Chapter IX: Introduction (8)

But every vegetable seed, or kernel, for example, does now actually and formally contain all the seeds or kernels which may be at any time afterwards produced from them. A kernel has indeed, as we have found by microscopes, a pretty fair and distinct delineation of the tree and branches into which it may be afterwards formed by the fermentation of its parts, and addition of suitable matter; as in the tree are potentially contained all the thousands and millions of kernels, and so of trees, that shall or may be thence raised afterwards: and some are apt to believe it must be similar in the first animals; whereas the finest glasses, which are brought to an almost incredible perfection, cannot discover actual seeds in seeds, or kernels in kernels; though, if there were any such thing as an actual least atom, they might, one would think, be discovered by them, since they have shewn us not only seeds, but even new animals, in many parts of matter where we never suspected them, and even in some of the smallest animals themselves, whereof our naked sight can take no cognizance. As for the parts of matter, be they how they will, finite or infinite, it makes no great alteration; for, if these parts are not all seminal, we are no nearer. Nay, at best, an absurdity seems to be the consequence of this hypothesis; because, if those parts are infinite, and include all successive generations of animals, it would follow that the number of animals too should be infinite; and, instead of one, we should have a thousand infinites; and it would be strange too if they should not, some of them, be greater or less than one another.

For that pleasant fancy, that all the seeds of animals were distinctly created at the beginning of time and things, that they are mingled with all the elements, that we take them in with our food, and the _he_ and _she_ atoms either fly off or stay, as they like their lodgings; we hope there is no need of being serious to confute it. And we may ask of this, as well as the former hypothesis,--what need of them, when the work may be done without them? The kernel, as before, contains the tree, the tree a thousand other fruits, and ten thousand kernels; the first animal several others; and as many of them as Nature can dispose of, and provide fit nourishment for, are produced into what we may call actual being, in comparison to what they before enjoyed. If it be asked, whether these imperfect creatures have all distinct souls while lurking yet in their parent? we answer, that there is no need of it; they are not yet so much as well-defined bodies, but rather parts of the parent: there is required yet a great deal more of the chemistry and mechanism of nature, and that in both sexes, to make one or more of these embryo beings, the offspring of man, capable of receiving a rational soul; but when that capacity comes, and wherein it consists, perhaps he only knows, who is the Father of spirits, as well as the former of the universe.

ON THE PRESERVATION OF ANIMALS.--With respect to the preservation of animals, it maybe observed, that in tender age, while the young are unable to provide for themselves, the parent possesses the most anxious care for them. The lioness, the tigress, and every other savage of the wilderness, are gentle and tender towards their offspring; they spare no pains, no labour, for their helpless progeny; they scour the forest with indescribable rage; destruction marks their path; they bear their victim to the covert, and teach their whelps to quaff the blood of the slain. There is one great law, which the all-wise Creator has implanted in animals towards their offspring, which is, that, according to their nature, they should provide for their nourishment, defence, and comfort.

All quadrupeds give suck to their young, and support them by a liquor of a most delicate taste, and perfectly easy of digestion, till they are capable of receiving nourishment from more solid food.

Birds build their nests in the most artificial manner, and line them as soft as possible, that the eggs or young may not be injured. Nor do they build promiscuously, but chuse such places as are most concealed, and likely to be free from the attacks of their enemies: thus the hanging-bird of the tropical countries, makes its nest of the fibres of withered plants lined with down, and fixes it at the extremity of some bough hanging over the water, that it may be out of reach; and the diver places its swimming nest upon the water itself, among the rushes.

The male rooks and crows, during the time of incubation, bring food to the females. Pigeons, and most of the small birds which pair, sit by turns; but where polygamy prevails, the males scarcely take any care of the young.

Birds of the duck kind pluck the feathers off their breast, and cover their eggs with them, lest they should be injured by cold when they quit their nest for food; and when the young are hatched, they shew the utmost solicitude in providing for them, till they are able to fly, and shift for themselves.

Young pigeons are fed with hard seeds, which the parents first have prepared in their own crops, that so the infant bird may digest them easily. And the eagle makes its nest on the highest precipices of mountains, and in the warmest spot, facing the sun; here the prey which it brings is corrupted by the heat, and made digestible to the young.

There is, indeed, an exception to this fostering care of animals in the cuckoo, which lays its eggs in the nest of some small bird, generally the wagtail, yellow-hammer, or white-throat, and leaves both the incubation and preservation of the young to them. But naturalists inform us that this apparent want of instinct in the cuckoo proceeds from the structure and situation of its stomach, which disqualifies it for incubation; still its care is conspicuous in providing a proper, though a foreign situation, for its eggs.

Amphibious animals, fishes, and insects, which cannot come under the care of their parents, yet owe this to them, that they are deposited in places where they easily find proper nourishment.

When animals come to that maturity as no longer to want parental care, they exercise the utmost labour and industry for the preservation of their own lives. But the different species are many, and the individuals of each species are very numerous. In order, therefore, that all may be supported, the Creator has assigned to each class its proper food, and set bounds and limits to their appetites. Some live on particular species of plants, which are produced only in particular animalcula; others on carcases, and some even on mud and dung. For this reason, Providence has ordained that some should swim in certain regions of the watery element; that others should fly; and that some should inhabit the torrid, the frigid, or the temperate zones. Different animals also are confined to certain spots in the same zone: some frequent the deserts, others the meadows, or the cultivated grounds; thus the mountains, the woods, the pools, the gardens, have their proper inhabitants. By this means there is no terrestrial tract, no sea, no river, no country, but what teems with life. Hence one species of animals does not injuriously invade the aliment of another; and hence the world at all times affords support to so many, and such various inhabitants, and nothing which it produces is in vain.

We ought to remark, also, the wisdom and goodness of Providence in forming the structure of the bodies of animals for their peculiar manner of life, and in giving them clothing which is suitable both to the country and element in which they live.

Thus the elephant, the rhinoceros, and the various kinds of monkeys, are destined to live in the torrid regions, where the sun darts its fiercest rays; their skins are therefore naked, for were they covered with hair, they would perish with heat. They are also of such conformation of body as to suit their different manner of life. The rein-deer has his habitation in the coldest parts of Lapland; his food is the liverwort, which grows nowhere else so abundantly; and as the cold is in that country intense, this useful animal is covered with hair of the densest kind; by this means he easily defies the keenness of the arctic regions. The rough-legged partridge passes its life in the Lapland Alps, where it feeds on the seeds of the dwarf birch: while, to withstand the cold, and to enable it to run freely among the snow, even its feet are thickly beset with feathers.

The camel is a native of the arid sandy deserts, which, with their dreadful sterility, are yet capable of yielding him support. How wisely has the Creator formed him! his foot is made to traverse the burning sands; and as the place of his habitation affords but little water, he is made capable of enduring long journeys, and going many days without quenching his thirst; for he is furnished with a natural reservoir, in which, when he drinks, he stores up a quantity of water, and has the power of using it in a frugal and sparing manner, when, for his food, he crops the dry thistle of the desert. The bullock delights in low rich grounds, because there he finds the food which is most palatable to him. The wild horse chiefly resorts to woods, and feeds upon leafy plants. Sheep prefer hills of moderate elevation, where they find a short sweet grass, of which they are very fond. Goats climb up the precipices of mountains, that they may brouse on the tender shrubs; and, in order to fit them for their situation, their feet are made for jumping.

Swine chiefly get provision by turning up the earth; for which purpose their snouts are peculiarly formed. In this employment they find succulent roots, insects, and reptiles.

So various is the appetite of animals, that there is scarcely any plant which is not chosen by some, and left untouched by others. Thus the horse refuses the water hemlock, which the goat will eat: the goat will not feed on monkshood, but the horse eats it with avidity. The long-leafed water hemlock is avoided by the bullock; yet the sheep is fond of it. The spurge is poisonous to man; but the caterpillar finds it a wholesome nourishment. Some animals live on the leaves of certain plants, others on the stalks, and others still on the rind, or even the roots of the same vegetable.

It should seem from hence, that no plant is absolutely poisonous, but only relatively so: that is, there is no plant but what is wholesome food to some animal or other. Thus divine wisdom has assigned an use for all its productions.

The care of Providence is further evident in giving to each animal an instinctive knowledge of its proper aliment; but that delicacy of taste and smell, by which they accurately distinguish the wholesome from the pernicious, is not so evident in domestic animals as in those which are in a state of nature.

All birds of the goose kind pass great part of their lives in water, feeding on water-insects, fishes, and their eggs. It is evident that they are calculated for this mode of existence; their beaks, their necks, their feet, and their feathers, are formed for it. All other birds are as aptly fitted for their manner of life as these.

The sea-swallow is said to get his food in a very singular way. Fish are his support, but he is not capable of diving in order to catch them like other aquatic birds; the sea-gull, therefore, is his caterer: when this last has gorged himself, he is pursued by the former, who buffets him till he casts up a part of his prey, which the other catches before it reaches the water; but in those seasons when the fishes hide themselves in deep water, the merganser supplies even the gull himself with food, being capable of plunging deeper into the sea.

Small birds are generally supposed to live principally upon the berries of ivy and hawthorn; but modern naturalists contradict this, and affirm that their winter food is the knot-grass, which bears heavy seeds, like those of the black bind-weed. This is a very common plant, not easily destroyed; it grows in great abundance by the sides of roads, and trampling on it will not kill it; it is extremely plentiful in corn-fields after harvest, and gives a reddish hue to them by the multitude of its seeds. Wherever the husbandman ploughs, this plant will grow, nor can all his art prevent it: thus a part of his labours are necessarily destined for the propagation of a plant which our heavenly Father has designed immediately for the support of the "fowls of the air;" for though "they sow not, neither gather into barns," yet are they fed by him.

Some birds who live on insects, migrate every year to foreign regions, in order to seek food in a milder climate; while all the northern countries, where they live well in summer, are covered with snow. Some naturalists reckon the different species of the Hirundo, or swallow, among the birds of passage; while others affirm that they do not migrate, but, at the approach of winter, seek an asylum from the cold in the clefts of rocks, with which our island is surrounded, or take refuge in the bottom of pools and lakes, among the reeds and rushes; others still, who have made their observations with more attention and patience than either of the former, allow that the old swallows with their early brood do migrate; but that the latter hatches, which are incapable of distant flight, lay themselves up, and become torpid during the winter; and at the approach of spring, by the wonderful appointment of Nature, they come forth again with renewed life and activity. In these, and all other animals which become torpid in the winter, the peristaltic motion of the bowels ceases while they are dormant, so that they do not suffer by hunger. Dr. Lister remarks, concerning this class of animals, that their blood, when poured into a vessel, does not coagulate, like that of all other animals; and therefore is no less fit for circulation when they revive, than before.

The birds called moor-fowl, during great snows, work out paths for themselves under its surface, where they live in safety, and get their food. They moult in summer, so that about the latter end of August they cannot fly, and are therefore obliged to run in the woods; but then the blackberries and bilberries are ripe, from whence they are abundantly supplied with food: but the young do not moult the first year, and therefore, though they cannot run so well, are enabled to escape danger by flight.

The migration of birds is not only a fact, but, as it relates to many kinds of them, is an useful fact to mankind. This remark applies to such of them as feed on insects, the number of which is so great, that if these birds did not destroy them, it would be almost impossible for us to live.

Of the various kinds of water-fowl that are known in Europe, there is hardly any but what, in the spring, are found to repair to Lapland. This is a country of lakes, rivers, swamps, and mountains, covered with thick and gloomy forests, that afford shelter during summer to these birds.

In these arctic regions, by reason of the thickness of the woods, the ground remains moist and penetrable, and the waters contain the larvæ of the gnat in innumerable quantities. The days there are long, and the beautiful and splendid meteors of the night indulge them with every opportunity of collecting so minute a food; at the same time, men are very sparingly scattered over that vast northern waste. Yet, Linnæus, that great explorer of nature, in his excursion to Lapland, was astonished at the myriads of water-fowl that migrated with him out of that country, which exceeded in multitude the army of Xerxes, covering, for eight whole days and nights, the surface of the river Calix! The surprise of Linnæus was occasioned by his supposing their support to be furnished chiefly by the vegetable kingdom, almost denied to the Lapland waters; not knowing that the all-bountiful Creator had plenteously provided insect food for them in that dreary wilderness.

Certain beasts, also, as well as birds, become torpid, or at least inactive, when they are, by the rigour of the season, excluded from the necessaries of life. Thus the bear, at the end of autumn, collects a quantity of moss, into which he creeps, and there lies all the winter, subsisting upon no other nourishment than his fat, collected during the summer in the cellulous membrane, and which, without doubt, during his fast, circulates through his vessels, and supplies the place of food.

The hedge-hog, badger, and some kinds of mice, fill their winter quarters with vegetables, which they eat during mild weather in the winter, and sleep during the frosts. The bat seems cold and quite dead, but revives in the spring: while most of the amphibious animals get into dens, or the bottom of lakes and pools.

Among other instances of the preservation of animals, we ought to mention that of the pole-cat of America, commonly called the squash or skink. This is a small animal of the weasel kind, which some of the planters of that country keep about their premises to perform the office of a cat. This creature has always a very strong and disagreeable smell, but when affrighted or enraged, it emits so horrible a stench, as to prevent any other creature from approaching it: even dogs in pursuit of it, when they find this extraordinary mode of defence made use of, will instantly turn, and leave him undisputed master of the field; nor can any attempts ever bring them to rally again. Kalm, as quoted by Buffon, says, "One of these animals came near the farm where I lived in the year 1749. It was in the winter season, during the night; and the dogs that were upon the watch, pursued it for some time, until it discharged against them. Although I was in bed a good way off, I thought I should have been suffocated; and the cows and oxen themselves, by their lowings, shewed how much they were affected by the stench."

Nor is even the serpent, in its various kinds, destitute of the care of the common Father of nature. This reptile, which has neither wings to fly, nor the power to run with much speed, would not have the means to take its prey, were it not endowed with superior cunning to most other creatures. In favour of the serpent, also, there is a terror attending its appearance, which operates with such power upon birds and other small animals, as often to cause them to fall an easy prey to it. Hence, probably, has arisen the fiction of the power of fascination, which has been confidently ascribed to the rattlesnake and some other serpents.

On the DESTRUCTION OF ANIMALS.

In considering the destruction of animals, we may observe that Nature is continually operating: she produces, preserves for a time, and then destroys all her productions. Man himself is subject to this general order; for he also, like other creatures, returns to the dust from whence he was taken.

This process of nature is marked even in the vicissitudes of the seasons. Spring, like the jovial, playful infancy of all living creatures, represents childhood and youth; for then plants spread forth their flowers, fishes play in the waters, birds sing, and universal nature rejoices. Summer, like middle age, exhibits plants and trees full clothed in green; fruits ripen; and every thing is full of life. But autumn is comparatively gloomy; for then the leaves fall from the trees, and plants begin to wither, insects grow torpid, and many animals retire to their winter quarters.

The day proceeds with steps similar to the year. In the morning every thing is fresh and playful; at noon all is energy and action; evening follows, and every thing is inert and sluggish.

Thus the age of man begins from the cradle; pleasing childhood succeeds; then sprightly youth; afterwards manhood, firm, severe, and intent on self-preservation; lastly, old age creeps on, debilitates, and, at length, totally destroys our tottering bodies.

But we must consider the destruction of animals more at large. We have before observed, that all animals do not live on vegetables, but there are some which feed on animalcula; others on insects. Nay, some there are which subsist only by rapine, and daily destroy some or other of the peaceable kind.

The destruction of animals by each other, is generally in progression,--the strong prevailing against the weak. Thus, the tree-louse lives on plants; the fly called musca amphidivora, lives on the tree-louse; the hornet and wasp-fly, on the musca amphidivora; the dragon-fly, on the hornet and wasp-fly; the larger spider, on the dragon-fly; small birds feed on the spider; and lastly, the hawk kind on the small birds.

In like manner, the monoculus delights in putrid waters; the gnat eats the monoculus; the frog eats the gnat; the pike eats the frog; and the sea-calf eats the pike.

The bat and the goat-sucker make their excursions only at night, that they may catch the moths, which at that time fly about in great quantities.

The woodpecker pulls out the insects which lie hid in the trunks of trees. The swallow pursues those which fly about in the open air. The mole feeds on worms and grubs in the earth. The large fishes devour the small ones. And perhaps there is not an animal in existence, which has not an enemy to contend with.

Among quadrupeds, wild beasts are most remarkably pernicious and dangerous to others. But that they may not, by their cruelty, destroy a whole species, these are circumscribed within certain bounds: as to the fiercest of them, they are few in number, when compared with other animals; sometimes they fall upon and destroy each other; and it is remarked also, that they seldom live to a great age, for they are subject, from the nature of their diet, to various diseases, which bring them sooner to an end than those animals which live on vegetables. It has been asked, why has the Supreme Being constituted such an order in nature, that, it should seem, some animals are created only to be destroyed by others? To this it has been answered, that Providence not only aimed at sustaining, but also keeping a just proportion amongst all the species, and so preventing any one of them from increasing too much, to the detriment of men and other animals. For if it be true, as it assuredly is, that the surface of the earth can support only a certain number of creatures, they must all perish, if the same number were doubled or trebled.

There are many kinds of flies, which bring forth so abundantly, that they would soon fill the air, and, like clouds, intercept the light of the sun, unless they were devoured by birds, spiders, and other animals.

Storks and cranes free Egypt from frogs, which, after the inundation of the Nile, cover the whole country. Falcons clear Palestine from mice. Bellonius, on this subject, says, "The storks come to Egypt in such abundance, that the fields and meadows are quite white with them. Yet the Egyptians are not displeased with them, as frogs are generated in such numbers, that, did not the storks devour them, they would over-run every thing. Besides, they also catch and eat serpents. Between Belba and Gaza, the fields of Palestine are often injured by mice and rats; and were these vermin not destroyed by the falcons, that come here by instinct, the inhabitants could have no harvest."

The white fox is of equal advantage in the Lapland Alps; as he destroys the Norway rat, which, by its prodigious increase, would otherwise entirely destroy vegetation in that country.

It is sufficient for us to believe that Providence is wise in all its works, and that nothing is made in vain. When rapacious animals do us mischief, let us not think that the Creator planned the order of nature according to our private principles of economy; for the Laplander has one way of living, the European husbandman another, and the Hottentot differs from them both; whereas the stupendous Deity is one throughout the globe; and if Providence do not always calculate according to our method of reckoning, we ought to consider this affair in the same light as when different seamen wait for a fair wind, every one with respect to the port to which he is bound: these we plainly see cannot all be satisfied.

We shall conclude this branch, by turning once more to Man, and tracing him through his progressive stages of decay, until death puts a final period to his earthly existence.

The human form has no sooner arrived at its state of perfection, than it begins to decline. The alteration is at first insensible, and often several years are elapsed before we find ourselves grown old. The news of this unwelcome change too generally comes from without; and we learn from others that we grow old, before we are willing to believe the report.

When the body is come to its full height, and is extended into its just dimensions, it then also begins to receive an additional bulk, which rather loads than assists it. This is formed of fat, which, generally, at about the age of forty, covers all the muscles, and interrupts their activity. Every exertion is then performed with greater labour, and the increase of size only serves as the forerunner of decay.

The bones also become every day more solid. In the embryo they are almost as soft as the muscles and the flesh, but by degrees they harden, and acquire their proper vigour; but still, for the purpose of circulation, they are furnished through all their substance with their proper canals. Nevertheless, these canals are of very different capacities during the different stages of life. In infancy they are capacious, and the blood flows almost as freely through the bones as through any other part of the body; in manhood their size is greatly diminished, the vessels are almost imperceptible, and the circulation is proportionably slow. But in the decline of life, the blood which flows through the bones, no longer contributing to their growth, must necessarily serve to increase their hardness. The channels which run through the human frame may be compared to those pipes that we see crusted on the inside, by the water, for a long continuance, running through them. Both every day grow less and less, by the small rigid particles which are deposited within them. Thus, as the vessels are by degrees diminished, the juices also, which circulate through them, are diminished in proportion; till at length, in old age, these props of the human frame are not only more solid, but more brittle.

The cartilages, likewise, grow more rigid; the juices circulating through them, every day contribute to make them harder, so that those parts which in youth are elastic and pliant, in age become hard and bony, consequently the motion of the joints must become more difficult. Thus, in old age, every action of the body is performed with labour, and the cartilages, formerly so supple, will now sooner break than bend.

As the cartilages acquire hardness, and unfit the joints for motion, so also that mucous liquor, which is always secreted between the joints, and which serves, like oil to a hinge, to give them an easy and ready play, is now grown more scanty. It becomes thicker and more clammy, more unfit for answering the purposes of motion, and from thence, in old age every joint is stiff and awkward. At every motion this clammy liquor is heard to crack; and it is not without a great effort of the muscles, that its resistance is overcome. Old persons have been known, that seldom moved a single joint without thus giving notice of the violence that was done to it.

The membranes that cover the bones, joints, and the rest of the body, become, as we grow old, more dense and more dry. Those which surround the bones soon cease to be ductile. The fibres, of which the muscles or flesh is composed, become every day more rigid; and while, to the touch, the body seems, as we advance in years, to grow softer, it is in reality increasing in hardness. It is the skin, and not the flesh, that we feel on such occasions. The fat, and the flabbiness of it, seem to give an appearance of softness, which the flesh itself is very far from having. None can doubt this after trying the difference between the flesh of young and old animals. The first is soft and tender, the last is hard and dry.

The skin is the only part of the body that age does not harden; that stretches to every degree of tension; and we have often frightful instances of its pliancy, in many disorders which are incident to humanity. In youth, while the body is vigorous and increasing, it continues to give way to its growth. But although it thus adapts itself to our increase, its does not in the same manner conform to our decay. The skin, in youth and health, is plump, glossy, veined, and clear; but when the body begins to decline, it has not elasticity enough to shrink entirely with its diminution; it becomes dark or yellow, and hangs in wrinkles, which no cosmetic can remove. The wrinkles of the body in general proceed from this cause; but those of the face seem to proceed from another, namely, from that variety of positions into which it is put by the speech, the food, or the passions. Every grimace, every passion, and every gratification of appetite, puts the visage into different forms. These are visible enough in young persons; but what at first was accidental or transitory, becomes, by habit, unalterably fixed in the visage as it grows older.

Hence, as we advance in age, the bones, the cartilages, the membranes, the flesh, and every fibre of the body, becomes more solid, more dry, and more brittle. Every part shrinks, motion becomes more slow, the circulation of the fluids is performed with less freedom; perspiration diminishes; the secretions alter; the digestion becomes laborious; and the juices no longer serve to convey their accustomed nourishment. Thus the body dies by little and little, and all its functions are diminished by degrees; life is driven from one part of the frame to another; universal rigidity prevails; and death, at last, seizes upon the remnant that is left.

As the bones, the cartilages, the muscles, and all other parts of the body, are softer in women than in men, these parts must, of consequence, require a longer time to arrive at that state of hardness which occasions death. Women, therefore, ought to be longer in growing old than men, and this is, generally speaking, the case. If we consult the tables which have been drawn up respecting human life, we shall find that, after a certain age, they are more long-lived than men, all other circumstances the same. Thus a woman of sixty has a greater probability, than a man of the same age, of living till eighty.

We shall close this chapter with an account of ANIMAL REPRODUCTIONS.

Here we discover a new field of wonders, that seems entirely to contradict the principles that we had adopted concerning the formation of organized bodies. It was long thought that animals could only be multiplied by eggs, or by young ones. But it is now found that there are some exceptions to this general rule, since certain animal bodies have been discovered, that may be divided into as many complete bodies as you please; for each part thus separated from the parent body, soon repairs what is deficient, and becomes a complete animal. It is now no longer doubtful that the polypus belongs to the class of animals, though it much resembles plants, both in form, and in its mode of propagating. The bodies of these creatures may be either cut across or longitudinally, and the pieces will become so many complete polypi. Even from the skin, or least part, cut off from the body, one or more polypi will be produced; and if several pieces cut off be joined together by the extremities, they will perfectly unite, nourish each other, and become one body. This discovery has given rise to other experiments, and it has been found that polypi are not the only animals which live and grow after being cut in pieces. The earth-worm will multiply after being cut in two; to the tail there grows a head, and the two pieces then become two worms. After having been divided, they cannot be joined together again; they remain for some time in the same state, or grow rather smaller; we then see at the extremity which was cut, a little white button begin to appear, which increases and gradually lengthens. Soon after, we may observe rings at first very close together, but insensibly extending on all sides; a new stomach, and other organs, are then formed. We may at any time make the following experiment with snails: cut off their heads close by the horns, and in a certain space of time the head will be reproduced. A similar circumstance takes place in crabs; if one of their claws is torn off, it will again be entirely reproduced.

A very remarkable experiment was made by Duhamel, on the thigh of a chicken. After the thigh-bone which had been broken was perfectly restored, and a callus completely formed, he stripped off the flesh down to the bone;--the parts were gradually reproduced, and the bone, and the circulation of the blood, again renewed. We know then that some animals may be multiplied by dividing them into pieces; and we no longer doubt that the young of certain insects may be produced in the same manner as a branch is from a tree; that, being cut in pieces, they will live again in the smallest piece; that they may be turned inside out like a glove, divided into pieces, then turned again, and yet live, eat, grow, and multiply. Here a question offers itself, which perhaps no naturalist can resolve in a satisfactory manner: How does it happen that the parts thus cut off, can be again reproduced? We must suppose that germs are distributed to every part of the body; whilst in other animals they are only contained in certain parts. These germs unfold themselves when they receive proper nourishment. Thus, when an animal is cut in pieces, the germ is supplied with the necessary juices, which would have been conveyed to other parts, if they had not been diverted into a different channel. The superfluous juices develop those parts which without them would have continued attached to each other. Every part of the polypus and worm, contains in itself, as the bud does the rudiments of a tree, all the viscera necessary to the animal. The parts essential to life are distributed throughout the body, and the circulation is carried on even in the smallest particles. As we do not understand all the means that the Author of nature makes use of to distribute life and feeling to such a number of animals, we have no reason to maintain, that the creatures of which we have been speaking, are the only ones that are exceptions to the general rule in their mode of propagating. The fecundity of nature, and the infinite wisdom of the Creator, always surpass our feeble conceptions. The same hand that has formed the polypus and the worm, has shewn us that it is able to simplify the structure of animals.

CHAP. XIII.

CURIOSITIES RESPECTING ANIMALS.--(_Continued._)

_The Beaver, and its Habitations--The Mole--The Frog--The Toad--The
Rhinoceros--Crocodiles and Alligators--Fossil Crocodile--The
Ornithorhynchus Paradoxus--The Marmot, or Mountain Rat, of
Switzerland._

Nature's unnumber'd family combine
In one beneficent, one vast design;
E'en from inanimates to breathing man,--
A heaven-conceiv'd, heaven-executed plan;
Onward, from those who soar or lowly creep,
The wholesome equipoise through all to keep,
As faithful agents in earth, sea, and air,
The lower world to watch with constant care;
Her due proportion wisely to conserve:--
A wondrous trust, from which they never swerve.
_Pratt._

It would not be consistent with the plan of this work to embrace the whole natural history of the animal and vegetable kingdom. This is a Book of Curiosities; and it is our intention to present the reader with a sketch of the most remarkable things in the universe: our present subject, therefore, being curiosities respecting animals, we shall commence with--

THE BEAVER.--This animal was known to the ancients for its possession of that sebaceous matter called castor, secreted by two large glands near its genitals and anus, and of which each animal has about two ounces; but they appear to have been unacquainted with its habits and economy, with that mental contrivance and practical dexterity, which in its natural state so strikingly distinguish it. Beavers are found in the most northern latitudes of Europe and Asia, but are most abundant in North America.

In the months of June and July, they assemble in large companies to the number of two hundred, on the banks of some water, and proceed to the formation of their establishment. If the water be subject to risings and fallings, they erect a dam, to preserve it at a constant level; where this level is naturally preserved, this labour is superseded. The length of this dam is occasionally eight feet. In the preparation of it, they begin with felling some very high, but not extremely thick tree, on the border of a river, which can be made to fall into the water; and, in a short time, this is effected by the united operation of many, with their fore-teeth, the branches being afterwards cleared by the same process. A multitude of smaller trees are found necessary to complete the fabric, and many of these are dragged from some distance by land, and formed into stakes; the fixing of which is a work of extreme difficulty and perseverance, some of the beavers with their teeth raising their large ends against the crossbeam, while others at the bottom dig with their fore-feet the holes in which the points are to be sunk. A series of these stakes, in several rows, is established from one bank of the river to the other, in connection with the cross-tree, and the intervals between them are filled up by vast quantities of earth, brought from a distance, and plashed with materials adapted to give it tenacity, and prevent its being carried off. The bark is formed at the bottom, of about the width of twelve feet, diminishing as it approaches the surface of the water, to two or three; being thus judiciously constructed to resist its weight and efforts by the inclined plane instead of perpendicular opposition.

These preparations, of such immense magnitude and toil, being completed, they proceed to the construction of their mansions, which are raised on piles near the margin of the stream or lake, and have one opening from the land, and another by which they have instant access to the water. These buildings are usually of an orbicular form, in general about the diameter of ten feet, and comprehending frequently several stories. The foundation walls are nearly two feet in thickness, resting upon planks or stakes, which constitute also their floors. In the houses of one story only, the walls, which in all cases are plastered with extreme neatness both externally and within, after rising about two feet perpendicularly, approach each other, so as at length to constitute, in closing, a species of dome. In the application of the mortar to their habitations, the tails as well as feet of the beavers are of essential service. Stone, wood, and a sandy kind of earth, are employed in their structures, which, by their compactness and strength, completely preclude injury from winds and rain. The alder, poplar, and willow, are the principal trees which they employ; and they always begin their operations on the trunk, at nearly two feet above the ground; nor do they ever desist from the process till its fall is completed. They sit instead of stand, at this labour, and while reducing the tree to the ground, derive a pleasure at once from the success of their toils, and from the gratification of their palate and appetite by the bark, which is a favourite species of food to them, as well as the young and tender parts of the wood itself.

For their support in winter, ample stores are laid up near each separate cabin; and occasionally to give variety and luxury to their repasts during a long season, in which their stores must have become dry and nearly tasteless, they will make excursions into the neighbouring woods for fresh supplies. Depredations by the tenants of one cabin on the magazines of another are unknown, and the strictest notions of property and honesty are universal. Some of their habitations will contain six only, others twelve, and some even twenty or thirty inhabitants; and the whole village or township contains in general about twelve or fourteen habitations. Strangers are not permitted to intrude on the vicinity; but, amidst the different members of the society itself, there appears to prevail that attachment and that friendship which are the natural result of mutual co-operation, and of active and successful struggles against difficulty. The approach of danger is announced by the violent striking of their tails against the surface of the water, which extends the alarm to a great distance; and, while some throw themselves for security into the water, others retire within the precincts of their cabins, where they are safe from every enemy but man.

The neatness as well as the security of their dwellings is remarkable, the floors being strewed over with box and fir, and displaying the most admirable cleanness and order. Their general position is that of sitting, the upper part of the body, with the head, being considerably raised, while the lower touches, and is somewhat indeed immersed in, the water. This element is not only indispensable to them in the same way as to other quadrupeds, but they carefully preserve access to it even when the ice is of very considerable depth, for the purpose of regaling themselves by excursions to a great extent under the frozen surface. The most general method of taking them is by attacking their cabins during these rambles, and watching their approach to a hole dug in the ice at a small distance, to which they are obliged, after a certain time, to resort for respiration.

If a man, who had never been informed of the industry of beavers and their manner of building, were shewn the edifices that they construct, he would suppose them to be the work of most eminent architects. Every thing is wonderful in the labours of these amphibious animals; the regular plan, the size, the solidity, and the admirable art of these buildings, must fill every attentive observer with astonishment.

The works of beavers have a great resemblance to those of men; and upon their first appearance we may imagine them to be produced by rational and thinking beings; but when we examine them nearer, we shall find that in all their proceedings, these animals do not act upon the principles of reason, but by an instinct which is implanted in them by nature. If reason guided their labours, we should naturally conclude that the buildings which they now construct would be very different from those they formerly made, and that they would gradually advance towards perfection. But we find that they never vary in the least from the rules of their forefathers, never deviate from the circle prescribed to them by nature, and the beavers of to-day build exactly after the same plan as those which lived before the deluge. But they are not the less worthy of our admiration. In these sagacious creatures we have an example of the great diversity there is in the instinct of animals--how superior is the instinct of the beaver to that of the sheep!

The flesh of the anterior part of the bodies of beavers resembles that of land animals in substance and flavour; while that of the lower possesses the taste, and smell, and lightness of fish.

The sexual union among these animals is connected with considerable individual choice, sentiment, and constancy.--Every couple pass together the autumn and winter, with the most perfect comfort and affection. About the close of winter, the females, after a gestation of four months, produce, in general, each two or three young, and soon after this period they are quitted by the males, who ramble into the country to enjoy the return of spring; occasionally returning to their cabins, but no longer dwelling in them. When the females have reared their young, which happens in the course of a few weeks, to a state in which they can follow their dams, these also quit their winter residence, and resort to the woods, to enjoy the opening bloom and renovated supplies of nature. If their habitations on the water should be impaired by floods, or winds, or enemies, the beavers assemble with great rapidity to repair the damage. If no alarm of this nature occurs, the summer is principally spent by them in the woods, and on the advance of autumn they assemble in the scene of their former labours and friendships, and prepare with assiduity for the confinement and rigours of approaching winter.

When taken young, the beaver may be tamed without difficulty; but it exhibits few or no indications of superior intelligence. Some beavers are averse to that association which so strikingly characterizes these animals in general, and satisfy themselves with digging holes in the banks of rivers, instead of erecting elaborate habitations. The fur of these is comparatively of little value.

Another subject of animal curiosity is, THE MOLE.--This animal is about six inches in length, without the tail. Its body is large and cylindrical, and its snout strong and cartilaginous. Its skin is of extraordinary thickness, and covered with a fur, short, but yielding to that of no other animal in fineness. It hears with particular acuteness, and, notwithstanding the popular opinion to the contrary, possesses eyes, which it is stated to be able to withdraw or project at pleasure. It lives partly on the roots of vegetables, but principally on animal food, such as worms and insects, and is extremely voracious and fierce. Shaw relates, from Sir Thomas Brown, that a mole, a toad, and a serpent, have been repeatedly inclosed in a large glass vase, and that the mole has not only killed the others, but has devoured a very considerable part of them. It abounds in soft ground, in which it can dig with ease, and which furnishes it with a great supply of food. It forms its subterraneous apartments with great facility by its snout and feet, and with a very judicious reference to escape and comfort. It produces four or five young in the spring, in a nest a little beneath the surface, composed of moss and herbage. It is an animal injurious to the grounds of the farmer, by throwing up innumerable hills of mould, in the construction of its habitation, or the pursuit of its food, and many persons obtain their subsistence from the premiums, which are, on this account, given for their destruction. Moles can swim with considerable dexterity, and are thus furnished with the means of escape in sudden inundations, to which they are frequently exposed. In Ireland, the mole is unknown.

THE COMMON FROG.--This is an animal so well known, that it needs no description: but some of its properties are very singular. Its spring, or power of taking large leaps, is remarkably great, and it is the best swimmer of all four-footed animals. Its parts are finely adapted for those ends, the fore members of the body being very lightly made, the hind legs and thighs very long, and furnished with very strong muscles. While in a tadpole state, it is entirely a water animal, for in this element the spawn is cast. As soon as frogs are released from their tadpole state, they immediately take to land; and if the weather has been hot, and there fall any refreshing showers, the ground for a considerable space is perfectly blackened by myriads of these animalcules, seeking for some secure lurking places. Some persons not taking time to examine into this phenomenon, imagined them to have been generated in the clouds, and showered on the earth: but had they, like Mr. Derham, traced them to the next pool, they would have found a better solution of the difficulty. As frogs adhere closely to the backs of their own species, so we know they will do the same by fish. That they will injure, if not entirely kill carp, is a fact indisputable, from the following relation.

Not many years ago, on fishing a pond belonging to Mr. Pitt, of Encomb, Dorsetshire, great numbers of the carp were found, each with a frog mounted on it, the hind legs clinging to the back, and the fore legs fixed to the corner of each eye of the fish, which were thin and greatly wasted, teased by carrying so disagreeable a load. The croaking of frogs is well known; and from that, in fenny countries, they are distinguished by ludicrous titles,--thus they are styled _Dutch nightingales_, and _Boston waites_. Yet there is a time of the year when they become mute, neither croaking nor opening their mouths for a whole month; this happens in the hot season, and that is in many places known to the country people by the name of the paddock-moon. It is said, that during that period their mouths are so closed, that no force (without killing the animal) will be capable of opening them. These, as well as other reptiles, feed but a small space of the year. Their food is flies, insects, and snails. During winter, frogs and toads remain in a torpid state; the last of which will dig into the earth, and cover themselves with almost the same agility as the mole.

Not less remarkable is THE COMMON TOAD.--This is the most deformed and hideous of all animals. The body is broad, the back flat, and covered with a pimply dusky hide; the belly large, swagging, and swelling out; the legs short, and its pace laboured and crawling; its retreat gloomy and filthy: in short, its general appearance is such as to strike one with disgust and horror. Yet it is said that its eyes are fine. Ælian and other ancient writers tell many ridiculous fables of the poison of the toad.

This animal was believed by some old writers to have a stone in its head fraught with great virtues, medical and magical: it was distinguished by the term of, the reptile, and called the toad-stone, bufonites, krottenstern, and other names, but all its fancied powers vanished on the discovery of its being nothing but the fossil tooth of the sea-wolf, or of some other flat-toothed fish, not unfrequent in our island, as well as several other countries. But these fables have been long exploded. And as to the notion of its being a poisonous animal, it is probable that its excessive deformity, joined to the faculty it has of emitting a juice from its pimples, and a dusky liquid from its hind parts, is the foundation of the report. That it has any noxious qualities, there seem to be no proofs in the smallest degree satisfactory, though we have heard many strange relations on that point. On the contrary, many have taken them in their naked hands, and held them long without receiving the least injury. It is also well known that quacks have eaten them, and have squeezed their juices into a glass, and drank them with impunity. They are also a common food to many animals; to buzzards, owls, Norfolk plovers, ducks, and snakes, which would not touch them, were they in any degree noxious.