreeable company soon brings along with it a portion of the reality, as is well illustrated by Mr. Burke. (Essay on the Sublime and Beautiful.)

This latter method of entering into the passions of others is rendered of very extensive use by the pleasure we take in imitation, which is every day presented before our eyes, in the actions of children, and indeed in all the customs and fashions of the world. From this our aptitude to imitation, arises what is generally understood by the word sympathy so well explained by Dr. Smith of Glasgow. Thus the appearance of a cheerful countenance gives us pleasure, and of a melancholy one makes us sorrowful. Yawning and sometimes vomiting are thus propagated by sympathy, and some people of delicate fibres, at the presence of a spectacle of misery, have felt pain in the same parts of their own bodies, that were diseased or mangled in the other. Amongst the writers of antiquity Aristotle thought this aptitude to imitation an essential property of the human species, and calls man an imitative animal. [Greek: To zôon mimômenon].

These then are the natural signs by which we understand each other, and on this slender basis is built all human language. For without some natural signs, no artificial ones could have been invented or understood, as is very ingeniously observed by Dr. Reid. (Inquiry into the Human Mind.)

VIII. The origin of this universal language is a subject of the highest curiosity, the knowledge of which has always been thought utterly inaccessible. A part of which we shall however here attempt.

Light, sound, and odours, are unknown to the foetus in the womb, which, except the few sensations and motions already mentioned, sleeps away its time insensible of the busy world. But the moment he arrives into day, he begins to experience many vivid pains and pleasures; these are at the same time attended with certain muscular motions, and from this their early, and individual association, they acquire habits of occurring together, that are afterwards indissoluble.

1. Of Fear.

As soon as the young animal is born, the first important sensations, that occur to him, are occasioned by the oppression about his precordia for want of respiration, and by his sudden transition from ninety-eight degrees of heat into so cold a climate.--He trembles, that is, he exerts alternately all the muscles of his body, to enfranchise himself from the oppression about his bosom, and begins to breathe with frequent and short respirations; at the same time the cold contracts his red skin, gradually turning it pale; the contents of the bladder and of the bowels are evacuated: and from the experience of these first disagreeable sensations the passion of fear is excited, which is no other than the expectation of disagreeable sensations. This early association of motions and sensations persists throughout life; the passion of fear produces a cold and pale skin, with tremblings, quick respiration, and an evacuation of the bladder and bowels, and thus constitutes the natural or universal language of this passion.

On observing a Canary bird this morning, January 28, 1772, at the house of Mr. Harvey, near Tutbury, in Derbyshire, I was told it always fainted away, when its cage was cleaned, and desired to see the experiment. The cage being taken from the ceiling, and its bottom drawn out, the bird began to tremble, and turned quite white about the root of his bill: he then opened his mouth as if for breath, and respired quick, stood straighter up on his perch, hung his wings, spread his tail, closed his eyes, and appeared quite stiff and cataleptic for near half an hour, and at length with much trembling and deep respirations came gradually to himself.

2. Of Grief.

That the internal membrane of the nostrils may be kept always moist, for the better perception of odours, there are two canals, that conduct the tears after they have done their office in moistening and cleaning the ball of the eye into a sack, which is called the lacrymal sack; and from which there is a duct, that opens into the nostrils: the aperture of this duct is formed of exquisite sensibility, and when it is stimulated by odorous particles, or by the dryness or coldness of the air, the sack contracts itself, and pours more of its contained moisture on the organ of smell. By this contrivance the organ is rendered more fit for perceiving such odours, and is preserved from being injured by those that are more strong or corrosive. Many other receptacles of peculiar fluids disgorge their contents, when the ends of their ducts are stimulated; as the gall bladder, when the contents of the duodenum stimulate the extremity of the common bile duct: and the salivary glands, when the termination of their ducts in the mouth are excited by the stimulus of the food we masticate. Atque vesiculæ seminales suum exprimunt fluidum glande penis fricatâ.

The coldness and dryness of the atmosphere, compared with the warmth and moisture, which the new-born infant had just before experienced, disagreeably affects the aperture of this lacrymal sack: the tears, that are contained in this sack, are poured into the nostrils, and a further supply is secreted by the lacrymal glands, and diffused upon the eye-balls; as is very visible in the eyes and nostrils of children soon after their nativity. The same happens to us at our maturer age, for in severe frosty weather, snivelling and tears are produced by the coldness and dryness of the air.

But the lacrymal glands, which separate the tears from the blood, are situated on the upper external part of the globes of each eye; and, when a greater quantity of tears are wanted, we contract the forehead, and bring down the eye-brows, and use many other distortions of the face, to compress these glands.

Now as the suffocating sensation, that produces respiration, is removed almost as soon as perceived, and does not recur again: this disagreeable irritation of the lacrymal ducts, as it must frequently recur, till the tender organ becomes used to variety of odours, is one of the first pains that is repeatedly attended to: and hence throughout our infancy, and in many people throughout their lives, all disagreeable sensations are attended with snivelling at the nose, a profusion of tears, and some peculiar distortions of countenance: according to the laws of early association before mentioned, which constitutes the natural or universal language of grief.

You may assure yourself of the truth of this observation, if you will attend to what passes, when you read a distressful tale alone; before the tears overflow your eyes, you will invariably feel a titillation at that extremity of the lacrymal duct, which terminates in the nostril, then the compression of the eyes succeeds, and the profusion of tears.

Linnæus asserts, that the female bear sheds tears in grief; the same has been said of the hind, and some other animals.

3. Of Tender Pleasure.

The first most lively impression of pleasure, that the infant enjoys after its nativity, is excited by the odour of its mother's milk. The organ of smell is irritated by this perfume, and the lacrymal sack empties itself into the nostrils, as before explained, and an increase of tears is poured into the eyes. Any one may observe this, when very young infants are about to suck; for at those early periods of life, the sensation affects the organ of smell, much more powerfully, than after the repeated habits of smelling has inured it to odours of common strength: and in our adult years, the stronger smells, though they are at the same time agreeable to us, as of volatile spirits, continue to produce an increased secretion of tears.

This pleasing sensation of smell is followed by the early affection of the infant to the mother that suckles it, and hence the tender feelings of gratitude and love, as well as of hopeless grief, are ever after joined with the titillation of the extremity of the lacrymal ducts, and a profusion of tears.

Nor is it singular, that the lacrymal sack should be influenced by pleasing ideas, as the sight of agreeable food produces the same effect on the salivary glands. Ac dum vidimus insomniis lascivæ puellæ simulacrum tenditur penis.

Lambs shake or wriggle their tails, at the time when they first suck, to get free of the hard excrement, which had been long lodged in their bowels. Hence this becomes afterwards a mark of pleasure in them, and in dogs, and other tailed animals. But cats gently extend and contract their paws when they are pleased, and purr by drawing in their breath, both which resemble their manner of sucking, and thus become their language of pleasure, for these animals having collar-bones use their paws like hands when they suck, which dogs and sheep do not.

4. Of Serene Pleasure.

In the action of sucking, the lips of the infant are closed around the nipple of its mother, till he has filled his stomach, and the pleasure occasioned by the stimulus of this grateful food succeeds. Then the sphincter of the mouth, fatigued by the continued action of sucking, is relaxed; and the antagonist muscles of the face gently acting, produce the smile of pleasure: as cannot but be seen by all who are conversant with children.

Hence this smile during our lives is associated with gentle pleasure; it is visible in kittens, and puppies, when they are played with, and tickled; but more particularly marks the human features. For in children this expression of pleasure is much encouraged, by their imitation of their parents, or friends; who generally address them with a smiling countenance: and hence some nations are more remarkable for the gaiety, and others for the gravity of their looks.

5. Of Anger.

The actions that constitute the mode of fighting, are the immediate language of anger in all animals; and a preparation for these actions is the natural language of threatening. Hence the human creature clenches his fist, and sternly surveys his adversary, as if meditating where to make the attack; the ram, and the bull, draws himself some steps backwards, and levels his horns; and the horse, as he most frequently fights by striking with his hinder feet, turns his heels to his foe, and bends back his ears, to listen out the place of his adversary, that the threatened blow may not be ineffectual.

6. Of Attention.

The eye takes in at once but half our horizon, and that only in the day, and our smell informs us of no very distant objects, hence we confide principally in the organ of hearing to apprize us of danger: when we hear any the smallest sound, that we cannot immediately account for, our fears are alarmed, we suspend our steps, hold every muscle still, open our mouths a little, erect our ears, and listen to gain further information: and this by habit becomes the general language of attention to objects of sight, as well as of hearing; and even to the successive trains of our ideas.

The natural language of violent pain, which is expressed by writhing the body, grinning, and screaming; and that of tumultuous pleasure, expressed in loud laughter; belong to Section XXXIV. on Diseases from Volition.

IX. It must have already appeared to the reader, that all other animals, as well as man, are possessed of this natural language of the passions, expressed in signs or tones; and we shall endeavour to evince, that those animals, which have preserved themselves from being enslaved by mankind, and are associated in flocks, are also possessed of some artificial language, and of some traditional knowledge.

The mother-turkey, when she eyes a kite hovering high in air, has either seen her own parents thrown into fear at his presence, or has by observation been acquainted with his dangerous designs upon her young. She becomes agitated with fear, and uses the natural language of that passion, her young ones catch the fear by imitation, and in an instant conceal themselves in the grass.

At the same time that she shews her fears by her gesture and deportment, she uses a certain exclamation, Koe-ut, Koe-ut, and the young ones afterwards know, when they hear this note, though they do not see their dam, that the presence of their adversary is denounced, and hide themselves as before.

The wild tribes of birds have very frequent opportunities of knowing their enemies, by observing the destruction they make among their progeny, of which every year but a small part escapes to maturity: but to our domestic birds these opportunities so rarely occur, that their knowledge of their distant enemies must frequently be delivered by tradition in the manner above explained, through many generations.

This note of danger, as well as the other notes of the mother-turkey, when she calls her flock to their food, or to sleep under her wings, appears to be an artificial language, both as expressed by the mother, and as understood by the progeny. For a hen teaches this language with equal ease to the ducklings, she has hatched from suppositious eggs, and educates as her own offspring: and the wagtails, or hedge-sparrows, learn it from the young cuckoo their softer nursling, and supply him with food long after he can fly about, whenever they hear his cuckooing, which Linnæus tells us, is his call of hunger, (Syst. Nat.) And all our domestic animals are readily taught to come to us for food, when we use one tone of voice, and to fly from our anger, when we use another.

Rabbits, as they cannot easily articulate sounds, and are formed into societies, that live under ground, have a very different method of giving alarm. When danger is threatened, they thump on the ground with one of their hinder feet, and produce a sound, that can be heard a great way by animals near the surface of the earth, which would seem to be an artificial sign both from its singularity and its aptness to the situation of the animal.

The rabbits on the island of Sor, near Senegal, have white flesh, and are well tasted, but do not burrow in the earth, so that we may suspect their digging themselves houses in this cold climate is an acquired art, as well as their note of alarm, (Adanson's Voyage to Senegal).

The barking of dogs is another curious note of alarm, and would seem to be an acquired language, rather than a natural sign: for "in the island of Juan Fernandes, the dogs did not attempt to bark, till some European dogs were put among them, and then they gradually begun to imitate them, but in a strange manner at first, as if they were learning a thing that was not natural to them," (Voyage to South America by Don G. Juan, and Don Ant. de Ulloa. B. 2. c. 4).

Linnæus also observes, that the dogs of South America do not bark at strangers, (Syst. Nat.) And the European dogs, that have been carried to Guinea, are said in three or four generations to cease to bark, and only howl, like the dogs that are natives of that coast, (World Displayed, Vol. XVII. p. 26.)

A circumstance not dissimilar to this, and equally curious, is mentioned by Kircherus, de Musurgia, in his Chapter de Lusciniis, "That the young nightingales, that are hatched under other birds, never sing till they are instructed by the company of other nightingales." And Jonston affirms, that the nightingales that visit Scotland, have not the same harmony as those of Italy, (Pennant's Zoology, octavo, p. 255); which would lead us to suspect that the singing of birds, like human music, is an artificial language rather than a natural expression of passion.

X. Our music like our language, is perhaps entirely constituted of artificial tones, which by habit suggest certain agreeable passions. For the same combination of notes and tones do not excite devotion, love, or poetic melancholy in a native of Indostan and of Europe. And "the Highlander has the same warlike ideas annexed to the sound of a bagpipe (an instrument which an Englishman derides), as the Englishman has to that of a trumpet or fife," (Dr. Brown's Union of Poetry and Music, p. 58.) So "the music of the Turks is very different from the Italian, and the people of Fez and Morocco have again a different kind, which to us appears very rough and horrid, but is highly pleasing to them," (L'Arte Armoniaca a Giorgio Antoniotto). Hence we see why the Italian opera does not delight an untutored Englishman; and why those, who are unaccustomed to music, are more pleased with a tune, the second or third time they hear it, than the first. For then the same melodious train of sounds excites the melancholy, they had learned from the song; or the same vivid combination of them recalls all the mirthful ideas of the dance and company.

Even the sounds, that were once disagreeable to us, may by habit be associated with other ideas, so as to become agreeable. Father Lasitau, in his account of the Iroquois, says "the music and dance of those Americans, have something in them extremely barbarous, which at first disgusts. We grow reconciled to them by degrees, and in the end partake of them with pleasure, the savages themselves are fond of them to distraction," (Moeurs des Savages, Tom. ii.)

There are indeed a few sounds, that we very generally associate with agreeable ideas, as the whistling of birds, or purring of animals, that are delighted; and some others, that we as generally associate with disagreeable ideas, as the cries of animals in pain, the hiss of some of them in anger, and the midnight howl of beasts of prey. Yet we receive no terrible or sublime ideas from the lowing of a cow, or the braying of an ass. Which evinces, that these emotions are owing to previous associations. So if the rumbling of a carriage in the street be for a moment mistaken for thunder, we receive a sublime sensation, which ceases as soon as we know it is the noise of a coach and six.

There are other disagreeable sounds, that are said to set the teeth on edge; which, as they have always been thought a necessary effect of certain discordant notes, become a proper subject of our enquiry. Every one in his childhood has repeatedly bit a part of the glass or earthen vessel, in which his food has been given him, and has thence had a very disagreeable sensation in the teeth, which sensation was designed by nature to prevent us from exerting them on objects harder than themselves. The jarring sound produced between the cup and the teeth is always attendant on this disagreeable sensation: and ever after when such a sound is accidentally produced by the conflict of two hard bodies, we feel by association of ideas the concomitant disagreeable sensation in our teeth.

Others have in their infancy frequently held the corner of a silk handkerchief in their mouth, or the end of the velvet cape of their coat, whilst their companions in play have plucked it from them, and have given another disagreeable sensation to their teeth, which has afterwards recurred on touching those materials. And the sight of a knife drawn along a china plate, though no sound is excited by it, and even the imagination of such a knife and plate so scraped together, I know by repeated experience will produce the same disagreeable sensation of the teeth.

These circumstances indisputably prove, that this sensation of the tooth-edge is owing to associated ideas; as it is equally excitable by sight, touch, hearing, or imagination.

In respect to the artificial proportions of sound excited by musical instruments, those, who have early in life associated them with agreeable ideas, and have nicely attended to distinguish them from each other, are said to have a good ear, in that country where such proportions are in fashion: and not from any superior perfection in the organ of hearing, or any intuitive sympathy between certain sounds and passions.

I have observed a child to be exquisitely delighted with music, and who could with great facility learn to sing any tune that he heard distinctly, and yet whole organ of hearing was so imperfect, that it was necessary to speak louder to him in common conversation than to others.

Our music, like our architecture, seems to have no foundation in nature, they are both arts purely of human creation, as they imitate nothing. And the professors of them have only classed those circumstances, that are most agreeable to the accidental taste of their age, or country; and have called it Proportion. But this proportion must always fluctuate, as it rests on the caprices, that are introduced into our minds by our various modes of education. And these fluctuations of taste must become more frequent in the present age, where mankind have enfranchised themselves from the blind obedience to the rules of antiquity in perhaps every science, but that of architecture. See Sect. XII. 7. 3.

XI. There are many articles of knowledge, which the animals in cultivated countries seem to learn very early in their lives, either from each other, or from experience, or observation: one of the most general of these is to avoid mankind. There is so great a resemblance in the natural language of the passions of all animals, that we generally know, when they are in a pacific, or in a malevolent humour, they have the same knowledge of us; and hence we can scold them from us by some tones and gestures, and could possibly attract them to us by others, if they were not already apprized of our general malevolence towards them. Mr. Gmelin, Professor at Petersburg, assures us, that in his journey into Siberia, undertaken by order of the Empress of Russia, he saw foxes, that expressed no fear of himself or companions, but permitted him to come quite near them, having never seen the human creature before. And Mr. Bongainville relates, that at his arrival at the Malouine, or Falkland's Islands, which were not inhabited by men, all the animals came about himself and his people; the fowls settling upon their heads and shoulders, and the quadrupeds running about their feet. From the difficulty of acquiring the confidence of old animals, and the ease of taming young ones, it appears that the fear, they all conceive at the sight of mankind, is an acquired article of knowledge.

This knowledge is more nicely understood by rooks, who are formed into societies, and build, as it were, cities over our heads; they evidently distinguish, that the danger is greater when a man is armed with a gun. Every one has seen this, who in the spring of the year has walked under a rookery with a gun in his hand: the inhabitants of the trees rise on their wings, and scream to the unfledged young to shrink into their nests from the sight of the enemy. The vulgar observing this circumstance so uniformly to occur, assert that rooks can smell gun-powder.

The fieldfares, (turdus pilarus) which breed in Norway, and come hither in the cold season for our winter berries; as they are associated in flocks, and are in a foreign country, have evident marks of keeping a kind of watch, to remark and announce the appearance of danger. On approaching a tree, that is covered with them, they continue fearless till one at the extremity of the bush rising on his wings gives a loud and peculiar note of alarm, when they all immediately fly, except one other, who continues till you approach still nearer, to certify as it were the reality of the danger, and then he also flies off repeating the note of alarm.

And in the woods about Senegal there is a bird called uett-uett by the negroes, and squallers by the French, which, as soon as they see a man, set up a loud scream, and keep flying round him, as if their intent was to warn other birds, which upon hearing the cry immediately take wing. These birds are the bane of sportsmen, and frequently put me into a passion, and obliged me to shoot them, (Adanson's Voyage to Senegal, 78). For the same intent the lesser birds of our climate seem to fly after a hawk, cuckoo, or owl, and scream to prevent their companions from being surprised by the general enemies of themselves, or of their eggs and progeny.

But the lapwing, (charadrius pluvialis Lin.) when her unfledged offspring run about the marshes, where they were hatched, not only gives the note of alarm at the approach of men or dogs, that her young may conceal themselves; but flying and screaming near the adversary, she appears more felicitous and impatient, as he recedes from her family, and thus endeavours to mislead him, and frequently succeeds in her design. These last instances are so apposite to the situation, rather than to the natures of the creatures, that use them; and are so similar to the actions of men in the same circumstances, that we cannot but believe, that they proceed from a similar principle.

Miss M.E. Jacson acquainted me, that she witnessed this autumn an agreeable instance of sagacity in a little bird, which seemed to use the means to obtain an end; the bird repeatedly hopped upon a poppy-stem, and shook the head with its bill, till many seeds were scattered, then it settled on the ground, and eat the seeds, and again repeated the same management. Sept. 1, 1794.

On the northern coast of Ireland a friend of mine saw above a hundred crows at once preying upon muscles; each crow took a muscle up into the air twenty or forty yards high, and let it fall on the stones, and thus by breaking the shell, got possession of the animal.--A certain philosopher (I think it was Anaxagoras) walking along the sea-shore to gather shells, one of these unlucky birds mistaking his bald head for a stone, dropped a shell-fish upon it, and killed at once a philosopher and an oyster.

Our domestic animals, that have some liberty, are also possessed of some peculiar traditional knowledge: dogs and cats have been forced into each other's society, though naturally animals of a very different kind, and have hence learned from each other to eat dog's grass (agrostis canina) when they are sick, to promote vomiting. I have seen a cat mistake the blade of barley for this grass, which evinces it is an acquired knowledge. They have also learnt of each other to cover their excrement and urine;--about a spoonful of water was spilt upon my hearth from the tea-kettle, and I observed a kitten cover it with ashes. Hence this must also be an acquired art, as the creature mistook the application of it.

To preserve their fur clean, and especially their whiskers, cats wash their faces, and generally quite behind their ears, every time they eat. As they cannot lick those places with their tongues, they first wet the inside of the leg with saliva, and then repeatedly wash their faces with it, which must originally be an effect of reasoning, because a means is used to produce an effect; and seems afterwards to be taught or acquired by imitation, like the greatest part of human arts.

These animals seem to possess something like an additional sense by means of their whiskers; which have perhaps some analogy to the antennæ of moths and butterflies. The whiskers of cats consist not only of the long hairs on their upper lips, but they have also four or five long hairs standing up from each eyebrow, and also two or three on each cheek; all which, when the animal erects them, make with their points so many parts of the periphery of a circle, of an extent at least equal to the circumference of any part of their own bodies. With this instrument, I conceive, by a little experience, they can at once determine, whether any aperture amongst hedges or shrubs, in which animals of this genus live in their wild state, is large enough to admit their bodies; which to them is a matter of the greatest consequence, whether pursuing or pursued. They have likewise a power of erecting and bringing forward the whiskers on their lips; which probably is for the purpose of feeling, whether a dark hole be further permeable.

The antennæ, or horns, of butterflies and moths, who have awkward wings, the minute feathers of which are very liable to injury, serve, I suppose, a similar purpose of measuring, as they fly or creep amongst the leaves of plants and trees, whither their wings can pass without touching them.

Mr. Leonard, a very intelligent friend of mine, saw a cat catch a trout by darting upon it in a deep clear water at the mill at Weaford, near Lichfield. The cat belonged to Mr. Stanley, who had often seen her catch fish in the same manner in summer, when the mill-pool was drawn so low, that the fish could be seen. I have heard of other cats taking fish in shallow water, as they stood on the bank. This seems a natural art of taking their prey in cats, which their acquired delicacy by domestication has in general prevented them from using, though their desire of eating fish continues in its original strength.

Mr. White, in his ingenious History of Selbourn, was witness to a cat's suckling a young hare, which followed her about the garden, and came jumping to her call of affection. At Elford, near Lichfield, the Rev. Mr. Sawley had taken the young ones out of a hare, which was shot; they were alive, and the cat, who had just lost her own kittens, carried them away, as it was supposed, to eat them; but it presently appeared, that it was affection not hunger which incited her, as she suckled them, and brought them up as their mother.

Other instances of the mistaken application of what has been termed instinct may be observed in flies in the night, who mistaking a candle for day-light, approach and perish in the flame. So the putrid smell of the stapelia, or carrion-flower, allures the large flesh-fly to deposit its young worms on its beautiful petals, which perish there for want of nourishment. This therefore cannot be a necessary instinct, because the creature mistakes the application of it.

Though in this country horses shew little vestiges of policy, yet in the deserts of Tartary, and Siberia, when hunted by the Tartars they are seen to form a kind of community, set watches to prevent their being surprised, and have commanders, who direct, and hasten their flight, Origin of Language, Vol. I. p. 212. In this country, where four or five horses travel in a line, the first always points his ears forward, and the last points his backward, while the intermediate ones seem quite careless in this respect; which seems a part of policy to prevent surprise. As all animals depend most on the ear to apprize them of the approach of danger, the eye taking in only half the horizon at once, and horses possess a great nicety of this sense; as appears from their mode of fighting mentioned No. 8. 5. of this Section, as well as by common observation.

There are some parts of a horse, which he cannot conveniently rub, when they itch, as about the shoulder, which he can neither bite with his teeth, nor scratch with his hind foot; when this part itches, he goes to another horse, and gently bites him in the part which he wishes to be bitten, which is immediately done by his intelligent friend. I once observed a young foal thus bite its large mother, who did not choose to drop the grass she had in her mouth, and rubbed her nose against the foal's neck instead of biting it; which evinces that she knew the design of her progeny, and was not governed by a necessary instinct to bite where she was bitten.

Many of our shrubs, which would otherwise afford an agreeable food to horses, are armed with thorns or prickles, which secure them from those animals; as the holly, hawthorn, gooseberry, gorse. In the extensive moorlands of Staffordshire, the horses have learnt to stamp upon a gorse-bush with one of their fore-feet for a minute together, and when the points are broken, they eat it without injury. The horses in the new forest in Hampshire are affirmed to do the same by Mr. Gilpin. Forest Scenery, II. 251, and 112. Which is an art other horses in the fertile parts of the country do not possess, and prick their mouths till they bleed, if they are induced by hunger or caprice to attempt eating gorse.

Swine have a sense of touch as well as of smell at the end of their nose, which they use as a hand, both to root up the soil, and to turn over and examine objects of food, somewhat like the proboscis of an elephant. As they require shelter from the cold in this climate, they have learnt to collect straw in their mouths to make their nest, when the wind blows cold; and to call their companions by repeated cries to assist in the work, and add to their warmth by their numerous bedfellows. Hence these animals, which are esteemed so unclean, have also learned never to befoul their dens, where they have liberty, with their own excrement; an art, which cows and horses, which have open hovels to run into, have never acquired. I have observed great sagacity in swine; but the short lives we allow them, and their general confinement, prevents their improvement, which might probably be otherwise greater than that of dogs.

Instances of the sagacity and knowledge of animals are very numerous to every observer, and their docility in learning various arts from mankind, evinces that they may learn similar arts from their own species, and thus be possessed of much acquired and traditional knowledge.

A dog whose natural prey is sheep, is taught by mankind, not only to leave them unmolested, but to guard them; and to hunt, to set, or to destroy other kinds of animals, as birds, or vermin; and in some countries to catch fish, in others to find truffles, and to practise a great variety of tricks; is it more surprising that the crows should teach each other, that the hawk can catch less birds, by the superior swiftness of his wing, and if two of them follow him, till he succeeds in his design, that they can by force share a part of the capture? This I have formerly observed with attention and astonishment.

There is one kind of pelican mentioned by Mr. Osbeck, one of Linnæus's travelling pupils (the pelicanus aquilus), whose food is fish; and which it takes from other birds, because it is not formed to catch them itself; hence it is called by the English a Man-of-war-bird, Voyage to China, p. 88. There are many other interesting anecdotes of the pelican and cormorant, collected from authors of the best authority, in a well-managed Natural History for Children, published by Mr. Galton. Johnson. London.

And the following narration from the very accurate Mons. Adanson, in his Voyage to Senegal, may gain credit with the reader: as his employment in this country was solely to make observations in natural history. On the river Niger, in his road to the island Griel, he saw a great number of pelicans, or wide throats. "They moved with great state like swans upon the water, and are the largest bird next to the ostrich; the bill of the one I killed was upwards of a foot and half long, and the bag fastened underneath it held two and twenty pints of water. They swim in flocks, and form a large circle, which they contract afterwards, driving the fish before them with their legs: when they see the fish in sufficient number confined in this space, they plunge their bill wide open into the water, and shut it again with great quickness. They thus get fish into their throat-bag, which they eat afterwards on shore at their leisure." P. 247.

XII. The knowledge and language of those birds, that frequently change their climate with the seasons, is still more extensive: as they perform these migrations in large societies, and are less subject to the power of man, than the resident tribes of birds. They are said to follow a leader during the day, who is occasionally changed, and to keep a continual cry during the night to keep themselves together. It is probable that these emigrations were at first undertaken as accident directed, by the more adventurous of their species, and learned from one another like the discoveries of mankind in navigation. The following circumstances strongly support this opinion.

1. Nature has provided these animals, in the climates where they are produced, with another resource: when the season becomes too cold for their constitutions, or the food they were supported with ceases to be supplied, I mean that of sleeping. Dormice, snakes, and bats, have not the means of changing their country; the two former from the want of wings, and the latter from his being not able to bear the light of the day. Hence these animals are obliged to make use of this resource, and sleep during the winter. And those swallows that have been hatched too late in the year to acquire their full strength of pinion, or that have been maimed by accident or disease, have been frequently found in the hollows of rocks on the sea coasts, and even under water in this torpid state, from which they have been revived by the warmth of a fire. This torpid state of swallows is testified by innumerable evidences both of antient and modern names. Aristotle speaking of the swallows says, "They pass into warmer climates in winter, if such places are at no great distance; if they are, they bury themselves in the climates where they dwell," (8. Hist. c. 16. See also Derham's Phys. Theol. v. ii. p. 177.)

Hence their emigrations cannot depend on a necessary instinct, as the emigrations themselves are not necessary.

2. When the weather becomes cold, the swallows in the neighbourhood assemble in large flocks; that is, the unexperienced attend those that have before experienced the journey they are about to undertake: they are then seen some time to hover on the coast, till there is calm whether, or a wind, that suits the direction of their flight. Other birds of passage have been drowned by thousands in the sea, or have settled on ships quite exhausted with fatigue. And others, either by mistaking their course, or by distress of weather, have arrived in countries where they were never seen before: and thus are evidently subject to the same hazards that the human species undergo, in the execution of their artificial purposes.

3. The same birds are emigrant from some countries and not so from others: the swallows were seen at Goree in January by an ingenious philosopher of my acquaintance, and he was told that they continued there all the year; as the warmth of the climate was at all seasons sufficient for their own constitutions, and for the production of the flies that supply them with nourishment. Herodotus says, that in Libya, about the springs of the Nile, the swallows continue all the year. (L. 2.)

Quails (tetrao corturnix, Lin.) are birds of passage from the coast of Barbary to Italy, and have frequently settled in large shoals on ships fatigued with their flight. (Ray, Wisdom of God, p. 129. Derham. Physic. Theol. v. ii. p. 178,) Dr. Ruffel, in his History of Aleppo, observes that the swallows visit that country about the end of February, and having hatched their young disappear about the end of July; and returning again about the beginning of October, continue about a fortnight, and then again disappear. (P. 70.)

When my late friend Dr. Chambres, of Derby, was on the island of Caprea in the bay of Naples, he was informed that great flights of quails annually settle on that island about the beginning of May, in their passage from Africa to Europe. And that they always come when the south-east wind blows, are fatigued when they rest on this island, and are taken in such amazing quantities and sold to the Continent, that the inhabitants pay the bishop his stipend out of the profits arising from the sale of them.

The flights of these birds across the Mediterranean are recorded near three thousand years ago. "There went forth a wind from the Lord and brought quails from the sea, and let them fall upon the camp, a day's journey round about it, and they were two cubits above the earth," (Numbers, chap. ii. ver. 31.)

In our country, Mr. Pennant informs us, that some quails migrate, and others only remove from the internal parts of the island to the coasts, (Zoology, octavo, 210.) Some of the ringdoves and stares breed here, others migrate, (ibid. 510, ii.) And the slender billed small birds do not all quit these kingdoms in the winter, though the difficulty of procuring the worms and insects, that they feed on, supplies the same reason for migration to them all, (ibid. 511.)

Linnæus has observed, that in Sweden the female chaffinches quit that country in September, migrating into Holland, and leave their mates behind till their return in spring. Hence he has called them Fringilla cælebs, (Amæn. Acad. ii. 42. iv. 595.) Now in our climate both sexes of them are perennial birds. And Mr. Pennant observes that the hoopoe, chatterer, hawfinch, and crossbill, migrate into England so rarely, and at such uncertain times, as not to deserve to be ranked among our birds of passage, (ibid. 511.)

The water fowl, as geese and ducks, are better adapted for long migrations, than the other tribes of birds, as, when the weather is calm, they can not only rest themselves, or sleep upon the ocean, but possibly procure some kind of food from it.

Hence in Siberia, as soon as the lakes are frozen, the water fowl, which are very numerous, all disappear, and are supposed to fly to warmer climates, except the rail, which, from its inability for long flights, probably sleeps, like our bat, in their winter. The following account from the Journey of Professor Gmelin, may entertain the reader. "In the neighbourhood of Krasnoiark, amongst many other emigrant water fowls, we observed a great number of rails, which when pursued never took flight, but endeavoured to escape by running. We enquired how these birds, that could not fly, could retire into other countries in the winter, and were told, both by the Tartars and Assanians, that they well knew those birds could not alone pass into other countries: but when the cranes (les grues) retire in autumn, each one takes a rail (un rale) upon his back, and carries him to a warmer climate."

Recapitulation.

1. All birds of passage can exist in the climates, where they are produced.

2. They are subject in their migrations to the same accidents and difficulties, that mankind are subject to in navigation.

3. The same species of birds migrate from some countries, and are resident in others.

From all these circumstances it appears that the migrations of birds are not produced by a necessary instinct, but are accidental improvements, like the arts among mankind, taught by their cotemporaries, or delivered by tradition from one generation of them to another.

XIII. In that season of the year which supplies the nourishment proper for the expected brood, the birds enter into a contract of marriage, and with joint labour construct a bed for the reception of their offspring. Their choice of the proper season, their contracts of marriage, and the regularity with which they construct their nests, have in all ages excited the admiration of naturalists; and have always been attributed to the power of instinct, which, like the occult qualities of the antient philosophers, prevented all further enquiry. We shall consider them in their order.

Their Choice of the Season.

Our domestic birds, that are plentifully supplied throughout the year with their adapted food, and are covered with houses from the inclemency of the weather, lay their eggs at any season: which evinces that the spring of the year is not pointed out to them by a necessary instinct.

Whilst the wild tribes of birds choose this time of the year from their acquired knowledge, that the mild temperature of the air is more convenient for hatching their eggs, and is soon likely to supply that kind of nourishment, that is wanted for their young.

If the genial warmth of the spring produced the passion of love, as it expands the foliage of trees, all other animals should feel its influence as well as birds: but, the viviparous creatures, as they suckle their young, that is, as they previously digest the natural food, that it may better suit the tender stomachs of their offspring, experience the influence of this passion at all seasons of the year, as cats and bitches. The graminivorous animals indeed generally produce their young about the time when grass is supplied in the greatest plenty, but this is without any degree of exactness, as appears from our cows, sheep, and hares, and may be a part of the traditional knowledge, which they learn from the example of their parents.

Their Contracts of Marriage.

Their mutual passion, and the acquired knowledge, that their joint labour is necessary to procure sustenance for their numerous family, induces the wild birds to enter into a contract of marriage, which does not however take place among the ducks, geese, and fowls, that are provided with their daily food from our barns.

An ingenious philosopher has lately denied, that animals can enter into contracts, and thinks this an essential difference between them and the human creature:--but does not daily observation convince us, that they form contracts of friendship with each other, and with mankind? When puppies and kittens play together, is there not a tacit contract, that they will not hurt each other? And does not your favorite dog expect you should give him his daily food, for his services and attention to you? And thus barters his love for your protection? In the same manner that all contracts are made amongst men, that do not understand each others arbitrary language.

Construction of their Nests.

1. They seem to be instructed how to build their nests from their observation of that, in which they were educated, and from their knowledge of those things, that are most agreeable to their touch in respect: to warmth, cleanliness, and stability. They choose their situations from their ideas of safety from their enemies, and of shelter from the weather. Nor is the colour of their nests a circumstance unthought of; the finches, that build in green hedges, cover their habitations with green moss; the swallow or martin, that builds against rocks and houses, covers her's with clay, whilst the lark chooses vegetable straw nearly of the colour of the ground she inhabits: by this contrivance, they are all less liable to be discovered by their adversaries.

2. Nor are the nests of the same species of birds constructed always of the same materials, nor in the same form; which is another circumstance that ascertains, that they are led by observation.

In the trees before Mr. Levet's house in Lichfield, there are annually nests built by sparrows, a bird which usually builds under the tiles of houses, or the thatch of barns. Not finding such convenient situations for their nests, they build a covered nest bigger than a man's head, with an opening like a mouth at the side, resembling that of a magpie, except that it is built with straw and hay, and lined with feathers, and so nicely managed as to be a defence against both wind and rain.

The following extract from a Letter of the Rev. Mr. J. Darwin, of Carleton Scroop in Lincolnshire, authenticates a curious fact of this kind. "When I mentioned to you the circumstance of crows or rooks building in the spire of Welbourn church, you expressed a desire of being well informed of the certainty of the fact. Welbourn is situated in the road from Grantham to Lincoln on the Cliff row; I yesterday took a ride thither, and enquired of the rector, Mr. Ridgehill, whether the report was true, that rooks built in the spire of his church. He assured me it was true, and that they had done so time immemorial, as his parishioners affirmed. There was a common tradition, he said, that formerly a rookery in some high trees adjoined the church yard, which being cut down (probably in the spring, the building season), the rooks removed to the church, and built their nests on the outside of the spire on the tops of windows, which by their projection a little from the spire made them convenient room, but that they built also on the inside. I saw two nests made with sticks on the outside, and in the spires, and Mr. Ridgehill said there were always a great many.

"I spent the day with Mr. Wright, a clergyman, at Fulbeck, near Welbourn, and in the afternoon Dr. Ellis of Headenham, about two miles from Welbourn, drank tea at Mr. Wright's, who said he remembered, when Mr. Welby lived at Welbourn, that he received a letter from an acquaintance in the west of England, desiring an answer, whether the report of rooks building in Welbourn church was true, as a wager was depending on that subject; to which he returned an answer ascertaining the fact, and decided the wager." Aug. 30, 1794.

So the jackdaw (corvus monedula) generally builds in church-steeples, or under the roofs of high houses; but at Selbourn, in Southamptonshire, where towers and steeples are not sufficiently numerous, these birds build in forsaken rabbit burrows. See a curious account of these subterranean nests in White's History of Selbourn, p. 59. Can the skilful change of architecture in these birds and the sparrows above mentioned be governed by instinct? Then they must have two instincts, one for common, and the other for extraordinary occasions.

I have seen green worsted in a nest, which no where exists in nature: and the down of thistles in those nests, that were by some accident constructed later in the summer, which material could not be procured for the earlier nests: in many different climates they cannot procure the same materials, that they use in ours. And it is well known, that the canary birds, that are propagated in this country, and the finches, that are kept tame, will build their nests of any flexile materials, that are given them. Plutarch, in his Book on Rivers, speaking of the Nile, says, "that the swallows collect a material, when the waters recede, with which they form nests, that are impervious to water." And in India there is a swallow that collects a glutinous substance for this purpose, whose nest is esculent, and esteemed a principal rarity amongst epicures, (Lin. Syst. Nat.) Both these must be constructed of very different materials from those used by the swallows of our country.

In India the birds exert more artifice in building their nests on account of the monkeys and snakes: some form their pensile nests in the shape of a purse, deep and open at top; others with a hole in the side; and others, still more cautious, with an entrance at the very bottom, forming their lodge near the summit. But the taylor-bird will not ever trust its nest to the extremity of a tender twig, but makes one more advance to safety by fixing it to the leaf itself. It picks up a dead leaf, and sews it to the side of a living one, its slender bill being its needle, and its thread some fine fibres; the lining consists of feathers, gossamer, and down; its eggs are white, the colour of the bird light yellow, its length three inches, its weight three sixteenths of an ounce; so that the materials of the nest, and the weight of the bird, are not likely to draw down an habitation so slightly suspended. A nest of this bird is preserved in the British Museum, (Pennant's Indian Zoology). This calls to one's mind the Mosaic account of the origin of mankind, the first dawning of art there ascribed to them, is that of sewing leaves together. For many other curious kinds of nests see Natural History for Children, by Mr. Galton. Johnson. London. Part I. p. 47. Gen. Oriolus.

3. Those birds that are brought up by our care, and have had little communication with others of their own species, are very defective in this acquired knowledge; they are not only very awkward in the construction of their nests, but generally scatter their eggs in various parts of the room or cage, where they are confined, and seldom produce young ones, till, by failing in their first attempt, they have learnt something from their own observation.

4. During the time of incubation birds are said in general to turn their eggs every day; some cover them, when they leave the nest, as ducks and geese; in some the male is said to bring food to the female, that she may have less occasion of absence, in others he is said to take her place, when she goes in quest of food; and all of them are said to leave their eggs a shorter time in cold weather than in warm. In Senegal the ostrich sits on her eggs only during the night, leaving them in the day to the heat of the sun; but at the Cape of Good Hope, where the heat is less, she sits on them day and night.

If it should be asked, what induces a bird to sit weeks on its first eggs unconscious that a brood of young ones will be the product? The answer must be, that it is the same passion that induces the human mother to hold her offspring whole nights and days in her fond arms, and press it to her bosom, unconscious of its future growth to sense and manhood, till observation or tradition have informed her.

5. And as many ladies are too refined to nurse their own children, and deliver them to the care and provision of others; so is there one instance of this vice in the feathered world. The cuckoo in some parts of England, as I am well informed by a very distinct and ingenious gentleman, hatches and educates her own young; whilst in other parts she builds no nest, but uses that of some lesser bird, generally either of the wagtail, or hedge sparrow, and depositing one egg in it, takes no further care of her progeny.

As the Rev. Mr. Stafford was walking in Glosop Dale, in the Peak of Derbyshire, he saw a cuckoo rise from its nest. The nest was on the stump of a tree, that had been some time felled, among some chips that were in part turned grey, so as much to resemble the colour of the bird, in this nest were two young cuckoos: tying a string about the leg of one of them, he pegged the other end of it to the ground, and very frequently for many days beheld the old cuckoo feed these her young, as he stood very near them.

The following extract of a Letter from the Rev. Mr. Wilmot, of Morley, near Derby, strengthens the truth of the fact above mentioned, of the cuckoo sometimes making a nest, and hatching her own young.

"In the beginning of July 1792, I was attending some labourers on my farm, when one of them said to me, "There is a bird's nest upon one of the Coal-slack Hills; the bird is now sitting, and is exactly like a cuckoo. They say that cuckoo's never hatch their own eggs, otherwise I should have sworn it was one." He took me to the spot, it was in an open fallow ground; the bird was upon the nest, I stood and observed her some time, and was perfectly satisfied it was a cuckoo; I then put my hand towards her, and she almost let me touch her before she rose from the nest, which she appeared to quit with great uneasiness, skimming over the ground in the manner that a hen partridge does when disturbed from a new hatched brood, and went only to a thicket about forty or fifty yards from the nest; and continued there as long as I staid to observe her, which was not many minutes. In the nest, which was barely a hole scratched out of the coal-slack in the manner of a plover's nest, I observed three eggs, but did not touch them. As I had labourers constantly at work in that field, I went thither every day, and always looked to see if the bird was there, but did not disturb her for seven or eight days, when I was tempted to drive her from the nest, and found two young ones, that appeared to have been hatched some days, but there was no appearance of the third egg. I then mentioned this extraordinary circumstance (for such I thought it) to Mr. and Mrs. Holyoak of Bidford Grange, Warwickshire, and to Miss M. Willes, who were on a visit at my house, and who all went to see it. Very lately I reminded Mr. Holyoak of it, who told me he had a perfect recollection of the whole, and that, considering it a curiosity, he walked to look at it several times, was perfectly satisfied as to its being a cuckoo, and thought her more attentive to her young, than any other bird he ever observed, having always found her brooding her young. In about a week after I first saw the young ones, one of them was missing, and I rather suspected my plough-boys having taken it; though it might possibly have been taken by a hawk, some time when the old one was seeking food. I never found her off her nest but once, and that was the last time I saw the remaining young one, when it was almost full feathered. I then went from home for two or three days, and, when I returned, the young one was gone, which I take for granted had flown. Though during this time I frequently saw cuckoos in the thicket I mention, I never observed any one, that I supposed to be the cock-bird, paired with this hen."

Nor is this a new observation, though it is entirely overlooked by the modern naturalists, for Aristotle speaking of the cuckoo, asserts that she sometimes builds her nest among broken rocks, and on high mountains, (L. 6. H. c. 1.) but adds in another place that she generally possesses the nest of another bird, (L. 6. H. c. 7.) And Niphus says that cuckoos rarely build for themselves, most frequently laying their eggs in the nests of other birds, (Gesner, L. 3. de Cuculo.)

The Philosopher who is acquainted with these facts concerning the cuckoo, would seem to have very little reason himself, if he could imagine this neglect of her young to be a necessary instinct!

XIV. The deep recesses of the ocean are inaccessible to mankind, which prevents us from having much knowledge of the arts and government of its inhabitants.

1. One of the baits used by the fisherman is an animal called an Old Soldier, his size and form are somewhat like the craw-fish, with this difference, that his tail is covered with a tough membrane instead of a shell; and to obviate this defect, he seeks out the uninhabited shell of some dead fish, that is large enough to receive his tail, and carries it about with him as part of his clothing or armour.

2. On the coasts about Scarborough, where the haddocks, cods, and dog-fish, are in great abundance, the fishermen universally believe that the dog-fish make a line, or semicircle, to encompass a shoal of haddocks and cod, confining them within certain limits near the shore, and eating them as occasion requires. For the haddocks and cod are always found near the shore without any dog-fish among them, and the dog-fish further off without any haddocks or cod; and yet the former are known to prey upon the latter, and in some years devour such immense quantities as to render this fishery more expensive than profitable.

3. The remora, when he wishes to remove his situation, as he is a very slow swimmer, is content to take an outside place on whatever conveyance is going his way; nor can the cunning animal be tempted to quit his hold of a ship when she is sailing, not even for the lucre of a piece of pork, lest it should endanger the loss of his passage: at other times he is easily caught with the hook.

4. The crab-fish, like many other testaceous animals, annually changes its shell; it is then in a soft state, covered only with a mucous membrane, and conceals itself in holes in the sand or under weeds; at this place a hard shelled crab always stands centinel, to prevent the sea insects from injuring the other in its defenceless state; and the fishermen from his appearance know where to find the soft ones, which they use for baits in catching other fish.

And though the hard shelled crab, when he is on this duty, advances boldly to meet the foe, and will with difficulty quit the field; yet at other times he shews great timidity, and has a wonderful speed in attempting his escape; and, if often interrupted, will pretend death like the spider, and watch an opportunity to sink himself into the sand, keeping only his eyes above. My ingenious friend Mr. Burdett, who favoured me with these accounts at the time he was surveying the coasts, thinks the commerce between the sexes takes place at this time, and inspires the courage of the creature.

5. The shoals of herrings, cods, haddocks, and other fish, which approach our shores at certain seasons, and quit them at other seasons without leaving one behind; and the salmon, that periodically frequent our rivers, evince, that there are vagrant tribes of fish, that perform as regular migrations as the birds of passage already mentioned.

6. There is a cataract on the river Liffey in Ireland about nineteen feet high: here in the salmon season many of the inhabitants amuse themselves in observing these fish leap up the torrent. They dart themselves quite out of the water as they ascend, and frequently fall back many times before they surmount it, and baskets made of twigs are placed near the edge of the stream to catch them in their fall.

I have observed, as I have sat by a spout of water, which descends from a stone trough about two feet into a stream below, at particular seasons of the year, a great number of little fish called minums, or pinks, throw themselves about twenty times their own length out of the water, expecting to get into the trough above.

This evinces that the storgee, or attention of the dam to provide for the offspring, is strongly exerted amongst the nations of fish, where it would seem to be the most neglected; as these salmon cannot be supposed to attempt so difficult and dangerous a task without being conscious of the purpose or end of their endeavours.

It is further remarkable, that most of the old salmon return to the sea before it is proper for the young shoals to attend them, yet that a few old ones continue in the rivers so late, that they become perfectly emaciated by the inconvenience of their situation, and this apparently to guide or to protect the unexperienced brood.

Of the smaller water animals we have still less knowledge, who nevertheless probably possess many superior arts; some of these are mentioned in Botanic Garden, P. I. Add. Note XXVII. and XXVIII. The nympha of the water-moths of our rivers, which cover themselves with cases of straw, gravel, and shell, contrive to make their habitations, nearly in equilibrium with the water; when too heavy, they add a bit of wood or straw; when too light, a bit of gravel. Edinb. Trans.

All these circumstances bear a near resemblance to the deliberate actions of human reason.

XV. We have a very imperfect acquaintance with the various tribes of insects: their occupations, manner of life, and even the number of their senses, differ from our own, and from each other; but there is reason to imagine, that those which possess the sense of touch in the most exquisite degree, and whole occupations require the most constant exertion of their powers, are induced with a greater proportion or knowledge and ingenuity.

The spiders of this country manufacture nets of various forms, adapted to various situations, to arrest the flies that are their food; and some of them have a house or lodging-place in the middle of the net, well contrived for warmth, security, or concealment. There is a large spider in South America, who constructs nets of so strong a texture as to entangle small birds, particularly the humming bird. And in Jamaica there is another spider, who digs a hole in the earth obliquely downwards, about three inches in length, and one inch in diameter, this cavity she lines with a tough thick web, which when taken out resembles a leathern purse: but what is most curious, this house has a door with hinges, like the operculum of some sea shells; and herself and family, who tenant this nest, open and shut the door, whenever they pass or repass. This history was told me, and the nest with its operculum shewn me by the late Dr. Butt of Bath, who was some years physician in Jamaica.

The production of these nets is indeed a part of the nature or conformation of the animal, and their natural use is to supply the place of wings, when she wishes to remove to another situation. But when she employs them to entangle her prey, there are marks of evident design, for she adapts the form of each net to its situation, and strengthens those lines, that require it, by joining others to the middle of them, and attaching those others to distant objects, with the same individual art, that is used by mankind in supporting the masts and extending the sails of ships. This work is executed with more mathematical exactness and ingenuity by the field spiders, than by those in our houses, as their constructions are more subjected to the injuries of dews and tempests.

Besides the ingenuity shewn by these little creatures in taking their prey, the circumstance of their counterfeiting death, when they are put into terror, is truly wonderful; and as soon as the object of terror is removed, they recover and run away. Some beetles are also said to possess this piece of hypocrisy.

The curious webs, or chords, constructed by some young caterpillars to defend themselves from cold, or from insects of prey; and by silk-worms and some other caterpillars, when they transmigrate into aureliæ or larvæ, have deservedly excited the admiration of the inquisitive. But our ignorance of their manner of life, and even of the number of their senses, totally precludes us from understanding the means by which they acquire this knowledge.

The care of the salmon in choosing a proper situation for her spawn, the structure of the nests of birds, their patient incubation, and the art of the cuckoo in depositing her egg in her neighbour's nursery, are instances of great sagacity in those creatures: and yet they are much inferior to the arts exerted by many of the insect tribes on similar occasions. The hairy excrescences on briars, the oak apples, the blasted leaves of trees, and the lumps on the backs of cows, are situations that are rather produced than chosen by the mother insect for the convenience of her offspring. The cells of bees, wasps, spiders, and of the various coralline insects, equally astonish us, whether we attend to the materials or to the architecture.

But the conduct of the ant, and of some species of the ichneumon fly in the incubation of their eggs, is equal to any exertion of human science. The ants many times in a day move their eggs nearer the surface of their habitation, or deeper below it, as the heat of the weather varies; and in colder days lie upon them in heaps for the purpose of incubation: if their mansion is too dry, they carry them to places where there is moisture, and you may distinctly see the little worms move and suck up the water. When too much moisture approaches their nest, they convey their eggs deeper in the earth, or to some other place of safety. (Swammerd. Epil. ad Hist. Insects, p. 153. Phil. Trans. No. 23. Lowthrop. V. 2. p. 7.)

There is one species of ichneumon-fly, that digs a hole in the earth, and carrying into it two or three living caterpillars, deposits her eggs, and nicely closing up the nest leaves them there; partly doubtless to assist the incubation, and partly to supply food to her future young, (Derham. B. 4, c. 13. Aristotle Hist. Animal, L. 5. c. 20.)

A friend of mine put about fifty large caterpillars collected from cabbages on some bran and a few leaves into a box, and covered it with gauze to prevent their escape. After a few days we saw, from more than three fourths of them, about eight or ten little caterpillars of the ichneumon-fly come out of their backs, and spin each a small cocoon of silk, and in a few days the large caterpillars died. This small fly it seems lays its egg in the back of the cabbage caterpillar, which when hatched preys upon the material, which is produced there for the purpose of making silk for the future nest of the cabbage caterpillar; of which being deprived, the creature wanders about till it dies, and thus our gardens are preserved by the ingenuity of this cruel fly. This curious property of producing a silk thread, which is common to some sea animals, see Botanic Garden, Part I. Note XXVII. and is designed for the purpose of their transformation as in the silk-worm, is used for conveying themselves from higher branches to lower ones of trees by some caterpillars, and to make themselves temporary nests or tents, and by the spider for entangling his prey. Nor is it strange that so much knowledge should be acquired by such small animals; since there is reason to imagine, that these insects have the sense of touch, either in their proboscis, or their antennæ, to a great degree of perfection; and thence may possess, as far as their sphere extends, as accurate knowledge, and as subtle invention, as the discoverers of human arts.

XVI. 1. If we were better acquainted with the histories of those insects that are formed into societies, as the bees, wasps, and ants, I make no doubt but we should find, that their arts and improvements are not so similar and uniform as they now appear to us, but that they arose in the same manner from experience and tradition, as the arts of our own species; though their reasoning is from fewer ideas, is busied about fewer objects, and is exerted with less energy.

There are some kinds of insects that migrate like the birds before mentioned. The locust of warmer climates has sometimes come over to England; it is shaped like a grasshopper, with very large wings, and a body above an inch in length. It is mentioned as coming into Egypt with an east wind, "The lord brought an east wind upon the land all that day and night, and in the morning the east wind brought the locusts, and covered the face of the earth, so that the land was dark," Exod. x. 13. The migrations of these insects are mentioned in another part of the scripture, "The locusts have no king, yet go they forth all of them in bands," Prov. xxx. 27.

The accurate Mr. Adanson, near the river Gambia in Africa, was witness to the migration of these insects. "About eight in the morning, in the month of February, there suddenly arose over our heads a thick cloud, which darkened the air, and deprived us of the rays of the sun. We found it was a cloud of locusts raised about twenty or thirty fathoms from the ground, and covering an extent of several leagues; at length a shower of these insects descended, and after devouring every green herb, while they rested, again resumed their flight. This cloud was brought by a strong east-wind, and was all the morning in passing over the adjacent country." (Voyage to Senegal, 158.)

In this country the gnats are sometimes seen to migrate in clouds, like the musketoes of warmer climates, and our swarms of bees frequently travel many miles, and are said in North America always to fly towards the south. The prophet Isaiah has a beautiful allusion to these migrations, "The Lord shall call the fly from the rivers of Egypt, and shall hiss for the bee that is in the land of Assyria," Isa. vii. 18. which has been lately explained by Mr. Bruce, in his travels to discover the source of the Nile.

2. I am well informed that the bees that were carried into Barbadoes, and other western islands, ceased to lay up any honey after the first year, as they found it not useful to them: and are now become very troublesome to the inhabitants of those islands by infesting their sugar houses; but those in Jamaica continue to make honey, as the cold north winds, or rainy seasons of that island, confine them at home for several weeks together. And the bees of Senegal, which differ from those of Europe only in size, make their honey not only superior to ours in delicacy of flavour, but it has this singularity, that it never concretes, but remains liquid as syrup, (Adanson). From some observations of Mr. Wildman, and of other people of veracity, it appears, that during the severe part of the winter season for weeks together the bees are quite benumbed and torpid from the cold, and do not consume any of their provision. This state of sleep, like that of swallows and bats, seems to be the natural resource of those creatures in cold climates, and the making of honey to be an artificial improvement.

As the death of our hives of bees appears to be owning to their being kept so warm, as to require food when their stock is exhausted; a very observing gentleman at my request put two hives for many weeks into a dry cellar, and observed, during all that time, they did not consume any of their provision, for their weight did not decrease as it had done when they were kept in the open air. The same observation is made in the Annual Register for 1768, p. 113. And the Rev. Mr. White, in his Method of preserving Bees, adds, that those on the north side of his house consumed less honey in the winter than those on the south side.

There is another observation on bees well ascertained, that they at various times, when the season begins to be cold, by a general motion of their legs as they hang in clusters produce a degree of warmth, which is easily perceptible by the hand. Hence by this ingenious exertion, they for a long time prevent the torpid state they would naturally fall into.

According to the late observations of Mr. Hunter, it appears that the bee's-wax is not made from the dust of the anthers of flowers, which they bring home on their thighs, but that this makes what is termed bee-bread, and is used for the purpose of feeding the bee-maggots; in the same manner butterflies live on honey, but the previous caterpillar lives on vegetable leaves, while the maggots of large flies require flesh for their food, and those of the ichneumon fly require insects for their food. What induces the bee who lives on honey to lay up vegetable powder for its young? What induces the butterfly to lay its eggs on leaves, when itself feeds on honey? What induces the other flies to seek a food for their progeny different from what they consume themselves? If these are not deductions from their own previous experience or observation, all the actions of mankind must be resolved into instinct.

3. The dormouse consumes but little of its food during the rigour of the season, for they roll themselves up, or sleep, or lie torpid the greatest part of the time; but on warm sunny days experience a short revival, and take a little food, and then relapse into their former state." (Pennant Zoolog. p. 67.) Other animals, that sleep in winter without laying up any provender, are observed to go into their winter beds fat and strong, but return to day-light in the spring season very lean and feeble. The common flies sleep during the winter without any provision for their nourishment, and are daily revived by the warmth of the sun, or of our fires. These whenever they see light endeavour to approach it, having observed, that by its greater vicinity they get free from the degree of torpor, that the cold produces; and are hence induced perpetually to burn themselves in our candles: deceived, like mankind, by the misapplication of their knowledge. Whilst many of the subterraneous insects, as the common worms, seem to retreat so deep into the earth as not to be enlivened or awakened by the difference of our winter days; and stop up their holes with leaves or straws, to prevent the frosts from injuring them, or the centipes from devouring them. The habits of peace, or the stratagems of war, of these subterranean nations are covered from our view; but a friend of mine prevailed on a distressed worm to enter the hole of another worm on a bowling-green, and he presently returned much wounded about his head. And I once saw a worm rise hastily out of the earth into the sunshine, and observed a centipes hanging at its tail: the centipes nimbly quitted the tail, and seizing the worm about its middle cut it in half with its forceps, and preyed upon one part, while the other escaped. Which evinces they have design in stopping the mouths of their habitations.

4. The wasp of this country fixes his habitation under ground, that he may not be affected with the various changes of our climate; but in Jamaica he hangs it on the bough of a tree, where the seasons are less severe. He weaves a very curious paper of vegetable fibres to cover his nest, which is constructed on the same principle with that of the bee, but with a different material; but as his prey consists of flesh, fruits, and insects, which are perishable commodities, he can lay up no provender for the winter.

M. de la Loubiere, in his relation of Siam, says, "That in a part of that kingdom, which lies open to great inundations, all the ants make their settlements upon trees; no ants' nests are to be seen any where else." Whereas in our country the ground is their only situation. From the scriptual account of these insects, one might be led to suspect, that in some climates they lay up a provision for the winter. Origen affirms the same, (Cont. Cels. L. 4.) But it is generally believed that in this country they do not, (Prov. vi. 6. xxx. 25.) The white ants of the coast of Africa make themselves pyramids eight or ten feet high, on a base of about the same width, with a smooth surface of rich clay, excessively hard and well built, which appear at a distance like an assemblage of the huts of the negroes, (Adanson). The history of these has been lately well described in the Philosoph. Transactions, under the name of termes, or termites. These differ very much from the nest of our large ant; but the real history of this creature, as well as of the wasp, is yet very imperfectly known.

Wasps are said to catch large spiders, and to cut off their legs, and carry their mutilated bodies to their young, Dict. Raison. Tom. I. p. 152.

One circumstance I shall relate which fell under my own eye, and shewed the power or reason in a wasp, as it is exercised among men. A wasp, on a gravel walk, had caught a fly nearly as large as himself; kneeling on the ground I observed him separate the tail and the head from the body part, to which the wings were attached. He then took the body part in his paws, and rose about two feet from the ground with it; but a gentle breeze wafting the wings of the fly turned him round in the air, and he settled again with his prey upon the gravel. I then distinctly observed him cut off with his mouth, first one of the wings, and then the other, after which he flew away with it unmolested by the wind.

Go, thou sluggard, learn arts and industry from the bee, and from the ant!

Go, proud reasoner, and call the worm thy sister!

XVII. Conclusion.

It was before observed how much the superior accuracy of our sense of touch contributes to increase our knowledge; but it is the greater energy and activity of the power of volition (as explained in the former Sections of this work) that marks mankind, and has given him the empire of the world.

There is a criterion by which we may distinguish our voluntary acts or thoughts from those that are excited by our sensations: "The former are always employed about the means to acquire pleasureable objects, or to avoid painful ones: while the latter are employed about the possession of those that are already in our power."

If we turn our eyes upon the fabric of our fellow animals, we find they are supported with bones, covered with skins, moved by muscles; that they possess the same senses, acknowledge the same appetites, and are nourished by the same aliment with ourselves; and we should hence conclude from the strongest analogy, that their internal faculties were also in some measure similar to our own.

Mr. Locke indeed published an opinion, that other animals possessed no abstract or general ideas, and thought this circumstance was the barrier between the brute and the human world. But these abstracted ideas have been since demonstrated by Bishop Berkley, and allowed by Mr. Hume, to have no existence in nature, not even in the mind of their inventor, and we are hence necessitated to look for some other mark of distinction.

The ideas and actions of brutes, like those of children, are almost perpetually produced by their present pleasures, or their present pains; and, except in the few instances that have been mentioned in this Section, they seldom busy themselves about the means of procuring future bliss, or of avoiding future misery.

Whilst the acquiring of languages, the making of tools, and the labouring for money; which are all only the means of procuring pleasure; and the praying to the Deity, as another means to procure happiness, are characteristic of human nature.

* * * * *

SECT. XVII.

THE CATENATION OF MOTIONS.

I. 1. Catenations of animal motion. 2. Are produced by irritations, by sensations, by volitions. 3. They continue some time after they have been excited. Cause of catenation. 4. We can then exert our attention on other objects. 5. Many catenations of motions go on together. 6. Some links of the catenations of motions may be left out without disuniting the chain. 7. Interrupted circles of motion continue confusedly till they come to the part of the circle, where they were disturbed. 8. Weaker catenations are dissevered by stronger. 9. Then new catenations take place. 10. Much effort prevents their reuniting. Impediment of speech. 11. Trains more easily dissevered than circles. 12. Sleep destroys volition and external stimulus. II. Instances of various catenations in a young lady playing on the harpsichord. III. 1. What catenations are the strongest. 2. Irritations joined with associations from strongest connexions. Vital motions. 3. New links with increased force, cold fits of fever produced. 4. New links with decreased force. Cold bath. 5. Irritation joined with sensation. Inflammatory fever. Why children cannot tickle themselves. 6. Volition joined with sensation. Irritative ideas of sound become sensible. 7. Ideas of imagination, dissevered by irritations, by volition, production of surprise.

I. 1. To investigate with precision the catenations of animal motions, it would be well to attend to the manner of their production; but we cannot begin this disquisition early enough for this purpose, as the catenations of motion seem to begin with life, and are only extinguishable with it; We have spoken of the power of irritation, of sensation, of volition, and of association, as preceding the fibrous motions; we now step forwards, and consider, that conversely they are in their turn preceded by those motions; and that all the successive trains or circles of our actions are composed of this twofold concatenation. Those we shall call trains of action, which continue to proceed without any stated repetitions; and those circles of action, when the parts of them return at certain periods, though the trains, of which they consist, are not exactly similar. The reading an epic poem is a train of actions; the reading a song with a chorus at equal distances in the measure constitutes so many circles of action.

2. Some catenations of animal motion are produced by reiterated successive irritations, as when we learn to repeat the alphabet in its order by frequently reading the letters of it. Thus the vermicular motions of the bowels were originally produced by the successive irritations of the passing aliment; and the succession of actions of the auricles and ventricles of the heart was originally formed by successive stimulus of the blood, these afterwards become part of the diurnal circles of animal actions, as appears by the periodical returns of hunger, and the quickened pulse of weak people in the evening.

Other catenations of animal motion are gradually acquired by successive agreeable sensations, as in learning a favourite song or dance; others by disagreeable sensations, as in coughing or nictitation; these become associated by frequent repetition, and afterwards compose parts of greater circles of action like those above mentioned.

Other catenations of motions are gradually acquired by frequent voluntary repetitions; as when we deliberately learn to march, read, fence, or any mechanic art, the motions of many of our muscles become gradually linked together in trains, tribes, or circles of action. Thus when any one at first begins to use the tools in turning wood or metals in a lathe, he wills the motions of his hand or fingers, till at length these actions become so connected with the effect, that he seems only to will the point of the chisel. These are caused by volition, connected by association like those above described, and afterwards become parts of our diurnal trains or circles of action.

3. All these catenations of animal motions, are liable to proceed some time after they are excited, unless they are disturbed or impeded by other irritations, sensations, or volitions; and in many instances in spite of our endeavours to stop them; and this property of animal motions is probably the cause of their catenation. Thus when a child revolves some minute on one foot, the spectra of the ambient objects appear to circulate round him some time after he falls upon the ground. Thus the palpitation of the heart continues some time after the object of fear, which occasioned it, is removed. The blush of shame, which is an excess of sensation, and the glow of anger, which is an excess of volition, continue some time, though the affected person finds, that those emotions were caused by mistaken facts, and endeavours to extinguish their appearance. See Sect. XII. 1. 5.

4. When a circle of motions becomes connected, by frequent repetitions as above, we can exert our attention strongly on other objects, and the concatenated circle of motions will nevertheless proceed in due order; as whilst you are thinking on this subject, you use variety of muscles in walking about your parlour, or in sitting at your writing-table.

5. Innumerable catenations of motions may proceed at the same time, without incommoding each other. Of these are the motions of the heart and arteries; those of digestion and glandular secretion; of the ideas, or sensual motions; those of progression, and of speaking; the great annual circle of actions so apparent in birds in their times of breeding and moulting; the monthly circles of many female animals; and the diurnal circles of sleeping and waking, of fulness and inanition.

6. Some links of successive trains or of synchronous tribes of action may be left out without disjoining the whole. Such are our usual trains of recollection; after having travelled through an entertaining country, and viewed many delightful lawns, rolling rivers, and echoing rocks; in the recollection of our journey we leave out the many districts, that we crossed, which were marked with no peculiar pleasure. Such also are our complex ideas, they are catenated tribes of ideas, which do not perfectly resemble their correspondent perceptions, because some of the parts are omitted.

7. If an interrupted circle of actions is not entirely dissevered, it will continue to proceed confusedly, till it comes to the part of the circle, where it was interrupted.

The vital motions in a fever from drunkenness, and in other periodical diseases, are instances of this circumstance. The accidental inebriate does not recover himself perfectly till about the same hour on the succeeding day. The accustomed drunkard is disordered, if he has not his usual potation of fermented liquor. So if a considerable part of a connected tribe of action be disturbed, that whole tribe goes on with confusion, till the part of the tribe affected regains its accustomed catenations. So vertigo produces vomiting, and a great secretion of bile, as in sea-sickness, all these being parts of the tribe of irritative catenations.

8. Weaker catenated trains may be dissevered by the sudden exertion of the stronger. When a child first attempts to walk across a room, call to him, and he instantly falls upon the ground. So while I am thinking over the virtues of my friends, if the tea-kettle spurt out some hot water on my stocking; the sudden pain breaks the weaker chain of ideas, and introduces a new group of figures of its own. This circumstance is extended to some unnatural trains of action, which have not been confirmed by long habit; as the hiccough, or an ague-fit, which are frequently curable by surprise. A young lady about eleven years old had for five days had a contraction of one muscle in her fore arm, and another in her arm, which occurred four or five times every minute; the muscles were seen to leap, but without bending the arm. To counteract this new morbid habit, an issue was placed over the convulsed muscle of her arm, and an adhesive plaster wrapped tight like a bandage over the whole fore arm, by which the new motions were immediately destroyed, but the means were continued some weeks to prevent a return.

9. If any circle of actions is dissevered, either by omission of some of the links, as in sleep, or by insertion of other links, as in surprise, new catenations take place in a greater or less degree. The last link of the broken chain of actions becomes connected with the new motion which has broken it, or with that which was nearest the link omitted; and these new catenations proceed instead of the old ones. Hence the periodic returns of ague-fits, and the chimeras of our dreams.

10. If a train of actions is dissevered, much effort of volition or sensation will prevent its being restored. Thus in the common impediment of speech, when the association of the motions of the muscles of enunciation with the idea of the word to be spoken is disordered, the great voluntary efforts, which distort the countenance, prevent the rejoining of the broken associations. See No. II. 10. of this Section. It is thus likewise observable in some inflammations of the bowels, the too strong efforts made by the muscles to carry forwards the offending material fixes it more firmly in its place, and prevents the cure. So in endeavouring to recal to our memory some particular word of a sentence, if we exert ourselves too strongly about it, we are less likely to regain it.

11. Catenated trains or tribes of action are easier dissevered than catenated circles of action. Hence in epileptic fits the synchronous connected tribes of action, which keep the body erect, are dissevered, but the circle of vital motions continues undisturbed.

12. Sleep destroys the power of volition, and precludes the stimuli of external objects, and thence dissevers the trains, of which these are a part; which confirms the other catenations, as those of the vital motions, secretions, and absorptions; and produces the new trains of ideas, which constitute our dreams.

II. 1. All the preceding circumstances of the catenations of animal motions will be more clearly understood by the following example of a person learning music; and when we recollect the variety of mechanic arts, which are performed by associated trains of muscular actions catenated with the effects they produce, as in knitting, netting, weaving; and the greater variety of associated trains of ideas caused or catenated by volitions or sensations, as in our hourly modes of reasoning, or imagining, or recollecting, we shall gain some idea of the innumerable catenated trains and circles of action, which form the tenor of our lives, and which began, and will only cease entirely with them.

2. When a young lady begins to learn music, she voluntarily applies herself to the characters of her music-book, and by many repetitions endeavours to catenate them with the proportions of sound, of which they are symbols. The ideas excited by the musical characters are slowly connected with the keys of the harpsichord, and much effort is necessary to produce every note with the proper finger, and in its due place and time; till at length a train of voluntary exertions becomes catenated with certain irritations. As the various notes by frequent repetitions become connected in the order, in which they are produced, a new catenation of sensitive exertions becomes mixed with the voluntary ones above described; and not only the musical symbols of crotchets and quavers, but the auditory notes and tones at the same time, become so many successive or synchronous links in this circle of catenated actions.

At length the motions of her fingers become catenated with the musical characters; and these no sooner strike the eye, than the finger presses down the key without any voluntary attention between them; the activity of the hand being connected with the irritation of the figure or place of the musical symbol on the retina; till at length by frequent repetitions of the same tune the movements of her fingers in playing, and the muscles of the larynx in singing, become associated with each other, and form part of those intricate trains and circles of catenated motions, according with the second article of the preceding propositions in No. 1. of this Section.

3. Besides the facility, which by habit attends the execution of this musical performance, a curious circumstance occurs, which is, that when our young musician has began a tune, she finds herself inclined to continue it; and that even when she is carelessly singing alone without attending to her own song; according with the third preceding article.

4. At the same time that our young performer continues to play with great exactness this accustomed tune, she can bend her mind, and that intensely, on some other object, according with the fourth article of the preceding proportions.

The manuscript copy of this work was lent to many of my friends at different times for the purpose of gaining their opinions and criticisms on many parts of it, and I found the following anecdote written with a pencil opposite to this page, but am not certain by whom. "I remember seeing the pretty young actress, who succeeded Mrs. Arne in the performance of the celebrated Padlock, rehearse the musical parts at her harpsichord under the eye of her master with great taste and accuracy; though I observed her countenance full of emotion, which I could not account for; at last she suddenly burst into tears; for she had all this time been eyeing a beloved canary bird, suffering great agonies, which at that instant fell dead from its perch."

5. At the same time many other catenated circles of action are going on in the person of our fair musician, as well as the motions of her fingers, such as the vital motions, respiration, the movements of her eyes and eyelids, and of the intricate muscles of vocality, according with the fifth preceding article.

6. If by any strong impression on the mind of our fair musician she should be interrupted for a very inconsiderable time, she can still continue her performance, according to the sixth article.

7. If however this interruption be greater, though the chain of actions be not dissevered, it proceeds confusedly, and our young performer continues indeed to play, but in a hurry without accuracy and elegance, till she begins the tune again, according to the seventh of the preceding articles.

8. But if this interruption be still greater, the circle of actions becomes entirely dissevered, and she finds herself immediately under the necessity to begin over again to recover the lost catenation, according to the eighth preceding article.

9. Or in trying to recover it she will sing some dissonant notes, or strike some improper keys, according to the ninth preceding article.

10. A very remarkable thing attends this breach of catenation, if the performer has forgotten some word of her song, the more energy of mind she uses about it, the more distant is she from regaining it; and artfully employs her mind in part on some other object, or endeavours to dull its perceptions, continuing to repeat, as it were inconsciously, the former part of the song, that she remembers, in hopes to regain the lost connexion.

For if the activity of the mind itself be more energetic, or takes its attention more, than the connecting word, which is wanted; it will not perceive the slighter link of this lost word; as who listens to a feeble sound, must be very silent and motionless; so that in this case the very vigour of the mind itself seems to prevent it from regaining the lost catenation, as well as the too great exertion in endeavouring to regain it, according to the tenth preceding article.

We frequently experience, when we are doubtful about the spelling of a word, that the greater voluntary exertion we use, that is the more intensely we think about it, the further are we from regaining the lost association between the letters of it, but which readily recurs when we have become careless about it. In the same manner, after having for an hour laboured to recollect the name of some absent person, it shall seem, particularly after sleep, to come into the mind as it were spontaneously; that is the word we are in search of, was joined to the preceding one by association; this association being dissevered, we endeavour to recover it by volition; this very action of the mind strikes our attention more, than the faint link of association, and we find it impossible by this means to retrieve the lost word. After sleep, when volition is entirely suspended, the mind becomes capable of perceiving the fainter link of association, and the word is regained.

On this circumstance depends the impediment of speech before mentioned; the first syllable of a word is causable by volition, but the remainder of it is in common conversation introduced by its associations with this first syllable acquired by long habit. Hence when the mind of the stammerer is vehemently employed on some idea of ambition of shining, or fear of not succeeding, the associations of the motions of the muscles of articulation with each other become dissevered by this greater exertion, and he endeavours in vain by voluntary efforts to rejoin the broken association. For this purpose he continues to repeat the first syllable, which is causable by volition, and strives in vain, by various distortions of countenance, to produce the next links, which are subject to association. See Class IV. 3. 1. 1.

11. After our accomplished musician has acquired great variety of tunes and songs, so that some of them begin to cease to be easily recollected, she finds progressive trains of musical notes more frequently forgotten, than those which are composed of reiterated circles, according with the eleventh preceding article.

12. To finish our example with the preceding articles we must at length suppose, that our fair performer falls asleep over her harpsichord; and thus by the suspension of volition, and the exclusion of external stimuli, she dissevers the trains and circles of her musical exertions.

III. 1. Many of these circumstances of catenations of motions receive an easy explanation from the four following consequences to the seventh law of animal causation in Sect. IV. These are, first, that those successions or combinations of animal motions, whether they were united by causation, association, or catenation, which have been most frequently repeated, acquire the strongest connection. Secondly, that of these, those, which have been less frequently mixed with other trains or tribes of motion, have the strongest connection. Thirdly, that of these, those, which were first formed, have the strongest connection. Fourthly, that if an animal motion be excited by more than one causation, association, or catenation, at the same time, it will be performed with greater energy.

2. Hence also we understand, why the catenations of irritative motions are more strongly connected than those of the other classes, where the quantity of unmixed repetition has been equal; because they were first formed. Such are those of the secerning and absorbent systems of vessels, where the action of the gland produces a fluid, which stimulates the mouths of its correspondent absorbents. The associated motions seem to be the next most strongly united, from their frequent repetition; and where both these circumstances unite, as in the vital motions, their catenations are indissoluble but by the destruction of the animal.

3. Where a new link has been introduced into a circle of actions by some accidental defect of stimulus; if that defect of stimulus be repeated at the same part of the circle a second or a third time, the defective motions thus produced, both by the repeated defect of stimulus and by their catenation with the parts of the circle of actions, will be performed with less and less energy. Thus if any person is exposed to cold at a certain hour to-day, so long as to render some part of the system for a time torpid; and is again exposed to it at the same hour to-morrow, and the next day; he will be more and more affected by it, till at length a cold fit of fever is completely formed, as happens at the beginning of many of those fevers, which are called nervous or low fevers. Where the patient has slight periodical shiverings and paleness for many days before the febrile paroxysm is completely formed.

4. On the contrary, if the exposure to cold be for so short a time, as not to induce any considerable degree of torpor or quiescence, and is repeated daily as above mentioned, it loses its effect more and more at every repetition, till the constitution can bear it without inconvenience, or indeed without being conscious of it. As in walking into the cold air in frosty weather. The same rule is applicable to increased stimulus, as of heat, or of vinous spirit, within certain limits, as is applied in the two last paragraphs to Deficient Stimulus; as is further explained in Sect. XXXVI. on the Periods of Diseases.

5. Where irritation coincides with sensation to produce the same catenations of motion, as in inflammatory fevers, they are excited with still greater energy than by the irritation alone. So when children expect to be tickled in play, by a feather lightly passed over the lips, or by gently vellicating the soles of their feet, laughter is most vehemently excited; though they can stimulate these parts with their own fingers unmoved. Here the pleasureable idea of playfulness coincides with the vellication; and there is no voluntary exertion used to diminish the sensation, as there would be, if a child should endeavour to tickle himself. See Sect. XXXIV. 1. 4.

6. And lastly, the motions excited by the junction of voluntary exertion with irritation are performed with more energy, than those by irritation singly; as when we listen to small noises, as to the ticking of a watch in the night, we perceive the most weak sounds, that are at other times unheeded. So when we attend to the irritative ideas of sound in our ears, which are generally not attended to, we can hear them; and can see the spectra of objects, which remain in the eye, whenever we please to exert our voluntary power in aid of those weak actions of the retina, or of the auditory nerve.

7. The temporary catenations of ideas, which are caused by the sensations of pleasure or pain, are easily dissevered either by irritations, as when a sudden noise disturbs a day-dream; or by the power of volition, as when we awake from sleep. Hence in our waking hours, whenever an idea occurs, which is incongruous to our former experience, we instantly dissever the train of imagination by the power of volition, and compare the incongruous idea with our previous knowledge of nature, and reject it. This operation of the mind has not yet acquired a specific name, though it is exerted every minute of our waking hours; unless it may be termed INTUITIVE ANALOGY. It is an act of reasoning of which we are unconscious except from its effects in preserving the congruity of our ideas, and bears the same relation to the sensorial power of volition, that irritative ideas, of which we are inconscious except by their effects, do to the sensorial power of irritation; as the former is produced by volition without our attention to it, and the latter by irritation without our attention to them.

If on the other hand a train of imagination or of voluntary ideas are excited with great energy, and passing on with great vivacity, and become dissevered by some violent stimulus, as the discharge of a pistol near one's ear, another circumstance takes place, which is termed SURPRISE; which by exciting violent irritation, and violent sensation, employs for a time the whole sensorial energy, and thus dissevers the passing trains of ideas, before the power of volition has time to compare them with the usual phenomena of nature. In this case fear is generally the companion of surprise, and adds to our embarrassment, as every one experiences in some degree when he hears a noise in the dark, which he cannot instantly account for. This catenation of fear with surprise is owing to our perpetual experience of injuries from external bodies in motion, unless we are upon our guard against them. See Sect. XVIII. 17. XIX. 2.

Many other examples of the catenations of animal motions are explained in Sect. XXXVI. on the Periods of Diseases.

* * * * *

SECT. XVIII.

OF SLEEP.

1. Volition is suspended in sleep. 2. Sensation continues. Dreams prevent delirium and inflammation. 3. Nightmare. 4. Ceaseless flow of ideas in dreams. 5. We seem to receive them by the senses. Optic nerve perfectly sensible in sleep. Eyes less dazzled after dreaming of visible objects. 6. Reverie, belief. 7. How we distinguish ideas from perceptions. 8. Variety of scenery in dreams, excellence of the sense of vision. 9. Novelty of combination in dreams. 10. Distinctness of imagery in dreams. 11. Rapidity of transaction in dreams. 12. Of measuring time. Of dramatic time and place. Why a dull play induces sleep, and an interesting one reverie. 13. Consciousness of our existence and identity in dreams. 14. How we awake sometimes suddenly, sometimes frequently. 15. Irritative motions continue in sleep, internal irritations are succeeded by sensation. Sensibility increases during sleep, and irritability. Morning dreams. Why epilepsies occur in sleep. Ecstacy of children. Case of convulsions in sleep. Cramp, why painful. Asthma. Morning sweats. Increase of heat. Increase of urine in sleep. Why more liable to take cold in sleep. Catarrh from thin night-caps. Why we feel chilly at the approach of sleep, and at waking in the open air. 16. Why the gout commences in sleep. Secretions are more copious in sleep, young animals and plants grow more in sleep. 17. Inconsistency of dreams. Absence of surprise in dreams. 18. Why we forget some dreams and not others. 19. Sleep-talkers awake with surprise. 20. Remote causes of sleep. Atmosphere with less oxygene. Compression of the brain in spina bifida. By whirling on an horizontal wheel. By cold. 21. Definition of sleep.

1. There are four situations of our system, which in their moderate degrees are not usually termed diseases, and yet abound with many very curious and instructive phenomena; these are sleep, reverie, vertigo, drunkenness. These we shall previously consider, before we step forwards to develop the causes and cures of diseases with the modes of the operation of medicines.

As all those trains and tribes of animal motion, which are subjected to volition, were the last that were caused, their connection is weaker than that of the other classes; and there is a peculiar circumstance attending this causation, which is, that it is entirely suspended during sleep; whilst the other classes of motion, which are more immediately necessary to life, as those caused by internal stimuli, for instance the pulsations of the heart and arteries, or those catenated with pleasurable sensation, as the powers of digestion, continue to strengthen their habits without interruption. Thus though man in his sleeping state is a much less perfect animal, than in his waking hours; and though he consumes more than one third of his life in this his irrational situation; yet is the wisdom of the Author of nature manifest even in this seeming imperfection of his work!

The truth of this assertion with respect to the large muscles of the body, which are concerned in locomotion, is evident; as no one in perfect sanity walks about in his sleep, or performs any domestic offices: and in respect to the mind, we never exercise our reason or recollection in dreams; we may sometimes seem distracted between contending passions, but we never compare their objects, or deliberate about the acquisition of those objects, if our sleep is perfect. And though many synchronous tribes or successive trains of ideas may represent the houses or walks, which have real existence, yet are they here introduced by their connection with our sensations, and are in truth ideas of imagination, not of recollection.

2. For our sensations of pleasure and pain are experienced with great vivacity in our dreams; and hence all that motley group of ideas, which are caused by them, called the ideas of imagination, with their various associated trains, are in a very vivid manner acted over in the sensorium; and these sometimes call into action the larger muscles, which have been much associated with them; as appears from the muttering sentences, which some people utter in their dreams, and from the obscure barking of sleeping dogs, and the motions of their feet and nostrils.

This perpetual flow of the trains of ideas, which constitute our dreams, and which are caused by painful or pleasurable sensation, might at first view be conceived to be an useless expenditure of sensorial power. But it has been shewn, that those motions, which are perpetually excited, as those of the arterial system by the stimulus of the blood, are attended by a great accumulation of sensorial power, after they have been for a time suspended; as the hot-fit of fever is the consequence of the cold one. Now as these trains of ideas caused by sensation are perpetually excited during our waking hours, if they were to be suspended in sleep like the voluntary motions, (which are exerted only by intervals during our waking hours,) an accumulation of sensorial power would follow; and on our awaking a delirium would supervene, since these ideas caused by sensation would be produced with such energy, that we should mistake the trains of imagination for ideas excited by irritation; as perpetually happens to people debilitated by fevers on their first awaking; for in these fevers with debility the general quantity of irritation being diminished, that of sensation is increased. In like manner if the actions of the stomach, intestines, and various glands, which are perhaps in part at least caused by or catenated with agreeable sensation, and which perpetually exist during our waking hours, were like the voluntary motions suspended in our sleep; the great accumulation of sensorial power, which would necessarily follow, would be liable to excite inflammation in them.

3. When by our continued posture in sleep, some uneasy sensations are produced, we either gradually awake by the exertion of volition, or the muscles connected by habit with such sensations alter the position of the body; but where the sleep is uncommonly profound, and those uneasy sensations great, the disease called the incubus, or nightmare, is produced. Here the desire of moving the body is painfully exerted, by the power of moving it, or volition, is incapable of action, till we awake. Many less disagreeable struggles in our dreams, as when we wish in vain to fly from terrifying objects, constitute a slighter degree of this disease. In awaking from the nightmare I have more than once observed, that there was no disorder in my pulse; nor do I believe the respiration is laborious, as some have affirmed. It occurs to people whose sleep is too profound, and some disagreeable sensation exists, which at other times would have awakened them, and have thence prevented the disease of nightmare; as after great fatigue or hunger with too large a supper and wine, which occasion our sleep to be uncommonly profound. See No. 14, of this Section.

4. As the larger muscles of the body are much more frequently excited by volition than by sensation, they are but seldom brought into action in our sleep: but the ideas of the mind are by habit much more frequently connected with sensation than with volition; and hence the ceaseless flow of our ideas in dreams. Every one's experience will teach him this truth, for we all daily exert much voluntary muscular motion: but few of mankind can bear the fatigue of much voluntary thinking.

5. A very curious circumstance attending these our sleeping imaginations is, that we seem to receive them by the senses. The muscles, which are subservient to the external organs of sense, are connected with volition, and cease to act in sleep; hence the eyelids are closed, and the tympanum of the ear relaxed; and it is probable a similarity of voluntary exertion may be necessary for the perceptions of the other nerves of sense; for it is observed that the papillæ of the tongue can be seen to become erected, when we attempt to taste any thing extremely grateful. Hewson Exper. Enquir. V. 2. 186. Albini Annot. Acad. L. i. c. 15. Add to this, that the immediate organs of sense have no objects to excite them in the darkness and silence of the night, but their nerves of sense nevertheless continue to possess their perfect activity subservient to all their numerous sensitive connections. This vivacity of our nerves of sense during the time of sleep is evinced by a circumstance, which almost every one must at some time or other have experienced; that is, if we sleep in the daylight, and endeavour to see some object in our dream, the light is exceedingly painful to our eyes; and after repeated struggles we lament in our sleep, that we cannot see it. In this case I apprehend the eyelid is in some degree opened by the vehemence of our sensations; and, the iris being dilated, the optic nerve shews as great or greater sensibility than in our waking hours. See No. 15. of this Section.

When we are forcibly waked at midnight from profound sleep, our eyes are much dazzled with the light of the candle for a minute or two, after there has been sufficient time allowed for the contraction of the iris; which is owing to the accumulation of sensorial power in the organ of vision during its state of less activity. But when we have dreamt much of visible objects, this accumulation of sensorial power in the organ of vision is lessened or prevented, and we awake in the morning without being dazzled with the light, after the iris has had time to contract itself. This is a matter of great curiosity, and may be thus tried by any one in the day-light. Close your eyes, and cover them with your hat; think for a minute on a tune, which you are accustomed to, and endeavour to sing it with as little activity of mind as possible. Suddenly uncover and open your eyes, and in one second of time the iris will contract itself, but you will perceive the day more luminous for several seconds, owing to the accumulation of sensorial power in the optic nerve.

Then again close and cover your eyes, and think intensely on a cube of ivory two inches diameter, attending first to the north and south sides of it, and then to the other four sides of it; then get a clear image in your mind's eye of all the sides of the same cube coloured red; and then of it coloured green; and then of it coloured blue; lastly, open your eyes as in the former experiment, and after the first second of time allowed for the contraction of the iris, you will not perceive any increase of the light of the day, or dazzling; because now there is no accumulation of sensorial power in the optic nerve; that having been expended by its action in thinking over visible objects.

This experiment is not easy to be made at first, but by a few patient trials the fact appears very certain; and shews clearly, that our ideas of imagination are repetitions of the motions of the nerve, which were originally occasioned by the stimulus of external bodies; because they equally expend the sensorial power in the organ of sense. See Sect. III. 4. which is analogous to our being as much fatigued by thinking as by labour.

6. Nor is it in our dreams alone, but even in our waking reveries, and in great efforts of invention, so great is the vivacity of our ideas, that we do not for a time distinguish them from the real presence of substantial objects; though the external organs of sense are open, and surrounded with their usual stimuli. Thus whilst I am thinking over the beautiful valley, through which I yesterday travelled, I do not perceive the furniture of my room: and there are some, whose waking imaginations are so apt to run into perfect reverie, that in their common attention to a favourite idea they do not hear the voice of the companion, who accosts them, unless it is repeated with unusual energy.

This perpetual mistake in dreams and reveries, where our ideas of imagination are attended with a belief of the presence of external objects, evinces beyond a doubt, that all our ideas are repetitions of the motions of the nerves of sense, by which they were acquired; and that this belief is not, as some late philosophers contend, an instinct necessarily connected only with our perceptions.

7. A curious question demands our attention in this place; as we do not distinguish in our dreams and reveries between our perceptions of external objects, and our ideas of them in their absence, how do we distinguish them at any time? In a dream, if the sweetness of sugar occurs to my imagination, the whiteness and hardness of it, which were ideas usually connected with the sweetness, immediately follow in the train; and I believe a material lump of sugar present before my senses: but in my waking hours, if the sweetness occurs to my imagination, the stimulus of the table to my hand, or of the window to my eye, prevents the other ideas of the hardness and whiteness of the sugar from succeeding; and hence I perceive the fallacy, and disbelieve the existence of objects correspondent to those ideas, whose tribes or trains are broken by the stimulus of other objects. And further in our waking hours, we frequently exert our volition in comparing present appearances with such, as we have usually observed; and thus correct the errors of one sense by our general knowledge of nature by intuitive analogy. See Sect. XVII. 3. 7. Whereas in dreams the power of volition is suspended, we can recollect and compare our present ideas with none of our acquired knowledge, and are hence incapable of observing any absurdities in them.

By this criterion we distinguish our waking from our sleeping hours, we can voluntarily recollect our sleeping ideas, when we are awake, and compare them with our waking ones; but we cannot in our sleep voluntarily recollect our waking ideas at all.

8. The vast variety of scenery, novelty of combination, and distinctness of imagery, are other curious circumstances of our sleeping imaginations. The variety of scenery seems to arise from the superior activity and excellence of our sense of vision; which in an instant unfolds to the mind extensive fields of pleasurable ideas; while the other senses collect their objects slowly, and with little combination; add to this, that the ideas, which this organ presents us with, are more frequently connected with our sensation than those of any other.

9. The great novelty of combination is owing to another circumstance; the trains of ideas, which are carried on in our waking thoughts, are in our dreams dissevered in a thousand places by the suspension of volition, and the absence of irritative ideas, and are hence perpetually falling into new catenations. As explained in Sect. XVII. 1. 9. For the power of volition is perpetually exerted during our waking hours in comparing our passing trains of ideas with our acquired knowledge of nature, and thus forms many intermediate links in their catenation. And the irritative ideas excited by the stimulus of the objects, with which we are surrounded, are every moment intruded upon us, and form other links of our unceasing catenations of ideas.

10. The absence of the stimuli of external bodies, and of volition, in our dreams renders the organs of sense liable to be more strongly affected by the powers of sensation, and of association. For our desires or aversions, or the obtrusions of surrounding bodies, dissever the sensitive and associate tribes of ideas in our waking hours by introducing those of irritation and volition amongst them. Hence proceeds the superior distinctness of pleasurable or painful imagery in our sleep; for we recal the figure and the features of a long lost friend, whom we loved, in our dreams with much more accuracy and vivacity than in our waking thoughts. This circumstance contributes to prove, that our ideas of imagination are reiterations of those motions of our organs of sense, which were excited by external objects; because while we are exposed to the stimuli of present objects, our ideas of absent objects cannot be so distinctly formed.

11. The rapidity of the succession of transactions in our dreams is almost inconceivable; insomuch that, when we are accidentally awakened by the jarring of a door, which is opened into our bed-chamber, we sometimes dream a whole history of thieves or fire in the very instant of awaking.

During the suspension of volition we cannot compare our other ideas with those of the parts of time in which they exist; that is, we cannot compare the imaginary scene, which is before us, with those changes of it, which precede or follow it: because this act of comparing requires recollection or voluntary exertion. Whereas in our waking hours, we are perpetually making this comparison, and by that means our waking ideas are kept confident with each other by intuitive analogy; but this companion retards the succession of them, by occasioning their repetition. Add to this, that the transactions of our dreams consist chiefly of visible ideas, and that a whole history of thieves and fire may be beheld in an instant of time like the figures in a picture.

12. From this incapacity of attending to the parts of time in our dreams, arises our ignorance of the length of the night; which, but from our constant experience to the contrary, we should conclude was but a few minutes, when our sleep is perfect. The same happens in our reveries; thus when we are possessed with vehement joy, grief, or anger, time appears short, for we exert no volition to compare the present scenery with the past or future; but when we are compelled to perform those exercises of mind or body, which, are unmixed with passion, as in travelling over a dreary country, time appears long; for our desire to finish our journey occasions us more frequently to compare our present situation with the parts of time or place, which are before and behind us.

So when we are enveloped in deep contemplation of any kind, or in reverie, as in reading a very interesting play or romance, we measure time very inaccurately; and hence, if a play greatly affects our passions, the absurdities of passing over many days or years, and or perpetual changes of place, are not perceived by the audience; as is experienced by every one, who reads or sees some plays of the immortal Shakespear; but it is necessary for inferior authors to observe those rules of the [Greek: pithanon] and [Greek: prepon] inculcated by Aristotle, because their works do not interest the passions sufficiently to produce complete reverie.

Those works, however, whether a romance or a sermon, which do not interest us so much as to induce reverie, may nevertheless incline us to sleep. For those pleasurable ideas, which are presented to us, and are too gentle to excite laughter, (which is attended with interrupted voluntary exertions, as explained Sect. XXXIV. 1. 4.) and which are not accompanied with any other emotion, which usually excites some voluntary exertion, as anger, or fear, are liable to produce sleep; which consists in a suspension of all voluntary power. But if the ideas thus presented to us, and interest our attention, are accompanied with so much pleasurable or painful sensation as to excite our voluntary exertion at the same time, reverie is the consequence. Hence an interesting play produces reverie, a tedious one produces sleep: in the latter we become exhausted by attention, and are not excited to any voluntary exertion, and therefore sleep; in the former we are excited by some emotion, which prevents by its pain the suspension of volition, and in as much as it interests us, induces reverie, as explained in the next Section.

But when our sleep is imperfect, as when we have determined to rise in half an hour, time appears longer to us than in most other situations. Here our solicitude not to oversleep the determined time induces us in this imperfect sleep to compare the quick changes of imagined scenery with the parts of time or place, they would have taken up, had they real exigence; and that more frequently than in our waking hours; and hence the time appears longer to us: and I make no doubt, but the permitted time appears long to a man going to the gallows, as the fear of its quick lapse will make him think frequently about it.

13. As we gain our knowledge of time by comparing the present scenery with the past and future, and of place by comparing the situations of objects with each other; so we gain our idea of consciousness by comparing ourselves with the scenery around us; and of identity by comparing our present consciousness with our past consciousness: as we never think of time or place, but when we make the companions above mentioned, so we never think of consciousness, but when we compare our own existence with that of other objects; nor of identity, but when we compare our present and our past consciousness. Hence the consciousness of our own existence, and of our identity, is owing to a voluntary exertion of our minds: and on that account in our complete dreams we neither measure time, are surprised at the sudden changes of place, nor attend to our own existence, or identity; because our power of volition is suspended. But all these circumstances are more or less observable in our incomplete ones; for then we attend a little to the lapse of time, and the changes of place, and to our own existence; and even to our identity of person; for a lady seldom dreams, that she is a soldier; nor a man, that he is brought to bed.

14. As long as our sensations only excite their sensual motions, or ideas, our sleep continues sound; but as soon as they excite desires or aversions, our sleep becomes imperfect; and when that desire or aversion is so strong, as to produce voluntary motions, we begin to awake; the larger muscles of the body are brought into action to remove that irritation or sensation, which a continued posture has caused; we stretch our limbs, and yawn, and our sleep is thus broken by the accumulation of voluntary power.

Sometimes it happens, that the act of waking is suddenly produced, and this soon after the commencement of sleep; which is occasioned by some sensation so disagreeable, as instantaneously to excite the power of volition; and a temporary action of all the voluntary motions suddenly succeeds, and we start awake. This is sometimes accompanied with loud noise in the ears, and with some degree of fear; and when it is in great excess, so as to produce continued convulsive motions of those muscles, which are generally subservient to volition, it becomes epilepsy: the fits of which in some patients generally commence during sleep. This differs from the night-mare described in No. 3. of this Section, because in that the disagreeable sensation is not so great as to excite the power of volition into action; for as soon as that happens, the disease ceases.

Another circumstance, which sometimes awakes people soon after the commencement of their sleep, is where the voluntary power is already so great in quantity as almost to prevent them from falling asleep, and then a little accumulation of it soon again awakens them; this happens in cases of insanity, or where the mind has been lately much agitated by fear or anger. There is another circumstance in which sleep is likewise of short duration, which arises from great debility, as after great over-fatigue, and in some fevers, where the strength of the patient is greatly diminished, as in these cases the pulse intermits or flutters, and the respiration is previously affected, it seems to originate from the want of some voluntary efforts to facilitate respiration, as when we are awake. And is further treated of in Vol. II. Class I. 2. 1. 2. on the Diseases of the Voluntary Power. Art. Somnus interruptus.

15. We come now to those motions which depend on irritation. The motions of the arterial and glandular systems continue in our sleep, proceeding slower indeed, but stronger and more uniformly, than in our waking hours, when they are incommoded by external stimuli, or by the movements of volition; the motions of the muscles subservient to respiration continue to be stimulated into action, and the other internal senses of hunger, thirst, and lust, are not only occasionally excited in our sleep, but their irritative motions are succeeded by their usual sensations, and make a part of the farrago of our dreams. These sensations of the want of air, of hunger, thirst, and lust, in our dreams, contribute to prove, that the nerves of the external senses are also alive and excitable in our sleep; but as the stimuli of external objects are either excluded from them by the darkness and silence of the night, or their access to them is prevented by the suspension of volition, these nerves of sense fall more readily into their connexions with sensation and with association; because much sensorial power, which during the day was expended in moving the external organs of sense in consequence of irritation from external stimuli, or in consequence of volition, becomes now in some degree accumulated, and renders the internal or immediate organs of sense more easily excitable by the other sensorial powers. Thus in respect to the eye, the irritation from external stimuli, and the power of volition during our waking hours, elevate the eye-lids, adapt the aperture of the iris to the quantity of light, the focus of the crystalline humour, and the angle of the optic axises to the distance of the object, all which perpetual activity during the day expends much sensorial power, which is saved during our sleep.

Hence it appears, that not only those parts of the system, which are always excited by internal stimuli, as the stomach, intestinal canal, bile-ducts, and the various glands, but the organs of sense also may be more violently excited into action by the irritation from internal stimuli, or by sensation, during our sleep than in our waking hours; because during the suspension of volition, there is a greater quantity of the spirit of animation to be expended by the other sensorial powers. On this account our irritability to internal stimuli, and our sensibility to pain or pleasure, is not only greater in sleep, but increases as our sleep is prolonged. Whence digestion and secretion are performed better in sleep, than in our waking hours, and our dreams in the morning have greater variety and vivacity, as our sensibility increases, than at night when we first lie down. And hence epileptic fits, which are always occasioned by some disagreeable sensation, so frequently attack those, who are subject to them, in their sleep; because at this time the system is more excitable by painful sensation in consequence of internal stimuli; and the power of volition is then suddenly exerted to relieve this pain, as explained Sect. XXXIV. 1. 4.

There is a disease, which frequently affects children in the cradle, which is termed ecstasy, and seems to consist in certain exertions to relieve painful sensation, in which the voluntary power is not so far excited as totally to awaken them, and yet is sufficient to remove the disagreeable sensation, which excites it; in this case changing the posture of the child frequently relieves it.

I have at this time under my care an elegant young man about twenty-two years of age, who seldom sleeps more than an hour without experiencing a convulsion fit; which ceases in about half a minute without any subsequent stupor. Large doses of opium only prevented the paroxysms, so long as they prevented him from sleeping by the intoxication, which they induced. Other medicines had no effect on him. He was gently awakened every half hour for one night, but without good effect, as he soon slept again, and the fit returned at about the same periods of time, for the accumulated sensorial power, which occasioned the increased sensibility to pain, was not thus exhausted. This case evinces, that the sensibility of the system to internal excitation increases, as our sleep is prolonged; till the pain thus occasioned produces voluntary exertion; which, when it is in its usual degree, only awakens us; but when it is more violent, it occasions convulsions.

The cramp in the calf of the leg is another kind of convulsion, which generally commences in sleep, occasioned by the continual increase of irritability from internal stimuli, or of sensibility, during that state of our existence. The cramp is a violent exertion to relieve pain, generally either of the skin from cold, or of the bowels, as in some diarrhoeas, or from the muscles having been previously overstretched, as in walking up or down steep hills. But in these convulsions of the muscles, which form the calf of the leg, the contraction is so violent as to occasion another pain in consequence of their own too violent contraction; as soon as the original pain, which caused the contraction, is removed. And hence the cramp, or spasm, of these muscles is continued without intermission by this new pain, unlike the alternate convulsions and remissions in epileptic fits. The reason, that the contraction of these muscles of the calf of the leg is more violent during their convulsion than that of others, depends on the weakness of their antagonist muscles; for after these have been contracted in their usual action, as at every step in walking, they are again extended, not, as most other muscles are, by their antagonists, but by the weight of the whole body on the balls of the toes; and that weight applied to great mechanical advantage on the heel, that is, on the other end of the bone of the foot, which thus acts as a lever.

Another disease, the periods of which generally commence during our sleep, is the asthma. Whatever may be the remote cause of paroxysms of asthma, the immediate cause of the convulsive respiration, whether in the common asthma, or in what is termed the convulsive asthma, which are perhaps only different degrees of the same disease, must be owing to violent voluntary exertions to relieve pain, as in other convulsions; and the increase of irritability to internal stimuli, or of sensibility, during sleep must occasion them to commence at this time.

Debilitated people, who have been unfortunately accustomed to great ingurgitation of spirituous potation, frequently part with a great quantity of water during the night, but with not more than usual in the day-time. This is owing to a beginning torpor of the absorbent system, and precedes anasarca, which commences in the day, but is cured in the night by the increase of the irritability of the absorbent system during sleep, which thus imbibes from the cellular membrane the fluids, which had been accumulated there during the day; though it is possible the horizontal position of the body may contribute something to this purpose, and also the greater irritability of some branches of the absorbent vessels, which open their mouths in the cells of the cellular membrane, than that of other branches.

As soon as a person begins to sleep, the irritability and sensibility of the system begins to increase, owing to the suspension of volition and the exclusion of external stimuli. Hence the actions of the vessels in obedience to internal stimulation become stronger and more energetic, though less frequent in respect to number. And as many of the secretions are increased, so the heat of the system is gradually increased, and the extremities of feeble people, which had been cold during the day, become warm. Till towards morning many people become so warm, as to find it necessary to throw off some of their bed-clothes, as soon as they awake; and in others sweats are so liable to occur towards morning during their sleep.

Thus those, who are not accustomed to sleep in the open air, are very liable to take cold, if they happen to fall asleep on a garden bench, or in a carriage with the window open. For as the system is warmer during sleep, as above explained, if a current of cold air affects any part of the body, a torpor of that part is more effectually produced, as when a cold blast of air through a key-hole or casement falls upon a person in a warm room. In those cases the affected part possesses less irritability in respect to heat, from its having previously been exposed to a greater stimulus of heat, as in the warm room, or during sleep; and hence, when the stimulus of heat is diminished, a torpor is liable to ensue; that is, we take cold. Hence people who sleep in the open air, generally feel chilly both at the approach of sleep, and on their awaking; and hence many people are perpetually subject to catarrhs if they sleep in a less warm head-dress, than that which they wear in the day.

16. Not only the sensorial powers of irritation and of sensation, but that of association also appear to act with greater vigour during the suspension of volition in sleep. It will be shewn in another place, that the gout generally first attacks the liver, and that afterwards an inflammation of the ball of the great toe commences by association, and that of the liver ceases. Now as this change or metastasis of the activity of the system generally commences in sleep, it follows, that these associations of motion exist with greater energy at that time; that is, that the sensorial faculty of association, like those of irritation and of sensation, becomes in some measure accumulated during the suspension of volition.

Other associate tribes and trains of motions, as well as the irritative and sensitive ones, appear to be increased in their activity during the suspension of volition in sleep. As those which contribute to circulate the blood, and to perform the various secretions; as well as the associate tribes and trains of ideas, which contribute to furnish the perpetual dreams of our dreaming imaginations.

In sleep the secretions have generally been supposed to be diminished, as the expectorated mucus in coughs, the fluids discharged in diarrhoeas, and in salivation, except indeed the secretion of sweat, which is often visibly increased. This error seems to have arisen from attention to the excretions rather than to the secretions. For the secretions, except that of sweat, are generally received into reservoirs, as the urine into the bladder, and the mucus of the intestines and lungs into their respective cavities; but these reservoirs do not exclude these fluids immediately by their stimulus, but require at the same time some voluntary efforts, and therefore permit them to remain during sleep. And as they thus continue longer in those receptacles in our sleeping hours, a greater part is absorbed from them, and the remainder becomes thicker, and sometimes in less quantity, though at the time it was secreted the fluid was in greater quantity than in our waking hours. Thus the urine is higher coloured after long sleep; which shews that a greater quantity has been secreted, and that more of the aqueous and saline part has been reabsorbed, and the earthy part left in the bladder; hence thick urine in fevers shews only a greater action of the vessels which secrete it in the kidneys, and of those which absorb it from the bladder.

The same happens to the mucus expectorated in coughs, which is thus thickened by absorption of its aqueous and saline parts; and the same of the feces of the intestines. From hence it appears, and from what has been said in No. 15. of this Section concerning the increase of irritability and of sensibility during sleep, that the secretions are in general rather increased than diminished during these hours of our existence; and it is probable that nutrition is almost entirely performed in sleep; and that young animals grow more at this time than in their waking hours, as young plants have long since been observed to grow more in the night, which is their time of sleep.

17. Two other remarkable circumstances of our dreaming ideas are their inconsistency, and the total absence of surprise. Thus we seem to be present at more extraordinary metamorphoses of animals or trees, than are to be met with in the fables of antiquity; and appear to be transported from place to place, which seas divide, as quickly as the changes of scenery are performed in a play-house; and yet are not sensible of their inconsistency, nor in the least degree affected with surprise.

We must consider this circumstance more minutely. In our waking trains of ideas, those that are inconsistent with the usual order of nature, so rarely have occurred to us, that their connexion is the slightest of all others: hence, when a consistent train of ideas is exhausted, we attend to the external stimuli, that usually surround us, rather than to any inconsistent idea, which might otherwise present itself; and if an inconsistent idea should intrude itself, we immediately compare it with the preceding one, and voluntarily reject the train it would introduce; this appears further in the Section on Reverie, in which state of the mind external stimuli are not attended to, and yet the streams of ideas are kept consistent by the efforts of volition. But as our faculty of volition is suspended, and all external stimuli are excluded in sleep, this slighter connexion of ideas takes place; and the train is said to be inconsistent; that is, dissimilar to the usual order of nature.

But, when any consistent train of sensitive or voluntary ideas is flowing along, if any external stimulus affects us so violently, as to intrude irritative ideas forcibly into the mind, it disunites the former train of ideas, and we are affected with surprise. These stimuli of unusual energy or novelty not only disunite our common trains of ideas, but the trains of muscular motions also, which have not been long established by habit, and disturb those that have. Some people become motionless by great surprise, the fits of hiccup and or ague have been often removed by it, and it even affects the movements of the heart, and arteries; but in our sleep, all external stimuli are excluded, and in consequence no surprise can exist. See Section XVII. 3. 7.

18. We frequently awake with pleasure from a dream, which has delighted us, without being able to recollect the transactions of it; unless perhaps at a distance of time, some analogous idea may introduce afresh this forgotten train: and in our waking reveries we sometimes in a moment lose the train of thought, but continue to feel the glow of pleasure, or the depression of spirits, it occasioned: whilst at other times we can retrace with ease these histories of our reveries and dreams.

The above explanation of surprise throws light upon this subject. When we are suddenly awaked by any violent stimulus, the surprise totally disunites the trains of our sleeping ideas from these of our waking ones; but if we gradually awake, this does not happen; and we readily unravel the preceding trains of imagination.

19. There are various degrees of surprise; the more intent we are upon the train of ideas, which we are employed about, the more violent must be the stimulus that interrupts them, and the greater is the degree of surprise. I have observed dogs, who have slept by the fire, and by their obscure barking and struggling have appeared very intent on their prey, that shewed great surprise for a few seconds after their awaking by looking eagerly around them; which they did not do at other times of waking. And an intelligent friend of mine has remarked, that his lady, who frequently speaks much and articulately in her sleep, could never recollect her dreams in the morning, when this happened to her: but that when she did not speak in her sleep, she could always recollect them.

Hence, when our sensations act so strongly in sleep as to influence the larger muscles, as in those, who talk or struggle in their dreams; or in those, who are affected with complete reverie (as described in the next Section), great surprise is produced, when they awake; and these as well as those, who are completely drunk or delirious, totally forget afterwards their imaginations at those times.

20. As the immediate cause of sleep consists in the suspension of volition, it follows, that whatever diminishes the general quantity of sensorial power, or derives it from the faculty of volition, will constitute a remote cause of sleep; such as fatigue from muscular or mental exertion, which diminishes the general quantity of sensorial power; or an increase of the sensitive motions, as by attending to soft music, which diverts the sensorial power from the faculty of volition; or lastly, by increase of the irritative motions, as by wine, or food; or warmth; which not only by their expenditure of sensorial power diminish the quantity of volition; but also by their producing pleasureable sensations (which occasion other muscular or sensual motions in consequence), doubly decrease the voluntary power, and thus more forcibly produce sleep. See Sect. XXXIV. 1. 4.

Another method of inducing sleep is delivered in a very ingenious work lately published by Dr. Beddoes. Who, after lamenting that opium frequently occasions restlessness, thinks, "that in most cases it would be better to induce sleep by the abstraction of stimuli, than by exhausting the excitability;" and adds, "upon this principle we could not have a better soporific than an atmosphere with a diminished proportion of oxygene air, and that common air might be admitted after the patient was asleep." (Observ. on Calculus, &c. by Dr. Beddoes, Murray.) If it should be found to be true, that the excitability of the system depends on the quantity of oxygene absorbed by the lungs in respiration according to the theory of Dr. Beddoes, and of M. Girtanner, this idea of sleeping in an atmosphere with less oxygene in its composition might be of great service in epileptic cases, and in cramp, and even in fits of the asthma, where their periods commence from the increase of irritability during sleep.

Sleep is likewise said to be induced by mechanic pressure on the brain in the cases of spina bifida. Where there has been a defect of one of the vertebræ of the back, a tumour is protruded in consequence; and, whenever this tumour has been compressed by the hand, sleep is said to be induced, because the whole of the brain both within the head and spine becomes compressed by the retrocession of the fluid within the tumour. But by what means a compression of the brain induces sleep has not been explained, but probably by diminishing the secretion of sensorial power, and then the voluntary motions become suspended previously to the irritative ones, as occurs in most dying persons.

Another way of procuring sleep mechanically was related to me by Mr. Brindley, the famous canal engineer, who was brought up to the business of a mill-wright; he told me, that he had more than once seen the experiment of a man extending himself across the large stone of a corn-mill, and that by gradually letting the stone whirl, the man fell asleep, before the stone had gained its full velocity, and he supposed would have died without pain by the continuance or increase of the motion. In this case the centrifugal motion of the head and feet must accumulate the blood in both those extremities of the body, and thus compress the brain.

Lastly, we should mention the application of cold; which, when in a less degree, produces watchfulness by the pain it occasions, and the tremulous convulsions of the subcutaneous muscles; but when it is applied in great degree, is said to produce sleep. To explain this effect it has been said, that as the vessels of the skin and extremities become first torpid by the want of the stimulus of heat, and as thence less blood is circulated through them, as appears from their paleness, a greater quantity of blood poured upon the brain produces sleep by its compression of that organ. But I should rather imagine, that the sensorial power becomes exhausted by the convulsive actions in consequence of the pain of cold, and of the voluntary exercise previously used to prevent it, and that the sleep is only the beginning to die, as the suspension of voluntary power in lingering deaths precedes for many hours the extinction of the irritative motions.

21. The following are the characteristic circumstances attending perfect sleep.

1. The power of volition is totally suspended.

2. The trains of ideas caused by sensation proceed with greater facility and vivacity; but become inconsistent with the usual order of nature. The muscular motions caused by sensation continue; as those concerned in our evacuations during infancy, and afterwards in digestion, and in priapismus.

3. The irritative muscular motions continue, as those concerned in the circulation, in secretion, in respiration. But the irritative sensual motions, or ideas, are not excited; as the immediate organs of sense are not stimulated into action by external objects, which are excluded by the external organs of sense; which are not in sleep adapted to their reception by the power of volition, as in our waking hours.

4. The associate motions continue; but their first link is not excited into action by volition, or by external stimuli. In all respects, except those above mentioned, the three last sensorial powers are somewhat increased in energy during the suspension of volition, owing to the consequent accumulation of the spirit of animation.

* * * * *

SECT. XIX.

OF REVERIE.

1. Various degrees of reverie. 2. Sleep-walkers. Case of a young lady. Great surprise at awaking. And total forgetfulness of what passed in reverie. 3. No suspension of volition in reverie. 4. Sensitive motions continue, and are consistent. 5. Irritative motions continue, but are not succeeded by sensation. 6. Volition necessary for the perception of feeble impressions. 7. Associated motions continue. 8. Nerves of sense are irritable in sleep, but not in reverie. 9. Somnambuli are not asleep. Contagion received but once. 10. Definition of reverie.

1. When we are employed with great sensation of pleasure, or with great efforts of volition, in the pursuit of some interesting train of ideas, we cease to be conscious of our existence, are inattentive to time and place, and do not distinguish this train of sensitive and voluntary ideas from the irritative ones excited by the presence of external objects, though our organs of sense are furnished with their accustomed stimuli, till at length this interesting train of ideas becomes exhausted, or the appulses of external objects are applied with unusual violence, and we return with surprise, or with regret, into the common track of life. This is termed reverie or studium.

In some constitutions these reveries continue a considerable time, and are not to be removed without greater difficulty, but are experienced in a less degree by us all; when we attend earnestly to the ideas excited by volition or sensation, with their associated connexions, but are at the same time conscious at intervals of the stimuli of surrounding bodies. Thus in being present at a play, or in reading a romance, some persons are so totally absorbed as to forget their usual time of sleep, and to neglect their meals; while others are said to have been so involved in voluntary study as not to have heard the discharge of artillery; and there is a story of an Italian politician, who could think so intensely on other subjects, as to be insensible to the torture of the rack.

From hence it appears, that these catenations of ideas and muscular motions, which form the trains of reverie, are composed both of voluntary and sensitive associations of them; and that these ideas differ from those of delirium or of sleep, as they are kept consistent by the power of volition; and they differ also from the trains of ideas belonging to insanity, as they are as frequently excited by sensation as by volition. But lastly, that the whole sensorial power is so employed on these trains of complete reverie, that like the violent efforts of volition, as in convulsions or insanity; or like the great activity of the irritative motions in drunkenness; or of the sensitive motions in delirium; they preclude all sensation consequent to external stimulus.

2. Those persons, who are said to walk in their sleep, are affected with reverie to so great a degree, that it becomes a formidable disease; the essence of which consists in the inaptitude of the mind to attend to external stimuli. Many histories of this disease have been published by medical writers; of which there is a very curious one in the Lausanne Transactions. I shall here subjoin an account of such a case, with its cure, for the better illustration of this subject.

A very ingenious and elegant young lady, with light eyes and hair, about the age of seventeen, in other respects well, was suddenly seized soon after her usual menstruation with this very wonderful malady. The disease began with vehement convulsions of almost every muscle of her body, with great but vain efforts to vomit, and the most violent hiccoughs, that can be conceived: these were succeeded in about an hour with a fixed spasm; in which one hand was applied to her head, and the other to support it: in about half an hour these ceased, and the reverie began suddenly, and was at first manifest by the look of her eyes and countenance, which seemed to express attention. Then she conversed aloud with imaginary persons with her eyes open, and could not for about an hour be brought to attend to the stimulus of external objects by any kind of violence, which it was proper to use; these symptoms returned in this order every day for five or six weeks.

These conversations were quite consistent, and we could understand, what she supposed her imaginary companions to answer, by the continuation of her part of the discourse. Sometimes she was angry, at other times shewed much wit and vivacity, but was most frequently inclined to melancholy. In these reveries she sometimes sung over some music with accuracy, and repeated whole pages from the English poets. In repeating some lines from Mr. Pope's works she had forgot one word, and began again, endeavouring to recollect it; when she came to the forgotten word, it was shouted aloud in her ear, and this repeatedly, to no purpose; but by many trials she at length regained it herself.

These paroxysms were terminated with the appearance of inexpressible surprise, and great fear, from which she was some minutes in recovering herself, calling on her sister with great agitation, and very frequently underwent a repetition of convulsions, apparently from the pain of fear. See Sect. XVII. 3. 7.

After having thus returned for about an hour every day for two or three weeks, the reveries seemed to become less complete, and some of their circumstances varied; so that she could walk about the room in them without running against any of the furniture; though these motions were at first very unsteady and tottering. And afterwards she once drank a dish of tea, when the whole apparatus of the tea-table was set before her; and expressed some suspicion, that a medicine was put into it, and once seemed to smell of a tuberose, which was in flower in her chamber, and deliberated aloud about breaking it from the stem, saying, "it would make her sister so charmingly angry." At another time in her melancholy moments she heard the sound of a passing bell, "I wish I was dead," she cried, listening to the bell, and then taking off one of her shoes, as she sat upon the bed, "I love the colour black," says she, "a little wider, and a little longer, even this might make me a coffin!"--Yet it is evident, she was not sensible at this time, any more than formerly, of seeing or hearing any person about her; indeed when great light was thrown upon her by opening the shutters of the window, her trains of ideas seemed less melancholy; and when I have forcibly held her hands, or covered her eyes, she appeared to grow impatient, and would say, she could not tell what to do, for she could neither see nor move. In all these circumstances her pulse continued unaffected as in health. And when the paroxysm was over, she could never recollect a single idea of what had passed in it.

This astonishing disease, after the use of many other medicines and applications in vain, was cured by very large doses of opium given about an hour before the expected returns of the paroxysms; and after a few relapses, at the intervals of three or four months, entirely disappeared. But she continued at times to have other symptoms of epilepsy.

3. We shall only here consider, what happened during the time of her reveries, as that is our present subject; the fits of convulsion belong to another part of this treatise. Sect. XXXIV. 1. 4.

There seems to have been no suspension of volition during the fits of reverie, because she endeavoured to regain the lost idea in repeating the lines of poetry, and deliberated about breaking the tuberose, and suspected the tea to have been medicated.

4. The ideas and muscular movements depending on sensation were exerted with their usual vivacity, and were kept from being inconsistent by the power of volition, as appeared from her whole conversation, and was explained in Sect. XVII. 3. 7. and XVIII. 16.

5. The ideas and motions dependant on irritation during the first weeks of her disease, whilst the reverie was complete, were never succeeded by the sensation of pleasure or pain; as she neither saw, heard, nor felt any of the surrounding objects. Nor was it certain that any irritative motions succeeded the stimulus of external objects, till the reverie became less complete, and then she could walk about the room without running against the furniture of it. Afterwards, when the reverie became still less complete from the use of opium, some few irritations were at times succeeded by her attention to them. As when she smelt at a tuberose, and drank a dish of tea, but this only when she seemed voluntarily to attend to them.

6. In common life when we listen to distant sounds, or wish to distinguish objects in the night, we are obliged strongly to exert our volition to dispose the organs of sense to perceive them, and to suppress the other trains of ideas, which might interrupt these feeble sensations. Hence in the present history the strongest stimuli were not perceived, except when the faculty of volition was exerted on the organ of sense; and then even common stimuli were sometimes perceived: for her mind was so strenuously employed in pursuing its own trains of voluntary or sensitive ideas, that no common stimuli could so far excite her attention as to disunite them; that is, the quantity of volition or of sensation already existing was greater than any, which could be produced in consequence of common degrees of stimulation. But the few stimuli of the tuberose, and of the tea, which she did perceive, were such, as accidentally coincided with the trains of thought, which were passing in her mind; and hence did not disunite those trains, and create surprise. And their being perceived at all was owing to the power of volition preceding or coinciding with that of irritation.

This explication is countenanced by a fact mentioned concerning a somnambulist in the Lausanne Transactions, who sometimes opened his eyes for a short time to examine, where he was, or where his ink-pot stood, and then shut them again, dipping his pen into the pot every now and then, and writing on, but never opening his eyes afterwards, although he wrote on from line to line regularly, and corrected some errors of the pen, or in spelling: so much easier was it to him to refer to his ideas of the positions of things, than to his perceptions of them.

7. The associated motions persisted in their usual channel, as appeared by the combinations of her ideas, and the use of her muscles, and the equality of her pulse; for the natural motions of the arterial system, though originally excited like other motions by stimulus, seem in part to continue by their association with each other. As the heart of a viper pulsates long after it is cut out of the body, and removed from the stimulus of the blood.

8. In the section on sleep, it was observed that the nerves of sense are equally alive and susceptible to irritation in that state, as when we are awake; but that they are secluded from stimulating objects, or rendered unfit to receive them: but in complete reverie the reverse happens, the immediate organs of sense are exposed to their usual stimuli; but are either not excited into action at all, or not into so great action, as to produce attention or sensation.

The total forgetfulness of what passes in reveries; and the surprise on recovering from them, are explained in Section XVIII. 19. and in Section XVII. 3. 7.

9. It appears from hence, that reverie is a disease of the epileptic or cataleptic kind, since the paroxysms of this young lady always began and frequently terminated with convulsions; and though in its greatest degree it has been called somnambulation, or sleep-walking, it is totally different from sleep; because the essential character of sleep consists in the total suspension of volition, which in reverie is not affected; and the essential character of reverie consists not in the absence of those irritative motions of our senses, which are occasioned by the stimulus of external objects, but in their never being productive of sensation. So that during a fit of reverie that strange event happens to the whole system of nerves, which occurs only to some particular branches of them in those, who are a second time exposed to the action of contagious matter. If the matter of the small-pox be inserted into the arm of one, who has previously had that disease, it will stimulate the wound, but the general sensation or inflammation of the system does not follow, which constitutes the disease. See Sect. XII. 3. 6. XXXIII. 2. 8.

10. The following is the definition or character of complete reverie. 1. The irritative motions occasioned by internal stimuli continue, those from the stimuli of external objects are either not produced at all, or are never succeeded by sensation or attention, unless they are at the same time excited by volition. 2. The sensitive motions continue, and are kept consistent by the power of volition. 3. The voluntary motions continue undisturbed. 4. The associate motions continue undisturbed.

Two other cases of reverie are related in Section XXXIV. 3. which further evince, that reverie is an effort of the mind to relieve some painful sensation, and is hence allied to convulsion, and to insanity. Another case is related in Class III. 1. 2. 2.

* * * * *

SECT. XX.

OF VERTIGO.

1. We determine our perpendicularity by the apparent motions of objects. A person hood-winked cannot walk in a straight line. Dizziness in looking from a tower, in a room stained with uniform lozenges, on riding over snow. 2. Dizziness from moving objects. A whirling-wheel. Fluctuations of a river. Experiment with a child. 3. Dizziness from our own motions and those of other objects. 4. Riding over a broad stream. Sea-sickness. 5. Of turning round on one foot. Dervises in Turkey. Attention of the mind prevents slight sea-sickness. After a voyage ideas of vibratory motions are still perceived on shore. 6. Ideas continue some time after they are excited. Circumstances of turning on one foot, standing on a tower, and walking in the dark, explained. 7. Irritative ideas of apparent motions. Irritative ideas of sounds. Battèment of the sound of bells and organ-pipes. Vertiginous noise in the head. Irritative motions of the stomach, intestines, and glands. 8. Symptoms that accompany vertigo. Why vomiting comes on in strokes of the palsy. By the motion of a ship. By injuries on the head. Why motion makes sick people vomit. 9. Why drunken people are vertiginous. Why a stone in the ureter, or bile-duct, produces vomiting. 10. Why after a voyage ideas of vibratory motions are perceived on shore. 11. Kinds of vertigo and their cure. 12. Definition of vertigo.

1. In learning to walk we judge of the distances of the objects, which we approach, by the eye; and by observing their perpendicularity determine our own. This circumstance not having been attended to by the writers on vision, the disease called vertigo or dizziness has been little understood.

When any person loses the power of muscular action, whether he is erect or in a sitting posture, he sinks down upon the ground; as is seen in fainting fits, and other instances of great debility. Hence it follows, that some exertion of muscular power is necessary to preserve our perpendicular attitude. This is performed by proportionally exerting the antagonist muscles of the trunk, neck, and limbs; and if at any time in our locomotions we find ourselves inclining to one side, we either restore our equilibrium by the efforts of the muscles on the other side, or by moving one of our feet extend the base, which we rest upon, to the new center of gravity.

But the most easy and habitual manner of determining our want of perpendicularity, is by attending to the apparent motion of the objects within the sphere of distinct vision; for this apparent motion of objects, when we incline from our perpendicularity, or begin to fall, is as much greater than the real motion of the eye, as the diameter of the sphere of distinct vision is to our perpendicular height.

Hence no one, who is hood-winked, can walk in a straight line for a hundred steps together; for he inclines so greatly, before he is warned of his want of perpendicularity by the sense of touch, not having the apparent motions of ambient objects to measure this inclination by, that he is necessitated to move one of his feet outwards, to the right or to the left, to support the new centre of gravity, and thus errs from the line he endeavours to proceed in.

For the same reason many people become dizzy, when they look from the summit of a tower, which is raised much above all other objects, as these objects are out of the sphere of distinct vision, and they are obliged to balance their bodies by the less accurate feelings of their muscles.

There is another curious phenomenon belonging to this place, if the circumjacent visible objects are so small, that we do not distinguish their minute parts; or so similar, that we do not know them from each other; we cannot determine our perpendicularity by them. Thus in a room hung with a paper, which is coloured over with similar small black lozenges or rhomboids, many people become dizzy; for when they begin to fall, the next and the next lozenge succeeds upon the eye; which they mistake for the first, and are not aware, that they have any apparent motion. But if you fix a sheet of paper, or draw any other figure, in the midst of these lozenges, the charm ceases, and no dizziness is perceptible.--The same occurs, when we ride over a plain covered with snow without trees or other eminent objects.

2. But after having compared visible objects at rest with the sense of touch, and learnt to distinguish their shapes and shades, and to measure our want of perpendicularity by their apparent motions, we come to consider them in real motion. Here a new difficulty occurs, and we require some experience to learn the peculiar mode of motion of any moving objects, before we can make use of them for the purposes of determining our perpendicularity. Thus some people become dizzy at the sight of a whirling wheel, or by gazing on the fluctuations of a river, if no steady objects are at the same time within the sphere of their distinct vision; and when a child first can stand erect upon his legs, if you gain his attention to a white handkerchief steadily extended like a sail, and afterwards make it undulate, he instantly loses his perpendicularity, and tumbles on the ground.

3. A second difficulty we have to encounter is to distinguish our own real movements from the apparent motions of objects. Our daily practice of walking and riding on horseback soon instructs us with accuracy to discern these modes of motion, and to ascribe the apparent motions of the ambient objects to ourselves; but those, which we have not acquired by repeated habit, continue to confound us. So as we ride on horseback the trees and cottages, which occur to us, appear at rest; we can measure their distances with our eye, and regulate our attitude by them; yet if we carelessly attend to distant hills or woods through a thin hedge, which is near us, we observe the jumping and progressive motions of them; as this is increased by the paralax of these objects; which we have not habituated ourselves to attend to. When first an European mounts an elephant sixteen feet high, and whose mode of motion he is not accustomed to, the objects seem to undulate, as he passes, and he frequently becomes sick and vertiginous, as I am well informed. Any other unusual movement of our bodies has the same effect, as riding backwards in a coach, swinging on a rope, turning round swiftly on one leg, scating on the ice, and a thousand others. So after a patient has been long confined to his bed, when he first attempts to walk, he finds himself vertiginous, and is obliged by practice to learn again the particular modes of the apparent motions of objects, as he walks by them.

4. A third difficulty, which occurs to us in learning to balance ourselves by the eye, is, when both ourselves and the circumjacent objects are in real motion. Here it is necessary, that we should be habituated to both these modes of motion in order to preserve our perpendicularity. Thus on horseback we accurately observe another person, whom we meet, trotting towards us, without confounding his jumping and progressive motion with our own, because we have been accustomed to them both; that is, to undergo the one, and to see the other at the same time. But in riding over a broad and fluctuating stream, though we are well experienced in the motions of our horse, we are liable to become dizzy from our inexperience in that of the water. And when first we go on ship-board, where the movements of ourselves, and the movements of the large waves are both new to us, the vertigo is almost unavoidable with the terrible sickness, which attends it. And this I have been assured has happened to several from being removed from a large ship into a small one; and again from a small one into a man of war.

5. From the foregoing examples it is evident, that, when we are surrounded with unusual motions, we lose our perpendicularity: but there are some peculiar circumstances attending this effect of moving objects, which we come now to mention, and shall hope from the recital of them to gain some insight into the manner of their production.

When a child moves round quick upon one foot, the circumjacent objects become quite indistinct, as their distance increases their apparent motions; and this great velocity confounds both their forms, and their colours, as is seen in whirling round a many coloured wheel; he then loses his usual method of balancing himself by vision, and begins to stagger, and attempts to recover himself by his muscular feelings. This staggering adds to the instability of the visible objects by giving a vibratory motion besides their rotatory one. The child then drops upon the ground, and the neighbouring objects seem to continue for some seconds of time to circulate around him, and the earth under him appears to librate like a balance. In some seconds of time these sensations of a continuation of the motion of objects vanish; but if he continues turning round somewhat longer, before he falls, sickness and vomiting are very liable to succeed. But none of these circumstances affect those who have habituated themselves to this kind of motion, as the dervises in Turkey, amongst whom these swift gyrations are a ceremony of religion.

In an open boat passing from Leith to Kinghorn in Scotland, a sudden change of the wind shook the undistended sail, and stopt our boat; from this unusual movement the passengers all vomited except myself. I observed, that the undulation of the ship, and the instability of all visible objects, inclined me strongly to be sick; and this continued or increased, when I closed my eyes, but as often as I bent my attention with energy on the management and mechanism of the ropes and sails, the sickness ceased; and recurred again, as often as I relaxed this attention; and I am assured by a gentleman of observation and veracity, that he has more than once observed, when the vessel has been in immediate danger, that the sea-sickness of the passengers has instantaneously ceased, and recurred again, when the danger was over.

Those, who have been upon the water in a boat or ship so long, that they have acquired the necessary habits of motion upon that unstable element, at their return on land frequently think in their reveries, or between sleeping and waking, that they observe the room, they sit in, or some of its furniture, to librate like the motion of the vessel. This I have experienced myself, and have been told, that after long voyages, it is some time before these ideas entirely vanish. The same is observable in a less degree after having travelled some days in a stage coach, and particularly when we lie down in bed, and compose ourselves to sleep; in this case it is observable, that the rattling noise of the coach, as well as the undulatory motion, haunts us. The drunken vertigo, and the vulgar custom of rocking children, will be considered in the next Section.

6. The motions, which are produced by the power of volition, may be immediately stopped by the exertion of the same power on the antagonist muscles; otherwise these with all the other classes of motion continue to go on, some time after they are excited, as the palpitation of the heart continues after the object of fear, which occasioned it, is removed. But this circumstance is in no class of motions more remarkable than in those dependent on irritation; thus if any one looks at the sun, and then covers his eyes with his hand, he will for many seconds of time, perceive the image of the sun marked on his retina: a similar image of all other visible objects would remain some time formed on the retina, but is extinguished by the perpetual change of the motions of this nerve in our attention to other objects. To this must be added, that the longer time any movements have continued to be excited without fatigue to the organ, the longer will they continue spontaneously, after the excitement is withdrawn: as the taste of tobacco in the mouth after a person has been smoaking it.

This taste remains so strong, that if a person continues to draw air through a tobacco pipe in the dark, after having been smoking some time, he cannot distinguish whether his pipe be lighted or not.

From these two considerations it appears, that the dizziness felt in the head, after seeing objects in unusual motion, is no other than a continuation of the motions of the optic nerve excited by those objects and which engage our attention. Thus on turning round on one foot, the vertigo continues for some seconds of time after the person is fallen on the ground; and the longer he has continued to revolve, the longer will continue these successive motions of the parts of the optic nerve.

Additional Observations on VERTIGO.

After revolving with your eyes open till you become vertiginous, as soon as you cease to revolve, not only the circum-ambient objects appear to circulate round you in a direction contrary to that, in which you have been turning, but you are liable to roll your eyes forwards and backwards; as is well observed, and ingeniously demonstrated by Dr. Wells in a late publication on vision. The same occurs, if you revolve with your eyes closed, and open them immediately at the time of your ceasing to turn; and even during the whole time of revolving, as may be felt by your hand pressed lightly on your closed eyelids. To these movements of the eyes, of which he supposes the observer to be inconscious, Dr. Wells ascribes the apparent circumgyration of objects on ceasing to revolve.

The cause of thus turning our eyes forwards, and then back again, after our body is at rest, depends, I imagine, on the same circumstance, which induces us to follow the indistinct spectra, which are formed on one side of the center of the retina, when we observe them apparently on clouds, as described in Sect. XL. 2. 2.; and then not being able to gain a more distinct vision of them, we turn our eyes back, and again and again pursue the flying shade.

But this rolling of the eyes, after revolving till we become vertiginous, cannot cause the apparent circumgyration of objects, in a direction contrary to that in which we have been revolving, for the following reasons. 1. Because in pursuing a spectrum in the sky, or on the ground, as above mentioned, we perceive no retrograde motions of objects. 2. Because the apparent retrograde motions of objects, when we have revolved till we are vertiginous, continues much longer than the rolling of the eyes above described.

3. When we have revolved from right to left, the apparent motion of objects, when we stop, is from left to right; and when we have revolved from left to right, the apparent circulation of objects is from right to left; yet in both these cases the eyes of the revolver are seen equally to roll forwards and backwards.

4. Because this rolling of the eyes backwards and forwards takes place during our revolving, as may be perceived by the hand lightly pressed on the closed eyelids, and therefore exists before the effect ascribed to it.

And fifthly, I now come to relate an experiment, in which the rolling of the eyes does not take place at all after revolving, and yet the vertigo is more distressing than in the situations above mentioned. If any one looks steadily at a spot in the ceiling over his head, or indeed at his own finger held up high over his head, and in that situation turns round till he becomes giddy; and then stops, and looks horizontally; he now finds, that the apparent rotation of objects is from above downwards, or from below upwards; that is, that the apparent circulation of objects is now vertical instead of horizontal, making part of a circle round the axis of his eye; and this without any rolling of his eyeballs. The reason of there being no rolling of the eyeballs, perceived after this experiment, is, because the images of objects are formed in rotation round the axis of the eye, and not from one side to the other of the axis of it; so that, as the eyeball has not power to turn in its socket round its own axis, it cannot follow the apparent motions of these evanescent spectra, either before or after the body is at rest. From all which arguments it is manifest, that these apparent retrograde gyrations of objects are not caused by the rolling of the eyeballs; first, because no apparent retrogression of objects is observed in other rollings of the eyes: secondly, because the apparent retrogression of objects continues many seconds after the rolling of the eyeballs ceases. Thirdly, because the apparent retrogression of objects is sometimes one way, and sometimes another, yet the rolling of the eyeballs is the same. Fourthly, because the rolling of the eyeballs exists before the apparent retrograde motions of objects is observed; that is, before the revolving person stops. And fifthly, because the apparent retrograde gyration of objects is produced, when there is no rolling of the eyeballs at all.

Doctor Wells imagines, that no spectra can be gained in the eye, if a person revolves with his eyelids closed, and thinks this a sufficient argument against the opinion, that the apparent progression of the spectra of light or colours in the eye can cause the apparent retrogression of objects in the vertigo above described; but it is certain, when any person revolves in a light room with his eyes closed, that he nevertheless perceives differences of light both in quantity and colour through his eyelids, as he turns round; and readily gains spectra of those differences. And these spectra are not very different except in vivacity from those, which he acquires, when he revolves with unclosed eyes, since if he then revolves very rapidly the colours and forms of surrounding objects are as it were mixed together in his eye;. as when, the prismatic colours are painted on a wheel, they appear white as they revolve. The truth of this is evinced by the staggering or vertigo of men perfectly blind, when they turn round; which is not attended with apparent circulation of objects, but is a vertiginous disorder of the sense of touch. Blind men balance themselves by their sense of touch; which, being less adapted for perceiving small deviations from their perpendicular, occasions them to carry themselves more erect in walking. This method of balancing themselves by the direction of their pressure against the floor, becomes disordered by the unusual mode of action in turning round, and they begin to lose their perpendicularity, that is, they become vertiginous; but without any apparent circular motions of visible objects.

It will appear from the following experiments, that the apparent progression of the ocular spectra of light or colours is the cause of the apparent retrogression of objects, after a person has revolved, till he is vertiginous.

First, when a person turns round in a light room with his eyes open, but closes them before he stops, he will seem to be carried forwards in the direction he was turning for a short time after he stops. But if he opens his eyes again, the objects before him instantly appear to move in a retrograde direction, and he loses the sensation of being carried forwards. The same occurs if a person revolves in a light room with his eyes closed; when he stops, he seems to be for a time carried forwards, if his eyes are still closed; but the instant he opens them, the surrounding objects appear to move in retrograde gyration. From hence it may be concluded, that it is the sensation or imagination of our continuing to go forwards in the direction in which we were turning, that causes the apparent retrograde circulation of objects.

Secondly, though there is an audible vertigo, as is known by the battement, or undulations of sound in the ears, which many vertiginous people experience; and though there is also a tangible vertigo, as when a blind person turns round, as mentioned above; yet as this circumgyration of objects is an hallucination or deception of the sense of sight, we are to look for the cause of our appearing to move forward, when we stop with our eyes closed after gyration, to some affection of this sense. Now, thirdly, if the spectra formed in the eye during our rotation, continue to change, when we stand still, like the spectra described in Sect. III. 3. 6. such changes must suggest to us the idea or sensation of our still continuing to turn round; as is the case, when we revolve in a light room, and close our eyes before we stop. And lastly, on opening our eyes in the situation above described, the objects we chance to view amid these changing spectra in the eye, must seem to move in a contrary direction; as the moon sometimes appears to move retrograde, when swift-gliding clouds are passing forwards so much nearer the eye of the beholder.

To make observations on faint ocular spectra requires some degree of habit, and composure of mind, and even patience; some of those described in Sect. XL. were found difficult to see, by many, who tried them; now it happens, that the mind, during the confusion of vertigo, when all the other irritative tribes of motion, as well as those of vision, are in some degree disturbed, together with the fear of falling, is in a very unfit state for the contemplation of such weak sensations, as are occasioned by faint ocular spectra. Yet after frequently revolving, both with my eyes closed, and with them open, and attending to the spectra remaining in them, by shading the light from my eyelids more or less with my hand, I at length ceased to have the idea of going forward, after I stopped with my eyes closed; and saw changing spectra in my eyes, which seemed to move, as it were, over the field of vision; till at length, by repeated trials on sunny days, I persuaded myself, on opening my eyes, after revolving some time, on a shelf of gilded books in my library, that I could perceive the spectra in my eyes move forwards over one or two of the books, like the vapours in the air of a summer's day; and could so far undeceive myself, as to perceive the books to stand still. After more trials I sometimes brought myself to believe, that I saw changing spectra of lights and shades moving in my eyes, after turning round for some time, but did not imagine either the spectra or the objects to be in a state of gyration. I speak, however, with diffidence of these facts, as I could not always make the experiments succeed, when there was not a strong light in my room, or when my eyes were not in the most proper state for such observations.

The ingenious and learned M. Sauvage has mentioned other theories to account for the apparent circumgyration of objects in vertiginous people. As the retrograde motions of the particles of blood in the optic arteries, by spasm, or by fear, as is seen in the tails of tadpoles, and membranes between the fingers of frogs. Another cause he thinks may be from the librations to one side, and to the other, of the crystalline lens in the eye, by means of involuntary actions of the muscles, which constitute the ciliary process. Both these theories lie under the same objection as that of Dr. Wells before mentioned; namely, that the apparent motions of objects, after the observer has revolved for some time, should appear to vibrate this way and that; and not to circulate uniformly in a direction contrary to that, in which the observer had revolved.

M. Sauvage has, lastly, mentioned the theory of colours left in the eye, which he has termed impressions on the retina. He says, "Experience teaches us, that impressions made on the retina by a visible object remain some seconds after the object is removed; as appears from the circle of fire which we see, when a fire-stick is whirled round in the dark; therefore when we are carried round our own axis in a circle, we undergo a temporary vertigo, when we stop; because the impressions of the circumjacent objects remain for a time afterwards on the retina." Nosolog. Method. Clas. VIII. I. 1. We have before observed, that the changes of these colours remaining in the eye, evinces them to be motions of the fine terminations of the retina, and not impressions on it; as impressions on a passive substance must either remain, or cease intirely. See an additional note at the end of the second volume.

Any one, who stands alone on the top of a high tower, if he has not been accustomed to balance himself by objects placed at such distances and with such inclinations, begins to stagger, and endeavours to recover himself by his muscular feelings. During this time the apparent motion of objects at a distance below him is very great, and the spectra of these apparent motions continue a little time after he has experienced them; and he is persuaded to incline the contrary way to counteract their effects; and either immediately falls, or applying his hands to the building, uses his muscular feelings to preserve his perpendicular attitude, contrary to the erroneous persuasions of his eyes. Whilst the person, who walks in the dark, staggers, but without dizziness; for he neither has the sensation of moving objects to take off his attention from his muscular feelings, nor has he the spectra of those motions continued on his retina to add to his confusion. It happens indeed sometimes to one landing on a tower, that the idea of his not having room to extend his base by moving one of his feet outwards, when he begins to incline, superadds fears to his other inconveniences; which like surprise, joy, or any great degree of sensation, enervates him in a moment, by employing the whole sensorial power, and by thus breaking all the associated trains and tribes of motion.

7. The irritative ideas of objects, whilst we are awake, are perpetually present to our sense of sight; as we view the furniture of our rooms, or the ground, we tread upon, throughout the whole day without attending to it. And as our bodies are never at perfect rest during our waking hours, these irritative ideas of objects are attended perpetually with irritative ideas of their apparent motions. The ideas of apparent motions are always irritative ideas, because we never attend to them, whether we attend to the objects themselves, or to their real motions, or to neither. Hence the ideas of the apparent motions of objects are a complete circle of irritative ideas, which continue throughout the day.

Also during all our waking hours, there is a perpetual confused sound of various bodies, as of the wind in our rooms, the fire, distant conversations, mechanic business; this continued buzz, as we are seldom quite motionless, changes its loudness perpetually, like the sound of a bell; which rises and falls as long as it continues, and seems to pulsate on the ear. This any one may experience by turning himself round near a waterfall; or by striking a glass bell, and then moving the direction of its mouth towards the ears, or from them, as long as its vibrations continue. Hence this undulation of indistinct sound makes another concomitant circle of irritative ideas, which continues throughout the day.

We hear this undulating sound, when we are perfectly at rest ourselves, from other sonorous bodies besides bells; as from two organ-pipes, which are nearly but not quite in unison, when they are sounded together. When a bell is struck, the circular form is changed into an eliptic one; the longest axis of which, as the vibrations continue, moves round the periphery of the bell; and when either axis of this elipse is pointed towards our ears, the sound is louder; and less when the intermediate parts of the elipse are opposite to us. The vibrations of the two organ-pipes may be compared to Nonius's rule; the sound is louder, when they coincide, and less at the intermediate times. But, as the sound of bells is the most familiar of those sounds, which have a considerable battement, the vertiginous patients, who attend to the irritative circles of sounds above described, generally compare it to the noise of bells.

The peristaltic motions of our stomach and intestines, and the secretions of the various glands, are other circles of irritative motions, some of them more or less complete, according to our abstinence or satiety.

So that the irritative ideas of the apparent motions of objects, the irritative battements of sounds, and the movements of our bowels and glands compose a great circle of irritative tribes of motion: and when one considerable part of this circle of motions becomes interrupted, the whole proceeds in confusion, as described in Section XVII. 1. 7. on Catenation of Motions.

8. Hence a violent vertigo, from whatever cause it happens, is generally attended with undulating noise in the head, perversions of the motions of the stomach and duodenum, unusual excretion of bile and gastric juice, with much pale urine, sometimes with yellowness of the skin, and a disordered secretion of almost every gland of the body, till at length the arterial system is affected, and fever succeeds.

Thus bilious vomitings accompany the vertigo occasioned by the motion of a ship; and when the brain is rendered vertiginous by a paralytic affection of any part of the body, a vomiting generally ensues, and a great discharge of bile: and hence great injuries of the head from external violence are succeeded with bilious vomitings, and sometimes with abscesses of the liver. And hence, when a patient is inclined to vomit from other causes, as in some fevers, any motions of the attendants in his room, or of himself when he is raised or turned in his bed, presently induces the vomiting by superadding a degree of vertigo.

9. And conversely it is very usual with those, whose stomachs are affected from internal causes, to be afflicted with vertigo, and noise in the head; such is the vertigo of drunken people, which continues, when their eyes are closed, and themselves in a recumbent posture, as well as when they are in an erect posture, and have their eyes open. And thus the irritation of a stone in the bile-duct, or in the ureter, or an inflammation of any of the intestines, are accompanied with vomitings and vertigo.

In these cases the irritative motions of the stomach, which are in general not attended to, become so changed by some unnatural stimulus, as to become uneasy, and excite our sensation or attention. And thus the other irritative trains of motions, which are associated with it, become disordered by their sympathy. The same happens, when a piece of gravel sticks in the ureter, or when some part of the intestinal canal becomes inflamed. In these cases the irritative muscular motions are first disturbed by unusual stimulus, and a disordered action of the sensual motions, or dizziness ensues. While in sea-sickness the irritative sensual motions, as vertigo, precedes; and the disordered irritative muscular motions, as those of the stomach in vomiting, follow.

10. When these irritative motions are disturbed, if the degree be not very great, the exertion of voluntary attention to any other object, or any sudden sensation, will disjoin these new habits of motion. Thus some drunken people have become sober immediately, when any accident has strongly excited their attention; and sea-sickness has vanished, when the ship has been in danger. Hence when our attention to other objects is most relaxed, as just before we fall asleep, or between our reveries when awake, these irritative ideas of motion and sound are most liable to be perceived; as those, who have been at sea, or have travelled long in a coach, seem to perceive the vibrations of the ship, or the rattling of the wheels, at these intervals; which cease again, as soon as they exert their attention. That is, at those intervals they attend to the apparent motions, and to the battement of sounds of the bodies around them, and for a moment mistake them for those real motions of the ship, and noise of wheels, which they had lately been accustomed to: or at these intervals of reverie, or on the approach of sleep, these supposed motions or sounds may be produced entirely by imagination.

We may conclude from this account of vertigo, that sea-sickness is not an effort of nature to relieve herself, but a necessary consequence of the associations or catenations of animal motions. And may thence infer, that the vomiting, which attends the gravel in the ureter, inflammations of the bowels, and the commencement of some fevers, has a similar origin, and is not always an effort of the vis medicatrix naturæ. But where the action of the organ is the immediate consequence of the stimulating cause, it is frequently exerted to dislodge that stimulus, as in vomiting up an emetic drug; at other times, the action of an organ is a general effort to relieve pain, as in convulsions of the locomotive muscles; other actions drink up and carry on the fluids, as in absorption and secretion; all which may be termed efforts of nature to relieve, or to preserve herself.

11. The cure of vertigo will frequently depend on our previously investigating the cause of it, which from what has been delivered above may originate from the disorder of any part of the great tribes of irritative motions, and of the associate motions catenated with them.

Many people, when they arrive at fifty or sixty years of age, are affected with slight vertigo; which is generally but wrongly ascribed to indigestion, but in reality arises from a beginning defect of their sight; as about this time they also find it necessary to begin to use spectacles, when they read small prints, especially in winter, or by candle light, but are yet able to read without them during the summer days, when the light is stronger. These people do not see objects so distinctly as formerly, and by exerting their eyes more than usual, they perceive the apparent motions of objects, and confound them with the real motions of them; and therefore cannot accurately balance themselves so as easily to preserve their perpendicularity by them.

That is, the apparent motions of objects, which are at rest, as we move by them, should only excite irritative ideas: but as these are now become less distinct, owing to the beginning imperfection of our sight, we are induced voluntarily to attend to them; and then these apparent motions become succeeded by sensation; and thus the other parts of the trains of irritative ideas, or irritative muscular motions, become disordered, as explained above. In these cases of slight vertigo I have always promised my patients, that they would get free from it in two or three months, as they should acquire the habit of balancing their bodies by less distinct objects, and have seldom been mistaken in my prognostic.

There is an auditory vertigo, which is called a noise in the head, explained in No. 7. of this section, which also is very liable to affect people in the advance of life, and is owing to their hearing less perfectly than before. This is sometimes called a ringing, and sometimes a singing, or buzzing, in the ears, and is occasioned by our first experiencing a disagreeable sensation from our not being able distinctly to hear the sounds, we used formerly to hear distinctly. And this disagreeable sensation excites desire and consequent volition; and when we voluntarily attend to small indistinct sounds, even the whispering of the air in a room, and the pulsations of the arteries of the ear are succeeded by sensation; which minute sounds ought only to have produced irritative sensual motions, or unperceived ideas. See Section XVII. 3. 6. These patients after a while lose this auditory vertigo, by acquiring a new habit of not attending voluntarily to these indistinct sounds, but contenting themselves with the less accuracy of their sense of hearing.

Another kind of vertigo begins with the disordered action of some irritative muscular motions, as those of the stomach from intoxication, or from emetics; or those of the ureter, from the stimulus of a stone lodged in it; and it is probable, that the disordered motions of some of the great congeries of glands, as of those which form the liver, or of the intestinal canal, may occasion vertigo in consequence of their motions being associated or catenated with the great circles of irritative motions; and from hence it appears, that the means of cure must be adapted to the cause.

To prevent sea-sickness it is probable, that the habit of swinging for a week or two before going on shipboard might be of service. For the vertigo from failure of sight, spectacles may be used. For the auditory vertigo, æther may be dropt into the ear to stimulate the part, or to dissolve ear-wax, if such be a part of the cause. For the vertigo arising from indigestion, the peruvian bark and a blister are recommended. And for that owing to a stone in the ureter, venesection, cathartics, opiates, sal soda aerated.

12. Definition of vertigo. 1. Some of the irritative sensual, or muscular motions, which were usually not succeeded by sensation, are in this disease succeeded by sensation; and the trains or circles of motions, which were usually catenated with them, are interrupted, or inverted, or proceed in confusion. 2. The sensitive and voluntary motions continue undisturbed. 3. The associate trains or circles of motions continue; but their catenations with some of the irritative motions are disordered, or inverted, or dissevered.

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SECT. XXI.

OF DRUNKENNESS.

1. Sleep from satiety of hunger. From rocking children. From uniform sounds. 2. Intoxication from common food after fatigue and inanition. 3. From wine or of opium. Chilness after meals. Vertigo. Why pleasure is produced by intoxication, and by swinging and rocking children. And why pain is relieved by it. 4. Why drunkards stagger and stammer, and are liable to weep. 5. And become delirious, sleepy, and stupid. 6. Or make pale urine and vomit. 7. Objects are seen double. 8. Attention of the mind diminishes drunkenness. 9. Disordered irritative motions of all the senses. 10. Diseases from drunkenness. 11. Definition of drunkenness.

1. In the state of nature when the sense of hunger is appeased by the stimulus of agreeable food, the business of the day is over, and the human savage is at peace with the world, he then exerts little attention to external objects, pleasing reveries of imagination succeed, and at length sleep is the result: till the nourishment which he has procured, is carried over every part of the system to repair the injuries of action, and he awakens with fresh vigour, and feels a renewal of his sense of hunger.

The juices of some bitter vegetables, as of the poppy and the laurocerasus, and the ardent spirit produced in the fermentation of the sugar found in vegetable juices, are so agreeable to the nerves of the stomach, that, taken in a small quantity, they instantly pacify the sense of hunger; and the inattention to external stimuli with the reveries of imagination, and sleep, succeeds, in the same manner as when the stomach is filled with other less intoxicating food.

This inattention to the irritative motions occasioned by external stimuli is a very important circumstance in the approach of sleep, and is produced in young children by rocking their cradles: during which all visible objects become indistinct to them. An uniform soft repeated sound, as the murmurs of a gentle current, or of bees, are said to produce the same effect, by presenting indistinct ideas of inconsequential sounds, and by thus stealing our attention from other objects, whilst by their continued reiterations they become familiar themselves, and we cease gradually to attend to any thing, and sleep ensues.

2. After great fatigue or inanition, when the stomach is suddenly filled with flesh and vegetable food, the inattention to external stimuli, and the reveries of imagination, become so conspicuous as to amount to a degree of intoxication. The same is at any time produced by superadding a little wine or opium to our common meals; or by taking these separately in considerable quantity; and this more efficaciously after fatigue or inanition; because a less quantity of any stimulating material will excite an organ into energetic action, after it has lately been torpid from defect of stimulus; as objects appear more luminous, after we have been in the dark; and because the suspension of volition, which is the immediate cause of sleep, is sooner induced, after a continued voluntary exertion has in part exhausted the sensorial power of volition; in the same manner as we cannot contract a single muscle long together without intervals of inaction.

3. In the beginning of intoxication we are inclined to sleep, as mentioned above, but by the excitement of external circumstances, as of noise, light, business, or by the exertion of volition, we prevent the approaches of it, and continue to take into our stomach greater quantities of the inebriating materials. By these means the irritative movements of the stomach are excited into greater action than is natural; and in consequence all the irritative tribes and trains of motion, which are catenated with them, become susceptible of stronger action from their accustomed stimuli; because these motions are excited both by their usual irritation, and by their association with the increased actions of the stomach and lacteals. Hence the skin glows, and the heat of the body is increased, by the more energetic action of the whole glandular system; and pleasure is introduced in consequence of these increased motions from internal stimulus. According to Law 5. Sect. IV. on Animal Causation.

From this great increase of irritative motions from internal stimulus, and the increased sensation introduced into the system in consequence; and secondly, from the increased sensitive motions in consequence of this additional quantity of sensation, so much sensorial power is expended, that the voluntary power becomes feebly exerted, and the irritation from the stimulus of external objects is less forcible; the external parts of the eye are not therefore voluntarily adapted to the distances of objects, whence the apparent motions of those objects either are seen double, or become too indistinct for the purpose of balancing the body, and vertigo is induced.

Hence we become acquainted with that very curious circumstance, why the drunken vertigo is attended with an increase of pleasure; for the irritative ideas and motions occasioned by internal stimulus, that were not attended to in our sober hours, are now just so much increased as to be succeeded by pleasurable sensation, in the same manner as the more violent motions of our organs are succeeded by painful sensation. And hence a greater quantity of pleasurable sensation is introduced into the constitution; which is attended in some people with an increase of benevolence and good humour.

If the apparent motions of objects is much increased, as when we revolve on one foot, or are swung on a rope, the ideas of these apparent motions are also attended to, and are succeeded with pleasureable sensation, till they become familiar to us by frequent use. Hence children are at first delighted with these kinds of exercise, and with riding, and failing, and hence rocking young children inclines them to sleep. For though in the vertigo from intoxication the irritative ideas of the apparent motions of objects are indistinct from their decrease of energy: yet in the vertigo occasioned by rocking or swinging the irritative ideas of the apparent motions of objects are increased in energy, and hence they induce pleasure into the system, but are equally indistinct, and in consequence equally unfit to balance ourselves by. This addition of pleasure precludes desire or aversion, and in consequence the voluntary power is feebly exerted, and on this account rocking young children inclines them to sleep.

In what manner opium and wine act in relieving pain is another article, that well deserves our attention. There are many pains that originate from defect as well as from excess of stimulus; of these are those of the six appetites of hunger, thirst, lust, the want of heat, of distention, and of fresh air. Thus if our cutaneous capillaries cease to act from the diminished stimulus of heat, when we are exposed to cold weather, or our stomach is uneasy for want of food; these are both pains from defect of stimulus, and in consequence opium, which stimulates all the moving system into increased action, must relieve them. But this is not the case in those pains, which arise from excess of stimulus, as in violent inflammations: in these the exhibition of opium is frequently injurious by increasing the action of the system already too great, as in inflammation of the bowels mortification is often produced by the stimulus of opium. Where, however, no such bad consequences follow; the stimulus of opium, by increasing all the motions of the system, expends so much of the sensorial power, that the actions of the whole system soon become feebler, and in consequence those which produced the pain and inflammation.

4. When intoxication proceeds a little further, the quantity of pleasurable sensation is so far increased, that all desire ceases, for there is no pain in the system to excite it. Hence the voluntary exertions are diminished, staggering and stammering succeed; and the trains of ideas become more and more inconsistent from this defect of voluntary exertion, as explained in the sections on sleep and reverie, whilst those passions which are unmixed with volition are more vividly felt, and shewn with less reserve; hence pining love, or superstitious fear, and the maudling tear dropped on the remembrance of the most trifling distress.

5. At length all these circumstances are increased; the quantity of pleasure introduced into the system by the increased irritative muscular motions of the whole sanguiferous, and glandular, and absorbent systems, becomes so great, that the organs of sense are more forcibly excited into action by this internal pleasurable sensation, than by the irritation from the stimulus of external objects. Hence the drunkard ceases to attend to external stimuli, and as volition is now also suspended, the trains of his ideas become totally inconsistent as in dreams, or delirium: and at length a stupor succeeds from the great exhaustion of sensorial power, which probably does not even admit of dreams, and in which, as in apoplexy, no motions continue but those from internal stimuli, from sensation, and from association.

6. In other people a paroxysm of drunkenness has another termination; the inebriate, as soon as he begins to be vertiginous, makes pale urine in great quantities and very frequently, and at length becomes sick, vomits repeatedly, or purges, or has profuse sweats, and a temporary fever ensues with a quick strong pulse. This in some hours is succeeded by sleep; but the unfortunate bacchanalian does not perfectly recover himself till about the same time of the succeeding day, when his course of inebriation began. As shewn in Sect. XVII. 1. 7. on Catenation. The temporary fever with strong pulse is owing to the same cause as the glow on the skin mentioned in the third paragraph of this Section: the flow of urine and sickness arises from the whole system of irritative motions being thrown into confusion by their associations with each other; as in sea-sickness, mentioned in Sect. XX. 4. on Vertigo; and which is more fully explained in