SECT. XV.

OF THE CLASSES OF IDEAS.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SECT. XVI.

OF INSTINCT.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1. Of Fear.

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

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

2. Of Grief.

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

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

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

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

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

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

3. Of Tender Pleasure.

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

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

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

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

4. Of Serene Pleasure.

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

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

5. Of Anger.

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

6. Of Attention.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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