the Great decreeing a collection of animals for the examination of Aristotle; and wild beasts, from every quarter of the globe, produced and exhibited in the amphitheatres at Rome. Yet Aristotle is almost the only ancient writer on zoology that merits attention; for even Pliny and Elian, with this great example before their eyes, offer us nothing but crude collections, discriminated with little taste or judgment, truth and falsehood being blended in one common mass: and for many succeeding years, from various causes, all Europe is well known to have been immersed in ignorance and credulity as to the most common facts of this study.

Natural history was not one of the favorite studies of the revivers of literature; yet the scholars of that period displayed a degree of industry which may appear incredible. The voluminous labors of Gesner and Aldrovandus are instances. They are rude quarries from which most valuable materials may be dug by such as will undergo the fatigue, and possess the judgment necessary

to discriminate them.

Towards the end of the seventeenth century the sciences we have adverted to began to be generally cultivated. Among our countrymen, Ray, Woodward, Collinson, and Edwards, prosecuted the study of natural history with singular success, and they have been followed in the same track by many others, scarcely inferior in industry or abilities; none of whom however are more entitled to praise than the indefatigable Pennant. But to the celebrated Linnæus is justly attributed the honor of having first formed natural history into a system and he may hence perhaps be reckoned its greatest benefactor. Buffon, it is true, by uniting extensive knowledge, ingenuity, and elegance, has contributed, in a signal manner, to diffuse among the various ranks of society an ardent desire to obtain a more intimate acquaintance with the same study: and his attempts have been ably seconded by those of Wildenow, Pulteney, Shaw, and Smith.

Books on natural history have been very properly and extensively put, of late years, into the hands of the young. The slightest attention on the part of their authors will render such books interesting, and they cannot fail of being eminently useful. It is under this impression that in the present work we have allotted the utmost extent we have been able to a description of the various objects of this study: and have selected for our descriptions those species whose forms or habits are most striking and worthy of notice. He who studies nature with a careless eye only appears to distinguish the animal from the vegetable, and the vegetable from the mineral kingdom he notices not the nice gradations by which these different orders of beings run, as it were, into one another; he marks only the more prominent features, and the more glaring colors: the more remarkable differences force themselves upon his observation; but he passes on too rapidly to discern, or even examine, whether these are seeming or real, whether they are divided by a firm and insuperable barrier, or connected by intermediate links; and would think it incredible that the philosopher should declare himself at a loss to give such a definition of any

one of these divisions as might absolutely exclude the others. Yet philosophers have felt this difficulty, and continue to feel it. Let us glance at their difficulties in arranging the different objects even of this lower part of the creation, and we shall see the extent and importance of the study of natural history.

When they find animals fixed to a particular spot, extremely imperfect in their powers of sensation, and displaying scarcely any instinct or sensorial power, they can hardly consider them as endowed with any principle superior in its nature to vegetative life. Again, when they observe plants unfolding to the rays of the sun their leaves or flowers, which shrink together at the fall of night; receding, as if afraid of injury from objects that approach them; and, in whatever situation the seed be sown, or the shoot planted, constantly growing in that direction in which they can best enjoy the influence of light and air; it appears at first sight almost unfair to deny this class of beings sensations, desires, and even design. The sensibility of the mimosa, the art of the dionaa muscipula, the affectionate care with which the leaves of the tamarind tree contract and wrap themselves round the tender fruit, to protect it from the nocturnal cold, are so many instances in which vegetables make an approach towards some of the most eminent characteristics of animals. The oyster and other shell fishes, and almost all zoophytes, though ranked in the animal kingdom, seem, again, to possess few of the privileges of animal life.

The analogies between animals and vegetables, which have been traced by philosophical obser vation, occasion other difficulties in the attempt to fix the boundary between these two kingdoms. The bodies, as well of plants as of animals, consist of fluids and solids; they have both vessels designed to contain the fluids, and glands to secrete different juices: while the blood circulates through the bodies of animals, the sap of vege tables ascends and descends, so as to produce the same effects on the vegetable, which the motion of the blood, by the force of the heart and the arteries, produces on the animal system. These are but a few of the resemblances which have been observed between the species of the animal and those of the vegetable kingdom. Almost every one of the parts common to animal bodies has been represented by one naturalist or another as matched by some correspondent part in vegetable bodies. Such analogies are sometimes plain and striking, and sometimes scarcely perceptible, or merely imaginary. They afford, however, an agreeable subject of speculation; and it cannot be denied that they increase the difficulty of ascertaining the limits by which these two departments of nature are divided. But, however numerous and strong the analogies between animals and vegetables, however difficult it may be to discern the precise line which separates the one kingdom from the other, yet the leading characteristics are sufficiently distinct. The privileges which animals enjoy above the other parts of the creation are in most instances highly conspicuous.

One of the most eminent of these is their power of loco-motion. Klein, with sufficient

propriety, assumes this as the great characteristic by which animals may be distinguished from the other orders of beings. It does not hold indeed in every instance, for there are some plants of a nature almost as wandering as the most migratory of the animal tribes; such as the fragaria, or strawberry, as a land-plant, and the valisneria as an aquatic: but these anomalies are not common, and vegetables may in general be regarded as destitute of loco-motion. They seem to enjoy a species of life, and display on many occasions a degree of sensibility, or something very like it; but they are fixed, each to a peculiar spot, where they spring up, expand into full growth, and at length wither and decay. Animals, without suffering any external impulse, readily move from place to place, by virtue of an inward principle, superior in its nature to vegetative life. Some enjoy this power or property in a more eminent degree than others; some are more disposed than the rest of their fellows to exert it; and some, again, possess the power in a very inferior degree, and discover but a faint inclination to avail themselves of it. We admire the rapid flight of the eagle, and the swiftness of the horse and the greyhound; we observe many of the swiftest and most vigorous animals sink into lethargic indolence, till roused by some peculiarly powerful motive; the snail, the sloth, but more particularly the oyster, the limpet, and other shell-fishes, both in their powers of self-motion, and in their dispositions to exert them, rise but very little above those vegetables which are more remarkable for sensibility.

Sensation is usually regarded as another characteristic of animals: it is intimately connected with their powers of loco-motion, and even necessary to prompt them to the exertion of those powers. Did we not feel, we should never be roused to action. Yet several vegetables, among which the mimosa or sensitive-plant is one of the most remarkable instances, appear to possess something like sensibility. It is scarcely possible to determine upon what principle in their nature the emotions which these kinds of plants display on certain occasions may depend. Is it owing to something peculiar in the structure of their parts, or in the matter of which they are formed? or are they actually informed by a sentient principle? This is perhaps one of those intricate cases in which truth is removed from our view, even beyond the reach of experiment. Yet, if we may fairly venture on this occasion to reason from general analogy, we must conclude that these plants are equally destitute of a conscious sentient principle with the other kind of the vegetable kingdom. The structure of their parts is not that of an animal, but of a vegetable body; they are, like other vegetables, fixed to a particular spot: in all their other characters too they resemble not animals but vegetables; and even those phenomena in which it may be imagined that they display indications of sensibility are of such a nature, that no decisive inference can be deduced from them. Animals are endowed with various organs and powers of sensation, which serve to make them acquainted with the different properties of surrounding objects. Most of them see hear, taste, touch, and

smell. They all possess these, or a part of these powers of sensation, in an unequivocal manner. The senses are not indeed equally perfect in all; and some species appear to enjoy only a part of them. In some animals the sight, the hearing, the touch, the taste, or the smell, is remarkably dull; and in others exquisitely delicate and. acute. The eye of the mole receives but a faint glimmer of light; the ear of the ass is insensible to the harmony or melody of sounds; the sight of the ounce, on the contrary, is wonderfully acute; and the touch of the spider exquisitely delicate. Possibly the same feelings may not communicate to all animals the same images and sentiments: what is sweet to one animal may perhaps be bitter to another; what is beautiful to one species may appear to another ugly or disagreeable; an odor which to this animal is sweet-smelling may be a stench in the nostrils of that. All sensations, however, communicate to the animal some useful knowledge of the qualities of surrounding objects; some knowledge suitable to his character and his circumstances.

But sensibility requires the beings to whom it belongs to possess some superior powers. Organs of sensation serve merely to carry on an intercourse between some internal principle in the animal possessed of them, and external nature. This internal principle exalts animals highly above every other arrangement of beings; and is, besides, so much diversified in different kinds and species of animals, and in different individuals, as to create the most remarkable distinctions among them. Perception must be common to all animals; without it organs of sensation would be useless. Perception is indeed scarcely any thing else but another word for sensibility. Memory appears to be no less necessary to animals than perception; to receive impressions from external nature would be but a trifling privilege, were those impressions of so evanescent a nature as to be effaced the next moment after they were communicated. Animals, without this power, could perform no.voluntary functions. To render them equal to such functions, it seems indispensably necessary that they be able to connect the past with the present. Accordingly, every animal whose manners and economy have been observed with any considerable degree of attention appears to be more or less capable of remembrance. The docility of the domestic animals is a sufficient proof that they are endowed with this faculty: the cunning, and even the ferocity of beasts of prey, prove the same fact with respect to themselves: the complex and wonderful economy of the bee, the beaver, the crow, the birds of passage in general, and various others of the inferior animals, whose manners have been often contemplated with admiration, shows that their retentive powers are remarkably tenacious of the impressions made upon them. The human species possess the faculty of memory in a very eminent degree; and the arts by which they have learned to improve and assist it render it a more important feature in their character, than in that of any of the other species in the animal creation.

But we cannot conceive a being to possess the powers of perception and memory, and yet not

the same.

be conscious of its existence: this consciousness must therefore be allowed to be another of the internal powers of animals. With the powers of perception, remembrance, and consciousness, animals are observed to be also endowed with certain affections, and to be susceptible of certain emotions. Joy, grief, love, hatred, gratitude, resentment, fear, courage, with a number of other similar principles, reside in the human breast, and are to man the great springs of action. The inferior animals appear to be susceptible of the same emotions, and capable of many both of the selfish and the social affections which distinguish the human character. But neither do all the species or individuals of any one kind possess all these affections and passions in the very same degree; nor are the dispositions and affections of the different kinds in any respect One kind or species is ferocious and cunning; in another courage appears united with generosity: one is remarkable for sloth and inactivity; another is restlessly active: one is grateful, submissive, and affectionate; another of a froward, untameable spirit, insensible to kindness, and incapable of attachment: one is docile and intelligent; another dull and stupid. Besides these emotions, affections, and passions of a more generous and refined nature, animals are likewise subject to certain appetites and feelings of a different sort: such are the appetites for food, and for the procreation of the species; the sense of bodily pleasure and of bodily pain. These are more uniformly common to animals in general than the former: to receive the requisite supplies of food, and to reproduce the species, are properties still more essential to the animal character than the more refined sentiments and affections.

The internal qualities which have been enumerated are generally allowed to be common to all the more perfect animals, although diversified in different species and different individuals. But even these, the power of self-motion, organs of sensation, perception, consciousness, memory, appetites, affections, and passions, are not sufficient to complete the character: they need some other powers to call forth, to regulate, and to restrain their energy; something on which they may act, and which may connect them, as it were, with one another. Animals are actually endowed with other internal powers than those yet mentioned: they compare objects presented to them; they judge between the true and false; between nearness and distance: they distinguish between beauty and deformity; they can discern order from confusion. Their other powers furnish, as it were, the materials; these combine and separate, and arrange them. The operation of these several faculties is succeeded by the determination of the will; a power which is necessary to complete the character of a thinking, animated being. No circumstances in the situation of animals, no particulars in their form, or bodily powers, or mental dispositions, give rise to more remarkable disparities among them, than those which depend on their powers of comparing, and of judging between different objects. These hold so important a rank among the other powers, that, wherever they are in the smallest

degree diversified, they produce the most remarkable diversities of character. By his superiority in these respects man is eminently distinguished above the rest of the animal kingdom; so eminently, indeed, that he is the lord of all other beings, and the rest are his slaves, or his unequal enemies. The same law prevails throughout all animated nature. The more perfect the powers of comparing and judging in any particular order or kind, so much the more powerful, respectable, and happy is that division. Superior address often renders a smaller and more timid animal an overmatch for one that is larger, stronger, and even more ferocious.

But the inferior animals are so remarkably deficient in the reasoning and thinking powers, when compared with man, that human pride has been tempted to deny them entirely the possession of such powers. Though we find them such useful assistants, and at times such formidable enemies, we would willingly degrade them to a rank in the order of creation still lower than that which nature has assigned them. We delight to represent them as destitute of judgment, and guided only by what we call instinct. We observe that even the most sagacious among them are incapable of that variety of minute distinctions which our reasoning faculties enable us to make: they cannot take so full a review of the past, nor look forward with so penetrating an eye towards the future: they do not accumulate observation upon observation, or add to the experience of one generation that of another: their manners do not vary, nor their customs fluctuate like ours: their arts remain always the same, and are not liable either to degenerate or to be improved: the crow always builds its nest in the same way; every hen treats her young with the same measure of affection; even the dog, the horse, and the sagacious elephant, seem to act rather by association than with design. From such hasty observations as these it was inferred by Descartes that brutes are directed in their actions by some mysterious influence, which impels them to employ their powers mechanically and unintentionally in performing actions beneficial to themselves, and suitable to their nature and circumstances.

There are opposite opinions, however, that have been carried to as wide an extreme. One of the greatest philosophers among the ancients, Pythagoras, was so fully convinced that the brutes possess the same powers of intelligence as men, that he represented them to his disciples as animated by souls which had previously acted a part in human bodies, and, for that reason, enjoined them to treat those their humbler brethren with gentleness and humanity, and to beware of ever shedding their blood. The same opinion still prevails through the east and has such an influence on the manners of the Gentoos, that they will perish of hunger rather than shed the blood or cat the flesh of an animal. This opinion, as well as that which degrades the brutes to the low character of pieces of mere mechanism, have equally originated from prejudice or careless observation. Since natural history has begun to be more diligently cultivated innumerable observations made on the manners and

economy of the inferior animals, prove that, if they be guided by instinct, that instinct is by no means a mechanical principle of action, but, in its nature and susceptibility of improvement, approaching nearly, in many cases, to the character of human reason. The manners of no one species among the brutes are uniformly the same in all the individuals belonging to it. Even in performing those actions in which they are said to be guided by unvarying instinct, different individuals display different modes of conduct. It is probable that, if we were to examine their manners and economy with the same minute and careful attention with which we observe the conduct of our own species, we should find those of their actions which we call instinctive much more diversified than we imagine: the general resemblance, the family likeness, would no doubt still hold; but we should surely discover the character of the individual to be distinctly mark ed, as well as that of the species. The laws of analogical reasoning do not justify the idea that the brutes act, on any occasion, absolutely with out design. In many instances they undeniably act with design: the dog obeys his master; he traces his footsteps in order to overtake him he even attempts to make returns of gratitude for the kindness with which he is treated. Others of the inferior animals behave in a similar manner. It seems therefore more probable that such animals, even in those instances in which we cannot distinguish the motives which actuate them, or the causes by which they are instigated, act not altogether without design, and extend their views, if not a great way, yet at least a certain length forward, than that they can be, upon any occasion, influenced by anomalous feeling, or over-ruled by some mysterious influence, under which they are nothing but insensible instru

ments.

The facts from which this induction is drawn have of late forced themselves on observation, in such a manner as to give rise to a very false theory of a kind still different: in which it has been thought better to degrade mankind nearer to the same level with the brutes, than to elevate the brutes to the rank usually assigned to mankind. The human mind has been represented as a bundle of instincts, only a little larger than those bundles of the same materials which have been bestowed on the brute creation. Observing that the inferior animals seem, on many occasions, to act upon the same principles with mankind, and unwilling to allow that the former can ever act with design; the author of this theory has contrived to explain the phenomena by denying design to his own species. But we will not tamely surrender our rights: we will share them with other animals, rather than be entirely deprived of them. We are conscious of comparing ideas and of forming designs. If these operations be called instincts,-be it so; this is not to advance a new doctrine, but to propose the use of it in a new sense. Let mankind still be allowed to reason, and to act with design, even though it must be granted that the brutes too reason, but not so skilfully, and form designs, but designs much less extensive than those of mankind.

We not only accomplish such purposes as we

propose to ourselves, by the use of such means as prudence suggests; but we are also subject to laws, by the influence of which our conduct, whatever it be, naturally produces certain effects on our character and circumstances, which we neither previously desired nor foresaw. The drunkard, for instance, sits down only to swallow a liquor of which he is fond, or to join in that noisy mirth which reigns among his fellows; but he insensibly acquires a habit which he did not think of, and by indulging in that habit unintentionally produces very unhappy changes in his health and circumstances. The benevolent man, in the same manner, when he interferes to relieve his brother in distress, does not probably attend to all the effects which his conduct in this instance is likely to produce, either to himself, or to the person whom he relieves: and of human actions in general it may be observed, that their consequences always extend much farther than the design or foresight of the agent. Beings of superior intelligence might regard mankind as incapable of design, with just as much reason as we have to deny the brutes any guiding principle superior to blind and simple instinct. We, however, are conscious of design; though our designs are commonly narrow, and our views limited: why, then, consign the inferior animals, in every instance, to the guidance of an unmeaning impulse? Were it proper to enter more minutely at present into a discussion of this point, it might be easy to prove, by an induction of particulars, that brutes actually compare ideas and deduce inferences; and when we consider their docility, and mark the variety of their manners, it appears almost absurd to deny that they form designs, and look backward on the past, and forward towards the future, as well as ourselves. We may conclude then, with respect to inferior animals, that they possess, in general, the powers of perception, memory, consciousness; with various affections, passions, and internal feelings, and even, though perhaps in a meaner degree, those powers of comparing and judging which are necessary to enable an animated being to form designs, and to direct its actions to certain ends. Their prospects towards the future are evidently very confined: they cannot review the past with such a steady eye as man; imagination is not with them so vigorous and active as with us; it is limited within a much narrower range. But still they are not absolutely confined to present sensations; they connect some part of the past and of the future with the present. When we contemplate their manners, we behold not social intercourse regulated among them by the same forms as among men: their characters and circumstances differ so considerably from ours, that though the great outline of right and wrong may, wherever perceived, remain the same to them as to us; yet the application of that outline to particular cases must be very different among them from what it is with ourselves. Thus philosophers have fancied imaginary states of human society, in which the present laws of distributive and commutative justice could not be observed: but, even in such states of society, the fundamental principles of justice would continue obligatory, and would only be varied in their application.

Brutes appear, in short, to possess, but in a more imperfect degree, many of the same sensitive faculties as mankind. Instinct must always be a simple principle, an original feeling; the only business of which is to rouse to action,―to call the reasoning or comparing powers to exert themselves. To talk of instinctive principles that admit of improvement, and accommodate themselves to circumstances, is merely to introduce new terms into the language of philosophy. No such improvement or accommodation to circumstances can ever take place without a comparison of ideas, and a deduction of inferences. When we consider with how much difficulty that acquaintance with the manners and customs of mankind, which we call knowledge of the world, is obtained, we cannot be surprised that even philosophers should be so imperfectly acquainted with the more minute particulars in the manners and economy of the brutes. To man their manners are much less interesting than those of his own species; and there are, besides, many difficulties to prevent us from becoming intimately acquainted with them, however earnestly we may turn our attention to this object.

If to those powers by which animals are so eminently distinguished above the species of the vegetable and the mineral kingdom, we add the peculiarities of their form, of the structure of the interior parts, and of their exterior covering, the happy adaptation of all their organs to the purposes for which they seem intended by nature,-and the wise provision by which they are enabled to continue their kind; we cannot but consider them as constituting by far the most eminent order among the works of creation. They alone are capable of happiness. The rest of the universe seems to be intended for their accommodation. The enjoyments which they are formed to receive, the duties which they are destined to fulfil, and the laws by which the duty and the happiness of all animals are so closely connected, afford the most eminent proofs of the perfection of the divine nature, that the works of creation exhibit. The inferior parts of nature are beautiful, or grand, or regular, only in proportion as they are formed to excite certain sentiments in the minds of animated, thinking beings; at least, were they not calculated to contribute to the happiness of such beings, by communicating to them agreeable sentiments, their order, magnificence, and beauty, would be lost, or incapable of serving any visible end. Yet all this has no possible connexion with the possession of an accountable and immortal principle. Matter and spirit are equally the works of the Creator, and perhaps equally created out of nothing-for we have no more reason beyond what our own pride would suggest to us to conceive that spirit is an emanation or extension of the essence of the Creator than that matter is. Each of them, therefore, as the works of an omnipotent and benevolent Creator, is entitled to reverence. Brutes are not immortal, for they have no principle that is designed to be so: but till it be demonstrated that the plastic substance of matter, admitted to be capable of instinct, is necessarily and absolutely incapable of consciousness, memory, reflexion, and judgment, the experienced train of facts daily and hourly

starting around us should reasonably induce us to believe them possessed of these internal senses in conjunction with mankind, though in a far subordinate and less perfect degree.

Natural history, then, comprises in its general scope the history of minerals, plants, and animals: the first of which differ from the two last by being produced fortuitously, growing by external accretion, or the mere juxtaposition of new matter alone; and being only capable of destruction by mechanical or chemical force; while the other two, on the contrary, are produced by generation, grow by nutrition, and are destroyed by death; are actuated by an internal power, and possessed of parts mutually dependent, and contributory to each others' functions. But, while animals and vegetables thus agree in their general characters, they also possess features of distinction, which it is never difficult to lay hold of, excepting in the few anomalous cases to which we have already adverted. While both agree in an origin by generation, growth by nutrition, and a termination by death; in an organised structure, and an internal living principle, they differ in the power with which the living principle is endowed, and the effects it is capable of exerting. In the plant it is limited, so far as we are capable of tracing it, to the properties of mere irritability and contractility; in the animal it superadds to these properties those of muscularity, sensation, and voluntary motion. Animals differ from animals in the greater or less perfection with which the faculties connected with sensation are allotted to them. Man differs from, and is raised above the whole, by the possession of a rational and immortal spirit.

The various classifications under which these departments are usually considered are best discussed under the separate articles of the departments themselves. We have therefore already noticed plants under BOTANY, metals and minerals under MINERALOGY, and reserve the classification of animals for ZOOLOGY: the present article may be regarded as a kind of introduction to the whole.

The Linnaan system of natural history, which we have followed with some modifications, is divided into the five branches of class, order, genus, species, and varieties, with their names and characters. Of the three grand divisions, viz. the animal, vegetable, and mineral kingdoms, the animal of course ranks highest in the comparative estimation of this great naturalist; the next is the vegetable, and the lowest is the mineral kingdom. The animal kingdom is divided into six classes, formed from their internal structure, and is thus exhibited :