CURIOSITIES RESPECTING MAN.—(Continued.)
Richard Savage, one of the most extraordinary characters that is to be met with in all the records of biography, was the son of Anne, countess of Macclesfield, by the earl of Rivers, according to her own confession; and was born in 1698. This confession of adultery was made, to procure a separation from her husband, the earl of Macclesfield: yet, having obtained this end, no sooner was a spurious offspring brought into the world, than she resolved to disown him; and, as long as he lived, she treated him with the most unnatural cruelty. She delivered him over to a poor woman to educate as her own; maliciously prevented the earl of Rivers from leaving him a legacy of £6000, by declaring him dead; and deprived him of another legacy which his godmother, Mrs. Lloyd, had left him, by concealing from him his birth, and thereby rendering it impossible for him to prosecute his claim. She endeavoured to send him secretly to the plantations; but this plan being frustrated, she placed him apprentice with a shoemaker. In this situation, however, he did not long continue; for his nurse dying, he went to take care of the effects of his supposed mother, and found in her boxes some letters, which discovered to young Savage his birth, and the cause of its concealment. From the moment of this discovery he became dissatisfied. He conceived that he had a right to share in the affluence of his real mother; and therefore he applied to her, and tried every art to attract her regard. But in vain did he solicit this unnatural parent; she avoided him with the utmost precaution, and took measures to prevent his ever entering her house. Meantime, while he was endeavouring to rouse the affections of a mother, in whom all natural affection was extinct, he was destitute of the means of support. Having a strong inclination to literary pursuits, especially poetry, he wrote poems; andafterwards two plays, Woman’s a Riddle, and, Love in a Veil: he was allowed no part of the profits from the first; but by the second he acquired the acquaintance of Sir Richard Steel and Mr. Wilkes, by whom he was pitied, caressed, and relieved. But the kindness of his friends not affording him a constant supply, he wrote the tragedy of Sir Thomas Overbury; which not only procured him the esteem of many persons of wit, but brought him £200. The celebrated Aaron Hill, Esq. was of great service to him in correcting and fitting this piece for the stage and the press; and extended his patronage still farther. But Savage was, like many other wits, a bad economist. As fast as his friends raised him out of one difficulty, he sunk into another; and when he found himself greatly involved, he rambled about like a vagabond, with scarcely a shirt on his back. He was in one of these situations all the time he wrote his tragedy above mentioned; without a lodging, and often without a dinner. Mr. Hill also promoted a subscription to a volume of his Miscellanies, and furnished part of the poems of which it was composed. To this Miscellany Savage wrote a preface, in which he gives an account of his mother’s cruelty, in a very uncommon strain of humour. The profits of his tragedy and his Miscellanies had now somewhat raised him, both in circumstances and credit, so that the world began to behold him with a more favourable eye, when both his fame and life were endangered by a most unhappy event: a drunken frolic, in which he one night engaged, ended in a fray, and Savage unfortunately killed a man, for which he was condemned to be hanged: his friends earnestly solicited the mercy of the crown, while his mother as earnestly exerted herself to prevent his receiving it. The Countess of Hertford, at length, laid his whole case before Queen Caroline, and Savage obtained a pardon. Savage now lost that affection for his mother which the whole series of her cruelty had not been able wholly to repress; and considering her as an implacable enemy, whom nothing but his blood could satisfy, threatened to harass her with lampoons, and to publish a copious narrative of her conduct, unless she consented to allow him a pension. This expedient proved successful; and Lord Tyrconnel, upon his promise of laying aside his design of exposing his mother’s cruelty, took him into his family, treated him as an equal, and engaged to allow him a pension of £200 a year. This was the happy period of Savage’s life. He was courted by all who wished to be thought men of genius and taste. At this time he published the Temple of Health and Mirth, on the recovery of Lady Tyrconnel from a languishing illness; and the Wanderer, a moral poem, which he dedicated to Lord Tyrconnel, in strains of the highest panegyric: but these praises he soon was inclined to retract,being discarded by the man on whom they were bestowed. Of this quarrel, Lord Tyrconnel and Mr. Savage gave very different accounts. But our author’s conduct was ever such as made all his friends, sooner or later, grow weary of him, and even forced most of them to become his enemies.
Being thus once more turned adrift upon the world, Savage, whose passions were very strong, and whose gratitude was very small, exposed the faults of Lord Tyrconnel. He also took revenge upon his mother, by publishing the Bastard, a poem, remarkable for the vivacity of its beginning (where he humorously enumerates the imaginary advantages of base birth;) and for the pathetic conclusion, wherein he recounts the real calamities which he suffered by the crime of his parents. The following lines, in the opening of the poem, are a specimen of this writer’s spirit and versification:
“Blest be the bastard’s birth! thro’ wondrous waysHe shines eccentric, like a comet’s blaze.No sickly fruit of faint compliance he;He! stamp’d in nature’s mint with ecstasy!He lives to build, not boast, a generous race;No tenth transmitter of a foolish face.He, kindling from within, requires no flame;He glories in a bastard’s glowing name.Nature’s unbounded son, he stands alone,His heart unbias’d, and his mind his own.O mother! yet no mother!—’tis to youMy thanks for some distinguish’d claims are due.”
This poem had an extraordinary sale; and its appearance happening at the time when his mother was at Bath, many persons there repeated passages from it in her hearing. This was perhaps the first time that ever she discovered a sense of shame, and, on this occasion, the power of wit was very conspicuous. The wretch, who had without scruple proclaimed herself an adulteress, and who had first endeavoured to starve her son, then to transport him, and afterwards to hang him, was not able to bear the representation of her own conduct, but fled from reproach, though she felt no pain from guilt; and left Bath in haste, to shelter herself among the crowds of London. Some time after this, Savage formed the resolution of applying to the Queen; who, having once given him life, he hoped she might extend her goodness to him, by enabling him to support it. With this view, he published a poem on her birth-day, which he entitled The Volunteer Laureat; for which she was pleased to send him £50, accompanied with an intimation that he might annually expect the same bounty. But this annual allowance was nothing to a man of his strange and singular extravagance. His usual custom was, as soon as he had received his pension, to disappear with it, and secrete himself from his most intimate friends, till everyshilling of it was spent; which done, he again appeared penniless as before: but he would never inform any person where he had been, nor in what manner his money had been dissipated. From the reports, however, of some who penetrated his haunts, he expended both his time and his cash in the most sordid and despicable sensuality; particularly in eating and drinking, in which he would indulge in the most unsocial manner, sitting whole days and nights by himself, in obscure houses of entertainment, over his bottle and trencher, immersed in filth and sloth, with scarcely decent apparel; generally wrapped up in a horseman’s great coat; and, on the whole, with his very homely countenance, exhibiting an object the most disgusting to the sight, if not to some other of the senses.
His wit and parts, however, still raised him new friends, as fast as his misbehaviour lost him his old ones. Yet such was his conduct, that occasional relief only furnished the means of occasional excess; and he defeated all attempts made by his friends to fix him in a decent way. He was even reduced so low as to be destitute of a lodging; insomuch that he often passed his nights in those mean houses that are set open for casual wanderers; sometimes in cellars, amidst the riot and filth of the most profligate of the rabble; and not seldom would he walk the streets till he was weary, and then lie down, in summer, on a bulk,—or, in winter, with his associates, among the ashes of a glasshouse. Yet, amidst all his penury and wretchedness, this man had so much pride, and so high an opinion of his own merit, that he was always ready to repress, with scorn and contempt, the least appearance of any slight towards himself, in the behaviour of his acquaintance; among whom he looked upon none as his superior. He would be treated as an equal, even by persons of the highest rank. He once refused to wait upon a gentleman, who was desirous of relieving him, when at the lowest distress, only because the message signified the gentleman’s desire to see him at nine in the morning. His life was rendered still more unhappy, by the death of the Queen, in 1738. His pension was discontinued; and the insolent manner in which he demanded of Sir Robert Walpole to have it restored, for ever cut off his supply, which probably might have been recovered by proper application.
His distress now became so notorious, that a scheme was at length concerted for procuring him a permanent relief. It was proposed that he should retire into Wales, with an allowance of £50 a year, on which he was to live privately, in a cheap place, for ever quitting his town haunts, and resigning all farther pretensions to fame. This offer he seemed gladly to accept; but his intentions were only to deceive his friends, by retiring for awhile to write another tragedy, andthen to return with it to London. In 1739, he set out for Swansey, in the Bristol stage-coach, and was furnished with 15 guineas, to bear the expense of his journey. But, on the 14th day of his departure, his friends and benefactors, the principal of whom was Mr. Pope, who expected to hear of his arrival in Wales, were surprised with a letter from Savage, informing them that he was yet upon the road, and could not proceed for want of money. There was no other remedy than a remittance, which was sent him, and by the help of which he was enabled to reach Bristol, whence he was to proceed to Swansey by water. At Bristol, however, he found an embargo laid upon the shipping; so that he could not immediately obtain a passage. Here, therefore, being obliged to stay for some time, he so ingratiated himself with the principal inhabitants, that he was often invited to their houses, distinguished at their public entertainments, and treated with a regard that highly gratified his vanity. At length, with great reluctance, he proceeded to Swansey; where he lived about a year, very much dissatisfied with the diminution of his salary, for he had, in his letters, treated his contributors so insolently, that most of them withdrew their subscriptions. Here he finished his tragedy, and resolved to return with it to London; which was strenuously opposed by his constant friend Mr. Pope; who proposed that Savage should put this play into the hands of Mr. Thomson and Mr. Mallet, that they might fit it for the stage; that his friends should receive the profits it might bring in; and that the author should receive the produce by way of annuity. This kind and prudent scheme was rejected by Savage with contempt. He declared he would not submit his works to any one’s correction; and that he would no longer be kept in leading-strings. Accordingly, he soon returned to Bristol, in his way to London; but at Bristol, meeting with a repetition of the same kind treatment he had before found there, he was tempted to make a second stay in that opulent city for some time. Here he was not only caressed and treated, but the sum of £30 was raised for him; with which it would have been happy if he had immediately departed for London. But he never considered that a frequent repetition of such kindness was not to be expected. In short, he remained here till his company was no longer welcome. His visits in every family were too often repeated, his wit had lost its novelty, and his irregular behaviour grew troublesome. Necessity came upon him before he was aware; his money was spent, his clothes were worn out, his appearance was shabby, and his presence was disgustful at every table. He now began to find every man from home at whose house he called, and he found it difficult to obtain a dinner.
Thus reduced, it would have been prudent in him to havewithdrawn from the place; but prudence and Savage were never acquainted. He staid, in the midst of poverty, hunger, and contempt, till the mistress of a coffee-house, to whom he owed about 8l. arrested him for the debt. He remained for some time at the house of the sheriff’s officer, in hopes of procuring bail; which expense he was enabled to defray by a present of five guineas from Mr. Nash at Bath. No bail, however, was to be found; so that poor Savage was at last lodged in Newgate, a prison in Bristol. But it was the fortune of this extraordinary mortal always to find more friends than he deserved. The keeper of the prison took compassion on him, and greatly softened the rigours of his confinement by every kind of indulgence; he supported him at his own table, gave him a commodious room to himself, allowed him to stand at the door of the gaol, and often took him into the fields for the benefit of the air and exercise; so that, in reality, Savage endured fewer hardships here than he had usually suffered during the greatest part of his life.
While he remained in this agreeable prison, his ingratitude again broke out, in a bitter satire on the city of Bristol; to which he certainly owed great obligations, notwithstanding his arrest, which was but the lawful act of an individual. This satire is entitled, London and Bristol delineated; and in it he abused the inhabitants of the latter with such a spirit of resentment, that the reader would imagine he had never received any other than the worst of treatment in that city. When Savage had remained about six months in this hospitable prison, he received a letter from Mr. Pope, (who still allowed him £20 a year,) containing a charge of very atrocious ingratitude; and though the particulars have not transpired, yet, from the notorious character of the man, there is reason to fear that Savage was but too justly accused: He, however, solemnly protested his innocence; but he was very unusually affected on this occasion:—in a few days after, he was seized with a disorder, which, at first, was not suspected to be dangerous; but growing daily more languid and dejected, at last a fever seized him, and he died on the 1st of August, 1743, in the 46th year of his age.
Thus lived, and thus died, Richard Savage, Esq. leaving behind him a character strangely chequered with vices and good qualities. Of the former we have mentioned a variety of instances; of the latter, his peculiar situation in the world gave him but few opportunities of making any considerable display. He was, however, undoubtedly a man of excellent parts; and had he received the full benefits of a liberal education, and had his natural talents been cultivated to the best advantage, he might have made a respectable figure in life. He was happy in a quick discernment, a retentive memory,and a lively flow of wit, which made his company much coveted; nor was his judgment of men and writings inferior to his wit: but he was too much a slave to his passions, and his passions were too easily excited. He was warm in his friendships, but implacable in his enmity; and his greatest fault was ingratitude. He seemed to think every thing due to his merit, and that he was little obliged to any one for those favours which he thought it their duty to confer upon him. He therefore never rightly estimated the kindness of his many friends and benefactors, or preserved a grateful sense of their generosity towards him. The works of this original writer, after having long lain dispersed in magazines and fugitive publications, were collected and published in an elegant edition, in 2 vols. 8vo. to which are prefixed the admirable Memoirs of Savage, written by Dr. Samuel Johnson.
CURIOSITIES RESPECTING MAN.—(Concluded.)
William Huntingdon, a very eccentric personage, who was originally a coal-heaver, and afterwards became a popular preacher of the Calvinistic persuasion. The following account, formed principally from the preacher’s own words, was first presented to the public in the first volume of “The Pulpit,” 1809. Excepting the circumstance of enlarging his name from Hunt to Huntingdon, which is stated as one of the inevitable consequences of “the follies of his youth,” Mr. Huntingdon has already written, with tolerable truth, the greater portion of the history of himself.
He was born, he says, in the Weald of Kent; and “suffered much from his parents’ poverty, when young.” He long felt other disadvantages attending his birth. Being born in “none of the most polite parts of the world,” he “retained a good deal of his provincial dialect;” so that many of his “expressions sounded very harsh and uncouth.” Of this he complains, with some cause, as it afterwards occasioned numbers of “unsanctified critics to laugh and cavil at” him. He was first an errand boy, then a daily labourer, then a cobbler; and, though he “worked by day,” and “cobbled by night,” he, at one time, “lived upon barley.” His first ministerial preparation is thus told:
“I had now (says Mr. H.) five times a week to preach constantly: on which account I was forced to lay the Bible in a chair by me, and now and then read a little, in order to furnish myself with matter for the pulpit. It sometimeshappened that I was under sore temptations and desertions: the Bible, too, appeared a sealed book, insomuch that I could not furnish myself with a text; nor durst I leave my work in order to study or read the Bible; if I did, my little ones would soon want bread; my business would also run very cross at those times.” His earnings did not then amount to more than eight shillings per week. Even when his state grew better, when he got his first “parsonic livery” on his back, he could not study at his ease. “My little cot (he says) was placed in a very vulgar neighbourhood, and the windows were so very low, that I could not study at any of them, without being exposed to the view of my enemies; who often threw stones through the glass, or saluted me with a volley of oaths or imprecations.” This must have been painful enough to one whose “memory was naturally bad.” Providence had long furnished him with very superior accommodations. After many years of itinerant and irregular preaching, William Huntingdon, weary of living at Thames Ditton, secretly longed to leave it, fully persuaded that he “should end his ministry in London.”
“Having unsuccessfully laboured in the vineyard of the country,” and as he “did not see that God had any thing more for him to do there,” he, like one Durant of late, “saw the Lord himself open the door” for his removal. He had resolved to be off; and he contrived to get off. He was now, as he himself says, “to perch upon the thick boughs.” Ditton was to be left for London. Yet had poor Ditton not been so unkind to him. “Some few years before I was married,” says Mr. H. “all my personal effects used to be carried in my hand, or on my shoulders, in one or two large handkerchiefs; but after marriage, for some few years, I used to carry all the goods that we had gotten, on my shoulders, in a large sack: but when we removed from Thames Ditton to London, we loaded two large carts with furniture and other necessaries; besides a post-chaise, well filled with children and cats.”
Being viewed as ludicrous while in the country, he was fearful of being considered as ridiculous elsewhere. I here transcribe his words: “At this (says Mr. H.—having been advertised in Margaret-street Chapel,) I was sorely offended, being very much averse to preaching in London, for several reasons. First, because I had been told it abounded so much with all sorts of errors, that I was afraid of falling into them, there were so many that lay in wait to deceive. Secondly, because I had no learning, and therefore feared I should not be able to deliver myself with any degree of propriety; and as I knew nothing of Greek or Hebrew, nor even of the English Grammar, that I should be exposed to the scourging tongue of every critic in London.”
“During many weeks, (he adds,) I laboured under much distress of mind respecting my want of abilities to preach in this great metropolis.” I think this one of the few rational passages to be found in the “Bank of Faith.” Mr. Huntingdon here candidly confesses his own conviction of his then ministerial incompetency, and expresses his apprehension as to the probable nullity of his divine mission. His call seems to fail him now. He feels just as most men would feel in the same state,—fears just as they would fear,—and takes the same chance as to the great end he had in view. “During the space of three years, (says Mr. Huntingdon,) I secretly wished in my soul, that God would favour me with a chapel of my own, being sick of the errors that were perpetually broached by some one or other in Margaret-street Chapel, where I then preached. But though I so much desired this, yet I could not ask God for such a favour, thinking it was not to be brought about by one so very mean, low, and poor as myself. However, God sent a person, unknown to me, to look at a certain spot, who afterwards took me to look at it; but I trembled at the very thought of such an immense undertaking. Then God stirred up a wise man to offer to build a chapel, and to manage the whole work without fee or reward. God drew the pattern on his imagination, while he was hearing me preach a sermon. I then took the ground; this person executed the plan; and the chapel sprung up like a mushroom. As soon as it was finished, this precious scripture came sweet to my soul, ‘He will fulfil the desire of them that fear him:’ Psa. cxlv. 19.
“I will now inform my reader of the kind providence of my God at the time of building the chapel, which I named Providence Chapel (1788); and also mention a few free-will-offerings which the people brought. They first offered about eleven pounds, and laid it on the foundation at the beginning of the building. A good gentleman, with whom I had but little acquaintance, and of whom I bought a load of timber, sent it in with a bill and receipt-in-full, as a present to the Chapel of Providence. Another good man came with tears in his eyes, and blessed me, and desired to paint my pulpit, desk, &c. as a present to the chapel. Another person gave half a dozen chairs for the vestry; and my friends, Mr. and Mrs. Lyon, furnished me with a tea-chest, well stored, and a set of china. My good friends, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, furnished me with a very handsome bed, bedstead, and all its furniture and necessaries, that I might not be under the necessity of walking home in the cold winter nights. A daughter of mine in the faith, gave me a looking-glass for my chapel study. Another friend gave me my pulpit-cushion, and a book-case for my study. Another gave me a book-case for the vestry. Andmy good friend, Mr. E. seemed to level all his displeasure at the devil; for he was in hopes I should be enabled, through the gracious arm of the Lord, to cut Rahab in pieces; therefore he furnished me with a sword of the Spirit—a new Bible, with Morocco binding and silver clasps. I had got one old cart-horse, (says W. H.) that I had bought with the rest of the stock on the farm, and I wanted two more, but money ran short; and I determined also to have a large tilted cart, to take my family to chapel, and the man should drive it on the Sunday and on lecture nights, and I would ride my little horse. This was the most eligible plan that I could adopt; and on this I determined, as soon as God should send money to procure them. I came to this conclusion on a Friday; and on the next day, toward evening, came two or three friends from town to see me. I wondered not a little at their coming, as they knew that on a Saturday I never like to see any body, and therefore I conceived that they must be come with some heavy tidings; some friend was dead, or something bad had happened. But they came to inform me that some friends had agreed among themselves, and bought me a coach and a pair of horses, which they intended to make me a present of. I informed them that the assessed taxes ran so high, that I should not be able to keep it. But they stopped my mouth by informing me, that the money for paying the taxes for the coach and horses was subscribed also; so that nothing lay upon me, but the keep of the horses. Thus, instead of being at the expense of a tilted cart, God sent me a coach without cost, and two horses without my purchasing them; and which, with my other old horse, would do the work of the farm, as well as the work of the coach; and my bailiff informed me that he could drive it, having formerly drove one. Thus was I set up. But at this time the pocket was bare, and many things were wanting, both in the house and on the farm, and a place to fit up for my bailiff and dairy-woman to live in. And it was but a few days afterward before a gentleman out of the country called upon me; and, being up in my study with me, he said, ‘My friend, I often told you, you would keep your coach before you died; and I always promised, that whenever you had a coach, I would give you a pair of horses; and I will not be worse than my word. I have inquired of Father Green, and he tells me that the horses cost forty-five pounds, and there is the money.’ In a day or two after, the coach, horses, and harness, came; and, having now a little money, I wrote to a friend in the country to send me twelve ewes, and a male with them; and he sent me twelve excellent ones, and the male with them, but would not be paid for them; they were a present to the farm. ‘Whoso is wise and will observe these things, even they shall understand the loving-kindness of the Lord.’ Ps. cvii. 43.”
Much did Mr. Huntingdon owe to the singularity of his ways. Singular in his outset and career, singular in his opinions, singular in his own appearance, singular in his chapel, singular in his style of preaching, he seemed to know, as well as most men, the value of singularity. He not only excelled in extempore eloquence, but his peculiarities distinguished him from most other preachers. Having formally announced his text, he laid his Bible at once aside, and never referred to it again. Having laid on one side the volume of inspiration, and disdaining the trammels of transcription, he proceeded directly to his object; and, excepting incidental digressions, as, “Take care of your pockets!” “Wake that snoring sinner!” “Silence that noisy numscull!” “Turn out that drunken dog!” excepting such occasional digressions, which, like the episodes of poetry, must, when skilfully introduced, be understood to heighten the effect of the whole, our orator never deviated from the course in which he commenced his eccentric career of ministerial labour.
He had other advantages over many of his pulpit compeers. Being of the metaphorical and allegorical school, as well as possessing his citations by rote, there is seldom to be found the passage, from the book of Genesis to the Revelation of St. John, that may not have, remotely or allusively, some connection with the subject immediately under his investigation. Hence the variety, as well as the fertility, of his eloquence. Hence the novelty of his commentaries; his truly astonishing talent of reconciling texts, else undoubtedly incongruous; and of discovering dissimilarities, and asserting difficulties, where none were believed to exist. Nothing could exceed the dictatorial dogmatism of this famous preacher. Believe him, none but him,—and that is enough. If he aimed thus to pin the faith of those who hear him, he would say over and over, “As sure as I am born, ’tis,” &c. or, “I believe this,” or, “I know this,” “I am sure of it,” or, “I believe the plain English of it (some difficult text) to be,” &c. When he adds, as he was wont, by way of fixing his point, “Now, you can’t help it,” or, “So it is,” or, “It must be so in spite of you,” he did this with a most significant shake of his head, with a sort of beldamhauteur, with all the dignity of defiance. Action he seemed to have none, except that of shifting his handkerchief from hand to hand, and hugging his cushion as though it were his bolster. He therefore owed his distinction to the absence of those qualities by which most men rise. Self has done great things for him: self-taught, self-raised, all of self. “God (says Mr. H.) enabled me to put out several little books, which were almost universally exclaimed against, both by preachers and professors, and by these means God sent them into all winds; so that I soon rubbed off one hundred, andsoon after another, so that, in a short time, I had reduced my thousand pounds (debt) down to seven hundred.”
Of his works, he adds, that “they are calculated (as he thinks,) to suit the earnest inquirer; the soul in bondage, in the furnace, in the path of tribulation, or in the strong hold of Satan; and (says he) I have heard of them from Wales, from Scotland, from Ireland, from various parts of America, from Cadiz in Spain, from Alexandria in Egypt, and, I believe, from both the East and West Indies.”
His “Bank of Faith” has proved a bank of gold! When he wrote so much of what came to him as gifts, was it not to rouse more to give? The man who says he lives by gifts, will, as he gets his friends, find gifts by which he may live. He died at London, in 1813; and such was the avidity of his adherents to obtain a relic of him, that his furniture sold at ten times the original value. An old chair went off at forty pounds.
CURIOSITIES RESPECTING ANIMALS.
Animal Generation—Formation of Animals—Preservation of Animals—Destruction of Animals—Animal Reproductions.
Animal Generation—Formation of Animals—Preservation of Animals—Destruction of Animals—Animal Reproductions.
In entering upon the subject of Curiosities respecting Animals, we shall first introduce to the reader some interesting observations respecting the generation, formation, preservation, destruction, and reproduction, of animals in general; and, first, of animal generation.
Animal generation holds the first place among all that raise our admiration when we consider the Works of the Creator, and chiefly that appointment by which he has regulated the propagation, which is wisely adapted to the disposition and mode of life of every different species of animals, that people earth, air, or sea.
“Increase and multiply,” said the benevolent Author ofnature, when he pronounced his blessing on the new made world. By virtue of this powerful mandate, all the various tribes of sentient beings have not only been preserved, but increased in an astonishing degree.
It is not in our province to describe the laws of gestation; we will content ourselves with a few brief hints upon this subject; and we shall find, that in different animals, nature operates in different ways, in order to produce the same general end.
The human female, and the female of quadrupeds, are possessed of a temperate cherishing warmth; this fits them for easy gestation, and enables them to afford proper nourishment to their young, till the time of birth.
Birds are intended to soar in the air, or to flit from place to place in search of food. Gestation, therefore, would be burdensome to them. For this reason, they lay eggs, covered with a hard shell: these, by natural instinct, they sit upon, and cherish till the young be excluded. The ostrich and the cassowary are said to be exempt from this law; as they commit their eggs to the sand, where the intense heat of the sun hatches them.
Fishes inhabit the waters, and most of them have cold blood, unfit for nourishing their young. The all-wise Creator, therefore, has ordained that most of them should lay their eggs near the shore; where, by means of the solar rays, the water is warmer, and also fitter for that purpose; and also because water insects abound more there, which afford nourishment to the young fry.
Salmon, when they are about to deposit their eggs, are led by instinct to ascend the stream, where purity and freshness are to be found in the waters: and to procure such a situation for its young, this fish will endure incredible toil and hazard.
The butterfly-fish is an exception to this general law, for that brings forth its young alive. The species of fish whose residence is in the middle of the ocean, are also exempt. Providence has given to these, eggs that swim; so that they are hatched among the sea-weeds, which also swim on the surface.
The various kinds of whales have warm blood, and therefore bring forth their young alive, and suckle them with their teats.
Some amphibious animals also bring forth their young alive, as the viper, &c. But such species as lay eggs, deposit them in places where the heat of the sun supplies the want of warmth in the parent. Thus the frog, and the lizard, drop their’s in shallow waters, which soon receive a genial heat by the rays of the sun; the common snake, in dunghills, or other warmplaces. The crocodile and sea-tortoise go ashore to lay their eggs in the sand; in these cases, Nature, as a provident nurse, takes care of all.
The multiplication of animals is not restrained to the same rule in all; for some have a remarkable power of increase, while others are, in this respect, confined within very narrow limits. Yet, in general, we find, that nature observes this order, that the least animals, and those which are most useful for food to others, usually increase with the greatest rapidity. The mite, and many other insects, will multiply to a thousand within the compass of a few days; while the elephant hardly produces a young one in two years.
Birds of the hawk-kind seldom lay more than two eggs; while poultry will produce from fifteen to thirty. The diver, or loon, which is eaten by few animals, lays also only two eggs; but the duck-kind, moor game, partridges, &c. and small birds in general, lay a great many. Most of the insect tribes neither bear young nor hatch eggs; yet they are the most numerous of all living creatures; and were their bulk proportionable to their numbers, there would not be room on the earth for any other animals. The Creator has wisely ordained the preservation of these minute creatures. The females lay not their eggs indiscriminately, but are endued with instinct to choose such places as may supply their infant offspring with proper nourishment: in their case, this is absolutely necessary, for the mother dies as soon as she has deposited her eggs, the male parent having died before this event takes place; so that no parental care ever falls to the lot of this orphan race. And indeed, were the parents to live, it does not appear that they would possess any power to assist their young. Butterflies, weevils, tree-bugs, gall-insects, and many others, lay their eggs on the leaves of plants; and every different tribe chooses its own species of plants. Nay, there is scarce any plant which does not afford nourishment to some insect; and still more, there is hardly any part of a plant which is not preferred by some of them. Thus one feeds upon the flower; another upon the leaves; another upon the trunk; and still another upon the root. But it is particularly curious to observe how the leaves of some trees of plants are formed into dwellings for the convenience of these creatures. Thus the gall-insect, fixes her eggs in the leaves of an oak; the wounded leaf swells, and a knob arises like an apple, which includes, protects, and nourishes the embryo. In the same manner are the galls produced, which are brought from Asiatic Turkey, and which are used both as a medicine, and as a dye in several of our manufactories.
When the tree-bug has deposited its eggs in the boughs of the fir-tree, excrescences arise, shaped like pearls. Whenanother insect of the same species has deposited its eggs in the mouse-ear, chick-weed, or speedwell plants, the leaves contract in a wonderful manner into the shape of a head. The water spider excludes eggs either on the extremities of juniper, which from thence forms a lodging that resembles the arrow-headed grass; or on the leaves of the poplar, from whence a red globe is produced. The tree-louse lays its eggs on the leaves of the black poplar, which turn into a kind of inflated bag; and so in many other instances.
Nor is it only upon plants that insects live and lay their eggs. The gnat commits her’s to stagnant waters; the flesh-fly, in putrified flesh; another kind of insect deposits her’s in the cracks of cheese.
Some insects exclude their eggs on certain animals; the mill-beetle, between the scales of fishes; a species of the gadfly, on the back of bullocks; another of the same species, on the back of the rein-deer; another, in the noses of sheep; another still, in the intestinal tube, or the throat of horses. Nay, even insects themselves are generally surrounded with the eggs of other insects; so that there is, perhaps, no animal to be found, but what affords both lodging, and nourishment, and food, to other animals: even man himself, the haughty lord of this lower world, is not exempt from this general law.
We shall next call the reader’s attention to some particulars respecting theFormation of Animals.
Whatever matter may be in itself as to its essence, it is certain that it appears to our senses as various and heterogeneous: however, the modus of the formation of animals is still unknown. The inspired writers express themselves here, at least, according to the capacity of the learned, as well as the vulgar, when they acknowledge the ignorance of mankind,—how the bones do at first grow in their embryo state,—and that we are fearfully and wonderfully made, when we are fashioned secretly in the lower parts of the earth. However, it seems not probable, that one part of matter acting upon another, should produce animal existence, though we grant it may have a strange and unaccountable power in the alteration of matter purely insensible or inanimate. Fermentation may dilate, and extremely alter the parts of animated matter, when they are delineated and marked out by the finger of the Almighty; but still, matter being a principle purely passive and irrational, we cannot conceive how it should become an animal, any more than a world, it being much more easy for stones to leap out of a quarry, and make an Escurial, without asking the architect’s leave, or calling for the mason, with his mortar and trowel, to assist them.
Nor seems it necessary, or rational, that the first seed of every creature should formally include all those seeds that should be afterwards produced from it; since it is, we think, sufficient that it should potentially include them, just as Abraham did Levi; or as one kernel does all those indeterminate kernels that may be thence afterwards raised; the first seeds being doubtless of the same nature with those that now exist, after so many thousand years, the order of time making only an accidental difference; which if we do not grant, we must run into this absurdity, that every thing does not produce its like,—a bird a bird, or a horse a horse,—which would be to fill all the world with monsters, which nature does so much abhor.
But every vegetable seed, or kernel, for example, does now actually and formally contain all the seeds or kernels which may be at any time afterwards produced from them. A kernel has indeed, as we have found by microscopes, a pretty fair and distinct delineation of the tree and branches into which it may be afterwards formed by the fermentation of its parts, and addition of suitable matter; as in the tree are potentially contained all the thousands and millions of kernels, and so of trees, that shall or may be thence raised afterwards: and some are apt to believe it must be similar in the first animals; whereas the finest glasses, which are brought to an almost incredible perfection, cannot discover actual seeds in seeds, or kernels in kernels; though, if there were any such thing as an actual least atom, they might, one would think, be discovered by them, since they have shewn us not only seeds, but even new animals, in many parts of matter where we never suspected them, and even in some of the smallest animals themselves, whereof our naked sight can take no cognizance. As for the parts of matter, be they how they will, finite or infinite, it makes no great alteration; for, if these parts are not all seminal, we are no nearer. Nay, at best, an absurdity seems to be the consequence of this hypothesis; because, if those parts are infinite, and include all successive generations of animals, it would follow that the number of animals too should be infinite; and, instead of one, we should have a thousand infinites; and it would be strange too if they should not, some of them, be greater or less than one another.
For that pleasant fancy, that all the seeds of animals were distinctly created at the beginning of time and things, that they are mingled with all the elements, that we take them in with our food, and theheandsheatoms either fly off or stay, as they like their lodgings; we hope there is no need of being serious to confute it. And we may ask of this, as well as the former hypothesis,—what need of them, when the work may be done without them? The kernel, as before, contains thetree, the tree a thousand other fruits, and ten thousand kernels; the first animal several others; and as many of them as Nature can dispose of, and provide fit nourishment for, are produced into what we may call actual being, in comparison to what they before enjoyed. If it be asked, whether these imperfect creatures have all distinct souls while lurking yet in their parent? we answer, that there is no need of it; they are not yet so much as well-defined bodies, but rather parts of the parent: there is required yet a great deal more of the chemistry and mechanism of nature, and that in both sexes, to make one or more of these embryo beings, the offspring of man, capable of receiving a rational soul; but when that capacity comes, and wherein it consists, perhaps he only knows, who is the Father of spirits, as well as the former of the universe.
On the Preservation of Animals.—With respect to the preservation of animals, it maybe observed, that in tender age, while the young are unable to provide for themselves, the parent possesses the most anxious care for them. The lioness, the tigress, and every other savage of the wilderness, are gentle and tender towards their offspring; they spare no pains, no labour, for their helpless progeny; they scour the forest with indescribable rage; destruction marks their path; they bear their victim to the covert, and teach their whelps to quaff the blood of the slain. There is one great law, which the all-wise Creator has implanted in animals towards their offspring, which is, that, according to their nature, they should provide for their nourishment, defence, and comfort.
All quadrupeds give suck to their young, and support them by a liquor of a most delicate taste, and perfectly easy of digestion, till they are capable of receiving nourishment from more solid food.
Birds build their nests in the most artificial manner, and line them as soft as possible, that the eggs or young may not be injured. Nor do they build promiscuously, but chuse such places as are most concealed, and likely to be free from the attacks of their enemies: thus the hanging-bird of the tropical countries, makes its nest of the fibres of withered plants lined with down, and fixes it at the extremity of some bough hanging over the water, that it may be out of reach; and the diver places its swimming nest upon the water itself, among the rushes.
The male rooks and crows, during the time of incubation, bring food to the females. Pigeons, and most of the small birds which pair, sit by turns; but where polygamy prevails, the males scarcely take any care of the young.
Birds of the duck kind pluck the feathers off their breast,and cover their eggs with them, lest they should be injured by cold when they quit their nest for food; and when the young are hatched, they shew the utmost solicitude in providing for them, till they are able to fly, and shift for themselves.
Young pigeons are fed with hard seeds, which the parents first have prepared in their own crops, that so the infant bird may digest them easily. And the eagle makes its nest on the highest precipices of mountains, and in the warmest spot, facing the sun; here the prey which it brings is corrupted by the heat, and made digestible to the young.
There is, indeed, an exception to this fostering care of animals in the cuckoo, which lays its eggs in the nest of some small bird, generally the wagtail, yellow-hammer, or white-throat, and leaves both the incubation and preservation of the young to them. But naturalists inform us that this apparent want of instinct in the cuckoo proceeds from the structure and situation of its stomach, which disqualifies it for incubation; still its care is conspicuous in providing a proper, though a foreign situation, for its eggs.
Amphibious animals, fishes, and insects, which cannot come under the care of their parents, yet owe this to them, that they are deposited in places where they easily find proper nourishment.
When animals come to that maturity as no longer to want parental care, they exercise the utmost labour and industry for the preservation of their own lives. But the different species are many, and the individuals of each species are very numerous. In order, therefore, that all may be supported, the Creator has assigned to each class its proper food, and set bounds and limits to their appetites. Some live on particular species of plants, which are produced only in particular animalcula; others on carcases, and some even on mud and dung. For this reason, Providence has ordained that some should swim in certain regions of the watery element; that others should fly; and that some should inhabit the torrid, the frigid, or the temperate zones. Different animals also are confined to certain spots in the same zone: some frequent the deserts, others the meadows, or the cultivated grounds; thus the mountains, the woods, the pools, the gardens, have their proper inhabitants. By this means there is no terrestrial tract, no sea, no river, no country, but what teems with life. Hence one species of animals does not injuriously invade the aliment of another; and hence the world at all times affords support to so many, and such various inhabitants, and nothing which it produces is in vain.
We ought to remark, also, the wisdom and goodness of Providence in forming the structure of the bodies of animals for their peculiar manner of life, and in giving them clothingwhich is suitable both to the country and element in which they live.
Thus the elephant, the rhinoceros, and the various kinds of monkeys, are destined to live in the torrid regions, where the sun darts its fiercest rays; their skins are therefore naked, for were they covered with hair, they would perish with heat. They are also of such conformation of body as to suit their different manner of life. The rein-deer has his habitation in the coldest parts of Lapland; his food is the liverwort, which grows nowhere else so abundantly; and as the cold is in that country intense, this useful animal is covered with hair of the densest kind; by this means he easily defies the keenness of the arctic regions. The rough-legged partridge passes its life in the Lapland Alps, where it feeds on the seeds of the dwarf birch: while, to withstand the cold, and to enable it to run freely among the snow, even its feet are thickly beset with feathers.
The camel is a native of the arid sandy deserts, which, with their dreadful sterility, are yet capable of yielding him support. How wisely has the Creator formed him! his foot is made to traverse the burning sands; and as the place of his habitation affords but little water, he is made capable of enduring long journeys, and going many days without quenching his thirst; for he is furnished with a natural reservoir, in which, when he drinks, he stores up a quantity of water, and has the power of using it in a frugal and sparing manner, when, for his food, he crops the dry thistle of the desert. The bullock delights in low rich grounds, because there he finds the food which is most palatable to him. The wild horse chiefly resorts to woods, and feeds upon leafy plants. Sheep prefer hills of moderate elevation, where they find a short sweet grass, of which they are very fond. Goats climb up the precipices of mountains, that they may brouse on the tender shrubs; and, in order to fit them for their situation, their feet are made for jumping.
Swine chiefly get provision by turning up the earth; for which purpose their snouts are peculiarly formed. In this employment they find succulent roots, insects, and reptiles.
So various is the appetite of animals, that there is scarcely any plant which is not chosen by some, and left untouched by others. Thus the horse refuses the water hemlock, which the goat will eat: the goat will not feed on monkshood, but the horse eats it with avidity. The long-leafed water hemlock is avoided by the bullock; yet the sheep is fond of it. The spurge is poisonous to man; but the caterpillar finds it a wholesome nourishment. Some animals live on the leaves of certain plants, others on the stalks, and others still on the rind, or even the roots of the same vegetable.
It should seem from hence, that no plant is absolutely poisonous, but only relatively so: that is, there is no plant but what is wholesome food to some animal or other. Thus divine wisdom has assigned an use for all its productions.
The care of Providence is further evident in giving to each animal an instinctive knowledge of its proper aliment; but that delicacy of taste and smell, by which they accurately distinguish the wholesome from the pernicious, is not so evident in domestic animals as in those which are in a state of nature.
All birds of the goose kind pass great part of their lives in water, feeding on water-insects, fishes, and their eggs. It is evident that they are calculated for this mode of existence; their beaks, their necks, their feet, and their feathers, are formed for it. All other birds are as aptly fitted for their manner of life as these.
The sea-swallow is said to get his food in a very singular way. Fish are his support, but he is not capable of diving in order to catch them like other aquatic birds; the sea-gull, therefore, is his caterer: when this last has gorged himself, he is pursued by the former, who buffets him till he casts up a part of his prey, which the other catches before it reaches the water; but in those seasons when the fishes hide themselves in deep water, the merganser supplies even the gull himself with food, being capable of plunging deeper into the sea.
Small birds are generally supposed to live principally upon the berries of ivy and hawthorn; but modern naturalists contradict this, and affirm that their winter food is the knot-grass, which bears heavy seeds, like those of the black bind-weed. This is a very common plant, not easily destroyed; it grows in great abundance by the sides of roads, and trampling on it will not kill it; it is extremely plentiful in corn-fields after harvest, and gives a reddish hue to them by the multitude of its seeds. Wherever the husbandman ploughs, this plant will grow, nor can all his art prevent it: thus a part of his labours are necessarily destined for the propagation of a plant which our heavenly Father has designed immediately for the support of the “fowls of the air;” for though “they sow not, neither gather into barns,” yet are they fed by him.
Some birds who live on insects, migrate every year to foreign regions, in order to seek food in a milder climate; while all the northern countries, where they live well in summer, are covered with snow. Some naturalists reckon the different species of the Hirundo, or swallow, among the birds of passage; while others affirm that they do not migrate, but, at the approach of winter, seek an asylum from the cold in the clefts of rocks, with which our island is surrounded, or take refugein the bottom of pools and lakes, among the reeds and rushes; others still, who have made their observations with more attention and patience than either of the former, allow that the old swallows with their early brood do migrate; but that the latter hatches, which are incapable of distant flight, lay themselves up, and become torpid during the winter; and at the approach of spring, by the wonderful appointment of Nature, they come forth again with renewed life and activity. In these, and all other animals which become torpid in the winter, the peristaltic motion of the bowels ceases while they are dormant, so that they do not suffer by hunger. Dr. Lister remarks, concerning this class of animals, that their blood, when poured into a vessel, does not coagulate, like that of all other animals; and therefore is no less fit for circulation when they revive, than before.
The birds called moor-fowl, during great snows, work out paths for themselves under its surface, where they live in safety, and get their food. They moult in summer, so that about the latter end of August they cannot fly, and are therefore obliged to run in the woods; but then the blackberries and bilberries are ripe, from whence they are abundantly supplied with food: but the young do not moult the first year, and therefore, though they cannot run so well, are enabled to escape danger by flight.
The migration of birds is not only a fact, but, as it relates to many kinds of them, is an useful fact to mankind. This remark applies to such of them as feed on insects, the number of which is so great, that if these birds did not destroy them, it would be almost impossible for us to live.
Of the various kinds of water-fowl that are known in Europe, there is hardly any but what, in the spring, are found to repair to Lapland. This is a country of lakes, rivers, swamps, and mountains, covered with thick and gloomy forests, that afford shelter during summer to these birds.
In these arctic regions, by reason of the thickness of the woods, the ground remains moist and penetrable, and the waters contain the larvæ of the gnat in innumerable quantities. The days there are long, and the beautiful and splendid meteors of the night indulge them with every opportunity of collecting so minute a food; at the same time, men are very sparingly scattered over that vast northern waste. Yet, Linnæus, that great explorer of nature, in his excursion to Lapland, was astonished at the myriads of water-fowl that migrated with him out of that country, which exceeded in multitude the army of Xerxes, covering, for eight whole days and nights, the surface of the river Calix! The surprise of Linnæus was occasioned by his supposing their support to be furnished chiefly by the vegetable kingdom, almost deniedto the Lapland waters; not knowing that the all-bountiful Creator had plenteously provided insect food for them in that dreary wilderness.
Certain beasts, also, as well as birds, become torpid, or at least inactive, when they are, by the rigour of the season, excluded from the necessaries of life. Thus the bear, at the end of autumn, collects a quantity of moss, into which he creeps, and there lies all the winter, subsisting upon no other nourishment than his fat, collected during the summer in the cellulous membrane, and which, without doubt, during his fast, circulates through his vessels, and supplies the place of food.
The hedge-hog, badger, and some kinds of mice, fill their winter quarters with vegetables, which they eat during mild weather in the winter, and sleep during the frosts. The bat seems cold and quite dead, but revives in the spring: while most of the amphibious animals get into dens, or the bottom of lakes and pools.
Among other instances of the preservation of animals, we ought to mention that of the pole-cat of America, commonly called the squash or skink. This is a small animal of the weasel kind, which some of the planters of that country keep about their premises to perform the office of a cat. This creature has always a very strong and disagreeable smell, but when affrighted or enraged, it emits so horrible a stench, as to prevent any other creature from approaching it: even dogs in pursuit of it, when they find this extraordinary mode of defence made use of, will instantly turn, and leave him undisputed master of the field; nor can any attempts ever bring them to rally again. Kalm, as quoted by Buffon, says, “One of these animals came near the farm where I lived in the year 1749. It was in the winter season, during the night; and the dogs that were upon the watch, pursued it for some time, until it discharged against them. Although I was in bed a good way off, I thought I should have been suffocated; and the cows and oxen themselves, by their lowings, shewed how much they were affected by the stench.”
Nor is even the serpent, in its various kinds, destitute of the care of the common Father of nature. This reptile, which has neither wings to fly, nor the power to run with much speed, would not have the means to take its prey, were it not endowed with superior cunning to most other creatures. In favour of the serpent, also, there is a terror attending its appearance, which operates with such power upon birds and other small animals, as often to cause them to fall an easy prey to it. Hence, probably, has arisen the fiction of the power of fascination, which has been confidently ascribed to the rattlesnake and some other serpents.
On theDestruction of Animals.
In considering the destruction of animals, we may observe that Nature is continually operating: she produces, preserves for a time, and then destroys all her productions. Man himself is subject to this general order; for he also, like other creatures, returns to the dust from whence he was taken.
This process of nature is marked even in the vicissitudes of the seasons. Spring, like the jovial, playful infancy of all living creatures, represents childhood and youth; for then plants spread forth their flowers, fishes play in the waters, birds sing, and universal nature rejoices. Summer, like middle age, exhibits plants and trees full clothed in green; fruits ripen; and every thing is full of life. But autumn is comparatively gloomy; for then the leaves fall from the trees, and plants begin to wither, insects grow torpid, and many animals retire to their winter quarters.
The day proceeds with steps similar to the year. In the morning every thing is fresh and playful; at noon all is energy and action; evening follows, and every thing is inert and sluggish.
Thus the age of man begins from the cradle; pleasing childhood succeeds; then sprightly youth; afterwards manhood, firm, severe, and intent on self-preservation; lastly, old age creeps on, debilitates, and, at length, totally destroys our tottering bodies.
But we must consider the destruction of animals more at large. We have before observed, that all animals do not live on vegetables, but there are some which feed on animalcula; others on insects. Nay, some there are which subsist only by rapine, and daily destroy some or other of the peaceable kind.
The destruction of animals by each other, is generally in progression,—the strong prevailing against the weak. Thus, the tree-louse lives on plants; the fly called musca amphidivora, lives on the tree-louse; the hornet and wasp-fly, on the musca amphidivora; the dragon-fly, on the hornet and wasp-fly; the larger spider, on the dragon-fly; small birds feed on the spider; and lastly, the hawk kind on the small birds.
In like manner, the monoculus delights in putrid waters; the gnat eats the monoculus; the frog eats the gnat; the pike eats the frog; and the sea-calf eats the pike.
The bat and the goat-sucker make their excursions only at night, that they may catch the moths, which at that time fly about in great quantities.
The woodpecker pulls out the insects which lie hid in the trunks of trees. The swallow pursues those which fly about in the open air. The mole feeds on worms and grubs in the earth. The large fishes devour the small ones. And perhapsthere is not an animal in existence, which has not an enemy to contend with.
Among quadrupeds, wild beasts are most remarkably pernicious and dangerous to others. But that they may not, by their cruelty, destroy a whole species, these are circumscribed within certain bounds: as to the fiercest of them, they are few in number, when compared with other animals; sometimes they fall upon and destroy each other; and it is remarked also, that they seldom live to a great age, for they are subject, from the nature of their diet, to various diseases, which bring them sooner to an end than those animals which live on vegetables. It has been asked, why has the Supreme Being constituted such an order in nature, that, it should seem, some animals are created only to be destroyed by others? To this it has been answered, that Providence not only aimed at sustaining, but also keeping a just proportion amongst all the species, and so preventing any one of them from increasing too much, to the detriment of men and other animals. For if it be true, as it assuredly is, that the surface of the earth can support only a certain number of creatures, they must all perish, if the same number were doubled or trebled.
There are many kinds of flies, which bring forth so abundantly, that they would soon fill the air, and, like clouds, intercept the light of the sun, unless they were devoured by birds, spiders, and other animals.
Storks and cranes free Egypt from frogs, which, after the inundation of the Nile, cover the whole country. Falcons clear Palestine from mice. Bellonius, on this subject, says, “The storks come to Egypt in such abundance, that the fields and meadows are quite white with them. Yet the Egyptians are not displeased with them, as frogs are generated in such numbers, that, did not the storks devour them, they would over-run every thing. Besides, they also catch and eat serpents. Between Belba and Gaza, the fields of Palestine are often injured by mice and rats; and were these vermin not destroyed by the falcons, that come here by instinct, the inhabitants could have no harvest.”
The white fox is of equal advantage in the Lapland Alps; as he destroys the Norway rat, which, by its prodigious increase, would otherwise entirely destroy vegetation in that country.
It is sufficient for us to believe that Providence is wise in all its works, and that nothing is made in vain. When rapacious animals do us mischief, let us not think that the Creator planned the order of nature according to our private principles of economy; for the Laplander has one way of living, the European husbandman another, and the Hottentot differs from them both; whereas the stupendous Deity is one throughoutthe globe; and if Providence do not always calculate according to our method of reckoning, we ought to consider this affair in the same light as when different seamen wait for a fair wind, every one with respect to the port to which he is bound: these we plainly see cannot all be satisfied.
We shall conclude this branch, by turning once more to Man, and tracing him through his progressive stages of decay, until death puts a final period to his earthly existence.
The human form has no sooner arrived at its state of perfection, than it begins to decline. The alteration is at first insensible, and often several years are elapsed before we find ourselves grown old. The news of this unwelcome change too generally comes from without; and we learn from others that we grow old, before we are willing to believe the report.
When the body is come to its full height, and is extended into its just dimensions, it then also begins to receive an additional bulk, which rather loads than assists it. This is formed of fat, which, generally, at about the age of forty, covers all the muscles, and interrupts their activity. Every exertion is then performed with greater labour, and the increase of size only serves as the forerunner of decay.
The bones also become every day more solid. In the embryo they are almost as soft as the muscles and the flesh, but by degrees they harden, and acquire their proper vigour; but still, for the purpose of circulation, they are furnished through all their substance with their proper canals. Nevertheless, these canals are of very different capacities during the different stages of life. In infancy they are capacious, and the blood flows almost as freely through the bones as through any other part of the body; in manhood their size is greatly diminished, the vessels are almost imperceptible, and the circulation is proportionably slow. But in the decline of life, the blood which flows through the bones, no longer contributing to their growth, must necessarily serve to increase their hardness. The channels which run through the human frame may be compared to those pipes that we see crusted on the inside, by the water, for a long continuance, running through them. Both every day grow less and less, by the small rigid particles which are deposited within them. Thus, as the vessels are by degrees diminished, the juices also, which circulate through them, are diminished in proportion; till at length, in old age, these props of the human frame are not only more solid, but more brittle.
The cartilages, likewise, grow more rigid; the juices circulating through them, every day contribute to make them harder, so that those parts which in youth are elastic and pliant, in age become hard and bony, consequently the motion of the joints must become more difficult. Thus, in old age,every action of the body is performed with labour, and the cartilages, formerly so supple, will now sooner break than bend.
As the cartilages acquire hardness, and unfit the joints for motion, so also that mucous liquor, which is always secreted between the joints, and which serves, like oil to a hinge, to give them an easy and ready play, is now grown more scanty. It becomes thicker and more clammy, more unfit for answering the purposes of motion, and from thence, in old age every joint is stiff and awkward. At every motion this clammy liquor is heard to crack; and it is not without a great effort of the muscles, that its resistance is overcome. Old persons have been known, that seldom moved a single joint without thus giving notice of the violence that was done to it.
The membranes that cover the bones, joints, and the rest of the body, become, as we grow old, more dense and more dry. Those which surround the bones soon cease to be ductile. The fibres, of which the muscles or flesh is composed, become every day more rigid; and while, to the touch, the body seems, as we advance in years, to grow softer, it is in reality increasing in hardness. It is the skin, and not the flesh, that we feel on such occasions. The fat, and the flabbiness of it, seem to give an appearance of softness, which the flesh itself is very far from having. None can doubt this after trying the difference between the flesh of young and old animals. The first is soft and tender, the last is hard and dry.
The skin is the only part of the body that age does not harden; that stretches to every degree of tension; and we have often frightful instances of its pliancy, in many disorders which are incident to humanity. In youth, while the body is vigorous and increasing, it continues to give way to its growth. But although it thus adapts itself to our increase, its does not in the same manner conform to our decay. The skin, in youth and health, is plump, glossy, veined, and clear; but when the body begins to decline, it has not elasticity enough to shrink entirely with its diminution; it becomes dark or yellow, and hangs in wrinkles, which no cosmetic can remove. The wrinkles of the body in general proceed from this cause; but those of the face seem to proceed from another, namely, from that variety of positions into which it is put by the speech, the food, or the passions. Every grimace, every passion, and every gratification of appetite, puts the visage into different forms. These are visible enough in young persons; but what at first was accidental or transitory, becomes, by habit, unalterably fixed in the visage as it grows older.
Hence, as we advance in age, the bones, the cartilages, the membranes, the flesh, and every fibre of the body, becomes more solid, more dry, and more brittle. Every part shrinks,motion becomes more slow, the circulation of the fluids is performed with less freedom; perspiration diminishes; the secretions alter; the digestion becomes laborious; and the juices no longer serve to convey their accustomed nourishment. Thus the body dies by little and little, and all its functions are diminished by degrees; life is driven from one part of the frame to another; universal rigidity prevails; and death, at last, seizes upon the remnant that is left.
As the bones, the cartilages, the muscles, and all other parts of the body, are softer in women than in men, these parts must, of consequence, require a longer time to arrive at that state of hardness which occasions death. Women, therefore, ought to be longer in growing old than men, and this is, generally speaking, the case. If we consult the tables which have been drawn up respecting human life, we shall find that, after a certain age, they are more long-lived than men, all other circumstances the same. Thus a woman of sixty has a greater probability, than a man of the same age, of living till eighty.
We shall close this chapter with an account ofAnimal Reproductions.
Here we discover a new field of wonders, that seems entirely to contradict the principles that we had adopted concerning the formation of organized bodies. It was long thought that animals could only be multiplied by eggs, or by young ones. But it is now found that there are some exceptions to this general rule, since certain animal bodies have been discovered, that may be divided into as many complete bodies as you please; for each part thus separated from the parent body, soon repairs what is deficient, and becomes a complete animal. It is now no longer doubtful that the polypus belongs to the class of animals, though it much resembles plants, both in form, and in its mode of propagating. The bodies of these creatures may be either cut across or longitudinally, and the pieces will become so many complete polypi. Even from the skin, or least part, cut off from the body, one or more polypi will be produced; and if several pieces cut off be joined together by the extremities, they will perfectly unite, nourish each other, and become one body. This discovery has given rise to other experiments, and it has been found that polypi are not the only animals which live and grow after being cut in pieces. The earth-worm will multiply after being cut in two; to the tail there grows a head, and the two pieces then become two worms. After having been divided, they cannot be joined together again; they remain for some time in the same state, or grow rather smaller; we then see at the extremity which was cut, a little white button begin to appear, which increasesand gradually lengthens. Soon after, we may observe rings at first very close together, but insensibly extending on all sides; a new stomach, and other organs, are then formed. We may at any time make the following experiment with snails: cut off their heads close by the horns, and in a certain space of time the head will be reproduced. A similar circumstance takes place in crabs; if one of their claws is torn off, it will again be entirely reproduced.