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.