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cannot tell) is shown by the consequence of the separation being long suspended; which consequence is disease and death. Akin to secretion, if not the same thing, is assimilation, by which one and the same blood is converted into bone, muscular flesh, nerves, membranes, tendons; things as different as the wood and iron, canvass and cordage, of which a ship with its furniture is composed. We have no operation of art wherewith exactly to compare all this, for no other reason perhaps than that all operations of art are exceeded by it. No chemical election, no chemical analysis or resolution of a substance into its constituent parts, no mechanical sifting or divison, that we are acquainted with, in perfection or variety, come up to animal secretion. Nevertheless, the apparatus and process are obscure; not to say absolutely concealed from our inquiries. In a few, and only a few instances, we can discern a little of the constitution of a gland. In the kidneys of large animals, we can trace the emulgent artery dividing itself into an infinite number of branches; their extremities everywhere communicating with little round bodies, in the substance of which bodies the secret of the machinery seems to reside, for there the change is made. We can discern pipes laid from these round bodies towards the pelvis, which is a basin within the solid of the kidney. (Pl. VI. fig. 2.) We can discern these pipes joining and collecting together into larger pipes; and when so collected, ending in innumerable papillæ, through which the secreted fluid is continually oozing into its receptacle. This is all we know of the mechanism of a gland, even in the case in which it seems most capable of being investigated. Yet to pronounce that we know nothing of animal secretion, or nothing satisfactorily, and with that concise remark to dismiss the article from our argument, would be to dispose of the subject very hastily and very irrationally. For the purpose which we want, that of evincing intention, we know a great deal. And what we know is this. We see the blood carried by a pipe, conduit, or duct, to the gland. We see an organized apparatus, be its construction or action what it may, which we call that gland. We see the blood, or part of the blood, after it has passed through and undergone the action of the gland, coming from it by an emulgent vein or artery, i. e. by another pipe or conduit. And we see also at the same time a new and specific fluid issuing from the same gland by its excretory duct, i. e. by a third pipe or conduit; which new fluid is in some cases discharged out of the body, in more cases retained within it, and there executing some impor
tant and intelligent office. Now supposing, or admitting, that we know nothing of the proper internal constitution of a gland, or of the mode of its acting upon the blood; thon our situation is precisely like that of an unmechanical looker-on, who stands by a stocking-loom, a corn-mill, a carding-machine, or a threshing-machine, at work, the fabric and mechanism of which, as well as all that passes within, is hidden from his sight by the outside case; or, if seen, would be too complicated for his uninformed, uninstructed understanding to comprehend. And what is that situation? This spectator, ignorant as he is, sees at one end a mate rial enter the machine, as unground grain the mill, raw cotton the carding-machine, sheaves of unthreshed corn the threshing-machine; and, when he casts his eye to the other end of the apparatus, he sees the material issuing from it in a new state; and, what is more, in a state manifestly adapted to future uses; the grain in meal fit for the making of bread, the wool in rovings ready for spinning into threads, the sheaf in corn dressed for the mill.
Is it necessary that this man, in order to be convinced that design, that intention, that contrivance has been employed about the machine, should be allowed to pull it to pieces; should be enabled to examine the parts separately; explore their action upon one another, or their operation, whether simultaneous or successive, upon the material which is presented to them? He may long to do this, to gratify his curiosity; he may desire to do it to improve his theoretic knowledge; or he may have a more substantial reason for requesting it, if he happen, instead of a common visiter, to be a mill wright by profession, or a person sometimes called in to repair such-like machines when out of order; but, for the purpose of ascertaining the existence of counsel and design in the formation of the machine, he wants no such intromission or privity. What he sees is sufficient. T'he effect upon the material, the change produced in it, the utility of that change for future applications, abundantly testify, be the concealed part of the machine or of its construction what it may, the hand and agency of a contriver. If any
confirmation were wanting to the evidence which the animal secretions afford of design, it may be derived, as has been already hinted, from their variety, and from their appropriation to their place and use. They all come from the same blood: they are all drawn off by glands: yet the produce is very different, and the difference exactly adapted to the work which is to be done, or the end to be answered. No account can be given of this, without re
sorting to appointment. Why, for instance, is the saliva which is diffused over the seat of taste, insipid, whilst so many others of the secretions, the urine, the tears, and the sweat, are salt? Why does the gland within the ear separate a viscid substance, which defends that passage; the gland in the upper angle of the eye, a thin brine, which washes the ball? Why is the synovia of the joints mucilaginous; the bile bitter, stimulating, and soapy? Why does the juice which flows into the stomach, contain pow. ers, which make that organ the great laboratory, as it is by its situation the recipient, of the materials of future nutrition? These are all fair questions; and no answer can be given to them, but what calls in intelligence and intention.
My object in the present chapter has been to teach three things: first; that it is a mistake to suppose that, in reasoning from the appearances of nature, the imperfection of our knowledge proportionably affects the certainty of our conclusion; for in many cases it does not affect it at all: secondly, that the different parts of the animal frame may be classed and distributed, according to the degree of exactness with which we can compare them with works of art: thirdly, that the mechanical parts of our frame, or those in which this comparison is most complete, although constituting, probably, the coarsest portions of nature's workmanship, are the most proper to be alleged as proofs and specimens of design.
We proceed, therefore, to propose certain examples taken out of this class: making choice of such as, amongst those which have come to our knowledge, appear to be the most striking, and the best understood; but obliged, perhaps, to postpone both these recommendations to a third; that of the example being capable of explanation without pla-es, or figures, or technical language.
OF THE BONES.
I challenge any man to produce, in the joints and pivots of the most complicated or the most flexible ma hine that was ever contrived, a construction more artifi
cial, or more evidently artificial, than that which is seen in the vertebræ of the human neck. [Pl. VII. fig. 1.] Two things were to be done. The head was to have the power of bending forward and backward, as in the act of nodding, stooping, looking upward or downward; and, at the same time, of turning itself round upon the body to a certain extent, the quadrant we will say, or rather, perhaps, a hundred and twenty degrees of a circle. For these two purposes, two distinct contrivances are employed: (Pl. VII. fig. 2, 3, 4.] First, the head rests immediately upon the uppermost of the vertebræ, and is united to it by a hingejoint; upon which joint the head plays freely forward and backward, as far either way as is necessary, or as the ligaments allow; which was the first thing required.-But then the rotatory motion is unprovided for. Therefore, secondly, to make the head capable of this, a farther mechanism is introduced; not between the head and the uppermost bone of the neck, where the hinge is, but between That bone, and the bone next underneath it.
It is a mechanism resembling a tenon and mortice. This second, or uppermost bone but one, has what anatomists call a process, viz. a projection, somewhat similar, in size and shape, to a tooth; which tooth, entering a corresponding hole or socket in the bone above it, forms a pivot or axle, upon which that upper bone, together with the head which it supports, turns freely in a circle; and as far in the circle as the attached muscles permit the head to turn. Thus are both motions perfect, without interfering with each other. When we nod the head, we use the hinge-joint, which lies between the head and the first bone of the neck. When we turn the head round, we use the tenon and mortice, which runs between the first bone of the neck and the second. We see the same contrivance, and the same principle, employed in the frame or mounting of a telescope. It is occasionally requisite, that the object-end of the instrument be moved up and down, as well as horizontally, or equatorially. For the vertical motion, there is a hinge, upon which the telescope plays; for the horizontal or equatorial motion, an axis upon which the telescope and the hinge turn round together. And this is exactly the mechanism which is applied to the motion of the head: nor will any one here doubt of the existence of counsel and design, except it be by that debility of mind, which can trust to its own reasonings in nothing.
We may add, that it was, on another account also, expedient, that the motion of the head backward and for
ward should be performed upon the upper surface of the first vertebræ: for, if the first vertebræ itself had bent forward, it would have brought the spinal marrow, at the very beginning of its course, upon the point of the tooth.
II. Another mechanical contrivance, not unlike the last in its object, but different and original in its means, is seen in what anatomists call the fore-arm; that is, in the arm from the elbow to the wrist. [Pl. VIII. fig. 1, 2.) Here, for the perfect use of the limb, two motions are wanted; a motion at the elbow backward and forward, which is called a reciprocal motion; and a rotatory motion, by which the palm of the hand, as occasion requires, may be turned upward. How is this managed? The fore-arm, it is well known, consists of two bones lying alongside each other, but touching only towards the ends. One, and only one of these bones, is joined to the cubit, or upper part of the arm, at the elbow; the other alone, to the hand at the wrist. The first by means, at the elbow, of a hinge-joint, (which allows only of motion in the same plane,) swings backward and forward, carrying along with it the other bone, and the whole fore-arm. In the meantime, as often as there is occasion to turn the palm upward, that other bone, to which the hand is attached, rolls upon the first, by the help of a groove or hollow near each end of one bone, to which is fitted a corresponding prominence in the other. If both bones had been joined to the cubit, or upper arm, at the elbow, or both to the hand at the wrist, the thing could not have been done. The first was to be at liberty, at one end, and the second at the other: by which means the two actions may be performed together. The great bone, which carries the fore-arm, may be swinging upon its hinge at the elbow, at the very time that the lesser bone, which carries the hand, may be turning round it in the grooves. The management also of these grooves, or rather of the tubercles and grooves, is very observable. The two bones are called the radius and the ulna. Above, i. e. towards the elbow, a tubercle of the radius plays into a socket of the ulna; whilst below, i. e. towards the wrist, the radius finds the socket, and the ulna the tubercle. A single bone in the fore-arm, with a ball and socket joint at the elbow, which admits of motion in all directions, might, in some degree, have answered the purpose of both moving the arm and turning the hand. But how much better it is accomplished by the present mechanism, any person may convince himself, who puts the ease and quickness, with which he can shake his hand at the wrist circularly, (mov