experiment; which I shall quote at length, as I find it in an excellent
author, and hope my readers will pardon the mentioning such an instance
of cruelty, because there is nothing can so effectually show the
strength of that principle in animals of which I am here speaking. 'A
person who was well skilled in dissections opened a bitch, and as she
lay in the most exquisite tortures, offered her one of her young
puppies, which she immediately fell a licking; and for the time seemed
insensible of her own pain: On the removal, she kept her eye fixt on it,
and began a wailing sort of cry, which seemed rather to proceed from the
loss of her young one, than the sense of her own torments.'
But, notwithstanding this natural love in brutes is much more violent
and intense than in rational creatures, providence has taken care that
it should be no longer troublesome to the parent than it is useful to
the young; for so soon as the wants of the latter cease, the mother
withdraws her fondness, and leaves them to provide for themselves: And,
what is a very remarkable circumstance in this part of instinct, we find
that the love of the parent may be lengthened out beyond its usual time,
if the preservation of the species requires it; as we may see in birds
that drive away their young as soon as they are able to get their
livelihood, but continue to feed them if they are tied to the nest, or
confined within a cage, or by any other means appear to be out of a
condition of supplying their own necessities.
This natural love is not observed in animals to ascend from the young to
the parent, which is not at all necessary for the continuance of the
species; nor indeed in reasonable creatures does it rise in any
proportion, as it spreads itself downwards: For in all family affection,
we find protection granted and favours bestowed, are greater motives to
love and tenderness, than safety, benefits, or life received. One would
wonder to hear sceptical men disputing for the reason of animals, and
telling us it is only our pride and prejudices that will not allow them
the use of that faculty.
Reason shews itself in all occurrences of life; whereas the brute makes
no discovery of such a talent, but in what immediately regards his own
preservation, or the continuance of his species. Animals in their
generation are wiser than the sons of men; but their wisdom is confined
to a few particulars, and lies in a very narrow compass. Take a brute
out of his instinct, and you find him wholly deprived of understanding.
To use an instance that comes often under observation.
With what caution does the hen provide herself a nest in places
unfrequented, and free from noise and disturbance! When she has laid her
eggs in such a manner that she can cover them, what care does she take
in turning them frequently, that all parts may partake of the vital
warmth? When she leaves them, to provide for her necessary sustenance,
how punctually does she return before they have time to cool, and become
incapable of producing an animal? In the summer you see her giving
herself greater freedoms, and quitting her care for above two hours
together; but in winter, when the rigour of the season would chill the
principles of life, and destroy the young one, she grows more assiduous
in her attendance, and stays away but half the time. When the birth
approaches, with how much nicety and attention does she help the chick
to break its prison? Not to take notice of her covering it from the
injuries of the weather, providing it proper nourishment, and teaching
it to help itself; nor to mention her forsaking the nest, if after the
usual time of reckoning the young one does not make its appearance. A
chymical operation could not be followed with greater art or diligence,
than is seen in the hatching of a chick; though there are many other
birds that shew an infinitely greater sagacity in all the forementioned
particulars.
But at the same time the hen, that has all this seeming ingenuity (which
is indeed absolutely necessary for the propagation of the species),
considered in other respects, is without the least glimmerings of
thought or common sense. She mistakes a piece of chalk for an egg, and
sits upon it in the same manner: She is insensible of any increase or
diminution in the number of those she lays: She does not distinguish
between her own and those of another species; and when the birth appears
of never so different a bird, will cherish it for her own. In all these
circumstances, which do not carry an immediate regard to the subsistence
of herself or her species, she is a very idiot.
There is not, in my opinion, any thing more mysterious in nature than
this instinct in animals, which thus rises above reason, and falls
infinitely short of it. It cannot be accounted for by any properties in
matter, and at the same time works after so odd a manner, that one
cannot think it the faculty of an intellectual being. For my own part, I
look upon it as upon the principle of gravitation in bodies, which is
not to be explained by any known qualities inherent in the bodies
themselves, nor from any laws of mechanism; but, according to the best
notions of the greatest philosophers, is an immediate impression from
the first mover, and the divine energy acting in the creatures. L.
NO. 121. THURSDAY, JULY 19.
_Jovis omnia plena_.
VIRG. Ecl. iii. v. 60.
All is full of _Jove_.
As I was walking this morning in the great yard that belongs to my
friend's country house, I was wonderfully pleased to see the different
workings of instinct in a hen followed by a brood of ducks. The young,
upon the sight of a pond, immediately ran into it, while the step-
mother, with all imaginable anxiety, hovered about the borders of it, to
call them out of an element that appeared to her so dangerous and
destructive. As the different principle which acted in these different
animals cannot be termed reason, so when we call it _instinct_, we
mean something we have no knowledge of. To me, as I hinted in my last
paper, it seems the immediate direction of providence, and such an
operation of the Supreme Being, as that which determines all the
portions of matter to their proper centres. A modern philosopher, quoted
by Monsieur _Bayle_ in his learned dissertation on the souls of
brutes, delivers the same opinion, though in a bolder form of words,
where he says, _Deus est anima brutorum_, God himself is the soul
of brutes. Who can tell what to call that seeming sagacity in animals,
which directs them to such food as is proper for them, and makes them
naturally avoid whatever is noxious or unwholesome? _Tully_ has
observed, that a lamb no sooner falls from its mother, but immediately
and of his own accord applies itself to the teat. _Dampier_, in his
travels, tells us, that when seamen are thrown upon any unknown coasts
of America, they never venture upon the fruit of any tree, how tempting
soever it may appear, unless they observe that it is marked with the
pecking of birds; but fall on without any fear or apprehension where the
birds have been before them.
But notwithstanding animals have nothing like the use of reason, we find
in them all the lower parts of our nature, the passions and senses in
their greatest strength and perfection. And here it is worth our
observation, that all beasts and birds of prey are wonderfully subject
to anger, malice, revenge, and all the other violent passions that may
animate them in search of their proper food; as those that are incapable
of defending themselves, or annoying others, or whose safety lies
chiefly in their flight, are suspicious, fearful, and apprehensive of
every thing they see or hear; whilst others that are of assistance and
use to man, have their natures softened with something mild and
tractable, and by that means are qualified for a domestic life. In this
case the passions generally correspond with the make of the body. We do
not find the fury of the lion in so weak and defenceless an animal as a
lamb, nor the meekness of a lamb in a creature so armed for battle and
assault as the lion. In the same manner, we find that particular animals
have a more or less exquisite sharpness and sagacity in those particular
senses which most turn to their advantage, and in which their safety and
welfare is the most concerned.
Nor must we here omit that great variety of arms with which nature has
differently fortified the bodies of several kind of animals, such as
claws, hoofs, and horns, teeth, and tusks, a tail, a sting, a trunk, or
a _proboscis_. It is likewise observed by naturalists, that it must
be some hidden principle distinct from what we call reason, which
instructs animals in the use of these their arms, and teaches them to
manage them to the best advantage; because they naturally defend
themselves with that part in which their strength lies, before the
weapon be formed in it; as is remarkable in lambs, which though they are
bred within doors, and never saw the action of their own species, push
at those who approach them with their foreheads, before the first
budding of a horn appears.
I shall add to these general observations an instance, which Mr.
_Locke_ has given us of providence, even in the imperfections of a
creature which seems the meanest and most despicable in the whole animal
world. _We may_, says he, _from the make of an oyster, or cockle,
conclude, that it has not so many nor so quick senses as a man, or
several other animals: Nor if it had, would it, in that state and
incapacity of transferring itself from one place to another, be bettered
by them. What good would sight and hearing do to a creature that cannot
move itself to or from the object, wherein at a distance it perceives
good or evil? And would not quickness of sensation be an inconvenience
to an animal that must be still where chance has once placed it, and
there receive the afflux of colder or warmer, clean or foul water, as it
happens to come to it_.
I shall add to this instance out of Mr. _Locke_ another out of the
learned Dr. _More_, who cites it from _Cardan_, in relation to
another animal which providence has left defective, but at the same time
has shewn its wisdom in the formation of that organ in which it seems
chiefly to have failed. _What is more obvious and ordinary than a
mole? and yet what more palpable argument of providence than she? The
members of her body are so exactly fitted to her nature and manner of
life: For her dwelling being under ground where nothing is to be seen,
nature has so obscurely fitted her with eyes, that naturalists can
hardly agree whether she have any sight at all or no. But for amends,
what she is capable of for her defence and warning of danger, she has
very eminently conferred upon her; for she is exceedingly quick of
hearing. And then her short tail and short legs, but broad forefeet
armed with sharp claws, we see by the event to what purpose they are,
she so swiftly working herself under ground, and making her way so fast
in the earth as they that behold it cannot but admire it. Her legs
therefore are short, that she need dig no more than will serve the mere
thickness of her body; and her fore feet are broad that she may scoop
away much earth at a time; and little or no tail she has, because she
courses it not on the ground, like the rat and mouse, of whose kindred
she is, but lives under the earth, and is fain to dig herself a dwelling
there. And she making her way through so thick an element, which will
not yield easily, as the air or the water, it had been dangerous to have
drawn so long a train behind her; for her enemy might fall upon her
rear, and fetch her out, before she had completed or got full possession
of her works_.
I cannot forbear mentioning Mr. _Boyle's_ remark upon this last
creature, who I remember somewhere in his works observes, that though
the mole be not totally blind (as it is commonly thought) she has not
sight enough to distinguish particular objects. Her eye is said to have
but one humour in it, which is supposed to give her the idea of light,
but of nothing else, and is so formed that this idea is probably painful
to the animal. Whenever she comes up into broad day she might be in
danger of being taken, unless she were thus affected by a light striking
upon her eye, and immediately warning her to bury herself in her proper
element. More sight would be useless to her, as none at all might be
fatal.
I have only instanced such animals as seem the most imperfect works of
nature; and if providence shews itself even in the blemishes of these
creatures, how much more does it discover itself in the several
endowments which it has variously bestowed upon such creatures as are
more or less finished and compleated in their several faculties,
according to the condition of life in which they are posted.
I could wish our Royal Society would compile a body of Natural History,
the best that could be gathered together from books and observations. If
the several writers among them took each his particular species, and
gave us a distinct account of its original, birth and education, its
policies; hostilities and alliances, with the frame, and texture of its
inward and outward parts, and particularly those that distinguish it
from all other animals, with their peculiar aptitudes for the state of
being in which providence has placed them, it would be one of the best
services their studies could do mankind, and not a little redound to the
glory of the All-wise Contriver.
It is true, such a Natural History, after all the disquisitions of the
learned, would be infinitely short and defective. Seas and deserts hide
millions of animals from our observation. Innumerable artifices and
stratagems are acted in the _Howling Wilderness_ and in the
_Great Deep_, that can never come to our knowledge. Besides that
there are infinitely more species of creatures which are not to be seen
without, nor indeed with the help of the finest glasses, than of such as
are bulky enough for the naked eye to take hold of. However, from the
consideration of such animals as lie within the compass of our
knowledge, we might easily form a conclusion of the rest, that the same
variety of wisdom and goodness runs through the whole creation, and puts
every creature in a condition to provide for its safety and subsistence
in its proper station.
_Tully_ has given us an admirable sketch of natural history, in his
second book concerning the nature of the Gods; and that in a style so
raised by metaphors and descriptions, that it lifts the subject above
rallery and ridicule, which frequently fall on such nice observations
when they pass through the hands of an ordinary writer. L.
No. 122. FRIDAY, JULY 20.
_Comes jucundus in via pro vehiculo est._
PUBL. SYR. Frag.
An agreeable companion upon the road is as good as
a coach.
A man's first care should be to avoid the reproaches of his own heart;
his next, to escape the censures of the world: If the last interferes
with the former, it ought to be entirely neglected; but otherwise there
cannot be a greater satisfaction to an honest mind, than to see those
approbations which it gives itself seconded by the applauses of the
publick: A man is more sure of his conduct, when the verdict he passes
upon his own behaviour is thus warranted and confirmed by the opinion of
all that know him.
My worthy friend Sir ROGER is one of those who is not only at peace
within himself, but beloved and esteemed by all about him. He receives a
suitable tribute for his universal benevolence to mankind, in the
returns of affection and good-will, which are paid him by every one that
lives within his neighbourhood. I lately met with two or three odd
instances of that general respect which is shewn to the good old Knight.
He would needs carry _Will Wimble_ and myself with him to the
county assizes: As we were upon the road _Will Wimble_ joined a
couple of plain men who rid before us, and conversed with them for some
time; during which my friend Sir ROGER acquainted me with their
characters.
The first of them, says he, that has a spaniel by his side, is a yeoman
of about an hundred pounds a year, an honest man: He is just within the
game-act, and qualified to kill an hare or a pheasant: He knocks down a
dinner with his gun twice or thrice a-week; and by that means lives much
cheaper than those who have not so good an estate as himself. He would
be a good neighbour if he did not destroy so many partridges: In short,
he is a very sensible man; shoots flying; and has been several times
foreman of the petty-jury.
The other that rides along with him is _Tom Touchy_, a fellow
famous for _taking the law_ of every body. There is not one in the
town where he lives that he has not sued at the quarter-sessions. The
rogue had once the impudence to go to law with the _widow_. His
head is full of costs, damages, and ejectments: He plagued a couple of
honest gentlemen so long for a trespass in breaking one of his hedges,
till he was forced to sell the ground it inclosed to defray the charges
of the prosecution: His father left him fourscore pounds a-year; but he
has _cast_ and been cast so often, that he is not now worth thirty.
I suppose he is going upon the old business of the willow-tree.
As Sir ROGER was giving me this account of _Tom Touchy_, _Will
Wimble_ and his two companions stopped short till we came up to them.
After having paid their respects to Sir ROGER, _Will_ told him that
_Mr. Touchy_ and he must appeal to him upon a dispute that arose
between them. _Will_ it seems had been giving his fellow-traveller
an account of his angling one day in such a hole; when _Tom
Touchy_, instead of hearing out his story, told him that Mr. Such-a-
one, if he pleased, might _take the law of him_ for fishing in that
part of the river. My friend Sir ROGER heard them both, upon a round
trot; and after having paused some time told them, with the air of a man
who would not give his judgment rashly, that _much might be said on
both sides_. They were neither of them dissatisfied with the Knight's
determination, because neither of them found himself in the wrong by it:
Upon which we made the best of our way to the assizes.
The court was sat before Sir ROGER came; but notwithstanding all the
justices had taken their places upon the bench, they made room for the
old Knight at the head of them; who for his reputation in the county
took occasion to whisper in the judge's ear, _That he was glad his
Lordship had met with so much good weather in his circuit_. I was
listening to the proceeding of the court with much attention, and
infinitely pleased with that great appearance and solemnity which so
properly accompanies such a publick administration of our laws; when,
after about an hour's sitting, I observed to my great surprise, in the
midst of a trial, that my friend Sir ROGER was getting up to speak. I
was in some pain for him, till I found he had acquitted himself of two
or three sentences, with a look of much business and great intrepidity.
Upon his first rising the court was hushed, and a general whisper ran
among the country people, that Sir ROGER _was up_. The speech he
made was so little to the purpose, that I shall not trouble my readers
with an account of it; and I believe was not so much designed by the
Knight himself to inform the court, as to give him a figure in my eye,
and keep up his credit in the country.
I was highly delighted, when the court rose, to see the gentlemen of the
country gathering about my old friend, and striving who should
compliment him most; at the same time that the ordinary people gazed
upon him at a distance, not a little admiring his courage, that was not
afraid to speak to the judge.
In our return home we met with a very odd accident; which I cannot
forbear relating, because it shews how desirous all who know Sir ROGER
are of giving him marks of their esteem. When we were arrived upon the
verge of his estate, we stopped at a little inn to rest ourselves and
our horses. The man of the house had it seems been formerly a servant in
the Knight's family; and to do honour to his old master, had some time
since, unknown to Sir ROGER, put him up in a sign-post before the door;
so that _the Knight's head_ had hung out upon the road about a week
before he himself knew any thing of the matter. As soon as Sir ROGER was
acquainted with it, finding that his servant's indiscretion proceeded
wholly from affection and good-will, he only told him that he had made
him too high a compliment; and when the fellow seemed to think that
could hardly be, added with a more decisive look, That it was too great
an honour for any man under a duke; but told him at the same time, that
it might be altered with a very few touches, and that he himself would
be at the charge of it. Accordingly they got a painter by the Knight's
directions to add a pair of whiskers to the face, and by a little
aggravation of the features to change it into the _Saracen's Head_.
I should not have known this story had not the innkeeper, upon Sir
ROGER'S alighting, told him in my hearing, That his honour's head was
brought back last night with the alterations that he had ordered to be
made in it. Upon this my friend, with his usual cheerfulness, related
the particulars above-mentioned, and ordered the head to be brought into
the room. I could not forbear discovering greater expressions of mirth
than ordinary upon the appearance of this monstrous face, under which,
notwithstanding it was made to frown and stare in a most extraordinary
manner, I could still discover a distant resemblance of my old friend.
Sir ROGER upon seeing me laugh, desired me to tell him truly if I
thought it possible for people to know him in that disguise. I at first
kept my usual silence; but upon the Knight's conjuring me to tell him
whether it was not still more like himself than a _Saracen_, I
composed my countenance in the best manner I could, and replied, _that
much might be said on both sides_.
These several adventures, with the Knight's behaviour in them, gave me
as pleasant a day as ever I met with in any of my travels.
No. 123, SATURDAY, JULY 21.
_Doctrina sed vim promovet insitam,
Rectique cultus pectora roborant:
Utcunque defecere mores,
Dedecorant bene nata culpae._
HOR. Od. iv. 1. 4. ver. 33.
Yet the best blood by learning is refin'd,
And virtue arms the solid mind;
Whilst vice will stain the noblest race,
And the paternal stamp efface.
ANON.
As I was yesterday taking the air with my friend Sir ROGER, we were met
by a fresh-coloured ruddy young man, who rid by us full speed, with a
couple of servants behind him. Upon my inquiry who he was, Sir ROGER
told me that he was a young gentleman of a considerable estate, who had
been educated by a tender mother that lived not many miles from the
place where we were. She is a very good lady, says my friend, but took
so much care of her son's health, that she has made him good for
nothing. She quickly found that reading was bad for his eyes, and that
writing made his head ache. He was let loose among the woods as soon as
he was able to ride on horseback, or carry a gun upon his shoulder. To
be brief, I found, by my friend's account of him, that he had got a
great stock of health, but nothing else; and that if it were a man's
business only to live, there would not be a more accomplished young
fellow in the whole country.
The truth of it is, since my residing in these parts, I have seen and
heard innumerable instances of young heirs and elder brothers who,
either from their own reflecting upon the estates they are born to, and
therefore thinking all other accomplishments unnecessary, or from
hearing these notions frequently inculcated to them by the flattery of
their servants and domesticks, or from the same foolish thought
prevailing in those who have the care of their education, are of no
manner of use but to keep up their families, and transmit their lands
and houses in a line to posterity.
This makes me often think on a story I have heard of two friends, which
I shall give my reader at large, under feigned names. The moral of it
may, I hope, be useful, though there are some circumstances which make
it rather appear like a novel than a true story.