the processes* by which their muscles were attached, the anatomist can reduce the animals to which they belonged, to their orders, genera, and species, with as much precision as if the recent bodies had been submitted to his eye. Not only can we distinguish whether their feet were adapted to the solid ground, or to the oozy bed of rivers,-to speed, or to grasping and tearing; but judging, by these indications, of the habits of the animals, we acquire a knowledge of the condition of the earth during their period of existence: ascertain that at one time it was suited to the scaly tribe of the lacertæ, with languid motion; at another, to animals of higher organisation, with more varied and lively habits; and finally we learn, that at any period previous to man's creation, the surface of the earth would have been unsuitable to him.

We ought not to touch on this subject without one observation more. When the peasant, on turning up the great bones of some unknown animal, suspends his work and thinks he has discovered the limbs of a giant, he is more to be excused than the learned and ingenious, who seek from these natural appearances to illustrate the Scriptures. True religion is adapted to the sound capacities of all men-to that condition of mind which the individual experience of the good and evil of the world, sooner or later, brings with it: it is suited to man in every stage of the progress of society-to his weakness and to his strength; from which it becomes the real dispenser of equal rights. Had our religion been framed with a relation to science, it could not have been adapted to every man ; least of all had it been related to that branch of natural knowledge which is called Geology—a science so obviously in its infancy, that but for its alliance with anatomy, it would have continued to present a scene only of confusion for ignorant wonderment.

It may then be asked, why do we cultivate those scientific subjects to which we apply the term Natural Religion? Because they agreeably enlarge our comprehension, and, while they repress a too selfish enthusiasm, exalt the imagination. We all of ourselves proceed a certain length in the examination of natural phenomena; and the convictions arising from the

* Processes are the projecting | To the anatomist, therefore, propoints of bone by which the ten- cesses are indications of the condidons of the muscles are attached. tion of the muscles.

survey are wrought into the opinions of every one. Yet when benevolent design is disclosed by new facts, or by things that are familiar being presented in a new light, we experience a fresh and cheerful influence. We are sensible of a renewed impulse; a gratification which interferes with no duty.

This opportunity may be taken to correct a notion which we have seen expressed, that certain imperfections are discoverable in the structure of some animals. Such an idea must have sprung from comparing these animals with ourselves, our structure, and sensibilities—instead of looking on them with reference to their peculiar conditions.

For example, the eloquent Buffon, when comparing the present races of animals with the fossil remains of individuals of the same family now extinct, expresses some singular opinions; which, although with reserve, have been adopted even by Cuvier. Buffon speaks confidently of the unsuitableness of particular organs of animals, and of the derangement of their instincts. But it is from comparing them and their mode of life with human society, a state where individuals are subject to misery and want. He surely sympathises too closely with the bird of prey, when he characterises its watchfulness as a true picture of wretchedness, anxiety, and indigence. If a bird refuse to be domesticated and crammed with meat, it is hardly fair to accuse it of gloom and apathy, the simple fact being that such treatment is contrary to its natural habits and instincts. The animals which principally excite his commiseration, are of the tardigrade family, the sloths: in the Ai,* for example, the defect of organisation is, he supposes, the greatest; and the Unau,+ he thinks, is only a little less miserably provided for existence.

In like manner, modern travellers express pity for these slowpaced animals. Whilst other quadrupeds, they say, range in boundless wilds, the sloth hangs suspended by his strong arms, —a poor, ill-formed creature, deficient as well as deformed, his hind-legs too short, and his hair like withered grass; his looks, motions, and cries, conspire to excite pity; and, as if this were not enough, they say that his moaning causes the tiger to relent

*

Bradypus tridactylus :-brady-toed), of the order EDENTATA (wantpus (slow-footed), tridactylus (three- ing incisor teeth).

+ Bradypus didactylus (two-toed.)

and turn away. But that is not a true picture: the sloth cannot walk like many other quadrupeds, but he stretches out his

Skeleton of the Sloth.

arms, and if he can hook on his claws to the inequalities of the ground, he drags himself along. This condition it is which gives occasion to such an expression as "the bungled and faulty composition of the sloth." But if with his claws he can reach the branch or the rough bark of a tree, then will his progress be rapid; he will climb hand over head along the branches till they touch, thus getting from bough to bough, and tree to tree; in the storm he is most alive; it is when the wind blows, and the trees stoop, and the branches wave and meet, that he is upon the march.*

Accordingly, the compassion expressed by these philosophers for animals which they consider imperfectly organised, is uncalled for. As well might they pity the larva of the summer fly, which creeps at the bottom of a pool, because it cannot yet rise upon the wing. As the insect, until its metamorphosis is perfect and its wings developed, has no impulse to fly, so there is no reason to suppose that a disposition or instinct is given to animals without a corresponding provision for motion. On the ground, the sloth may move tardily; his long arms and preposterous claws may then be an incumbrance; but in his natural place, among the branches of trees, they are of advantage in

* Waterton.

The subject is pursued at the end of the following chapter.

obtaining his food, and in giving him shelter and safety from his enemies.

It is not by our own sensations that we must estimate the movements of animals. In catching a fly the motion of the bill of the swallow or of the fly-catcher is so rapid that we do not see it, but only hear the snap. On the contrary, how very different are the means employed by the chameleon for obtaining his food; he lies more still than the dead leaf, his skin like the bark of the tree, and taking the hue of the surrounding objects: whilst other animals evince excitement conforming to their rapid motions, his shrivelled face hardly indicates life: his eyelids are scarcely parted; he protrudes his tongue towards the insect, with a motion so imperceptible, that it is touched and caught more certainly than by the most lively action. Thus, various creatures, living upon insects, reach their prey by different means and instincts; some by rapidity of motion, which gives no time for escape, others by a languid and slow movement that excites no alarm.

The loris, a tardigrade animal, might be pitied too for the slowness of its movements, if these were not necessary to its very existence. It steals on its prey by night, and extends its

arm towards the bird on the branch, or the great moth, with a motion so imperceptibly slow as to make sure of its object.*

*It may be well to notice some other characters that belong to animals, inhabitants of the tropical

regions, which prowl by night. The various creatures that enliven the woods in the day-time, in these

Just so the Indian, perfectly naked, his hair cut short, and his skin oiled, creeps under the canvas of the tent, and moving like a ghost, stretches out his hand with a motion so gentle as to displace nothing, not even disturbing those who are awake and watching. Against such thieves, we are told, it is hardly possible to guard. And thus, the necessities or vicious desires of man subjugate him, and make him acquire by practice the wiliness implanted in brutes as instinct. Or we may say that, endowed with reason, man is brought to imitate the irrational creatures, and so to vindicate the necessity for their particular instincts; of which every class affords examples.

In insects, the illustrations of such actions are as striking as in the loris, or the chameleon. Evelyn describes a spider (Aranea scenica) as exhibiting remarkable cunning in catching a fly. "Did the fly," he says, "happen not to be within a leap, the spider would move towards it so softly, that its motion seemed not more perceptible than that of the shadow of the gnomon of a dial,”* and then it would suddenly pounce upon its prey.

I would only remark further, that we are not to account this slowness a defect, but rather an appropriation of muscular power: since in some animals, the same muscles which at one time produce a motion so slow as to be hardly perceptible, can at another act with the velocity of a spring.

Now Buffon, speaking of the extinct species of the tardigrade family, has represented them as monsters, by defect of organisation: as attempts of nature, wherein she has failed to perfect

warm climates, have fine skins, and smooth hair; but those that seek their prey at night have a thick coat like animals of the arctic regions. What is this but to be clothed as the sentinel whose watch is in the night? They have eyes, too, which, from their peculiar structure, are called nocturnal, being formed to admit a large pencil of rays of light, and having the globe full and prominent, and the iris contractile, to open the pupil to the greatest extent.

We have seen how their motions and instincts correspond with their nocturnal habits.

* The passage continues-"If the

intended prey moved, the spider would keep pace with it exactly as if they were actuated by one spirit, moving backwards, forwards, or on each side without turning. When the fly took wing and pitched itself behind the huntress, she turned round with the swiftness of thought, and always kept her head towards it, though to all appearance as immoveable as one of the nails driven into the wood on which was her station; till at last, being arrived within due distance, swift as lightning she made the fatal leap, and secured her prey."-Evelyn, as quoted by Kirby and Spence.