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AN ESSAY ON THE HUMAN MIND.

HAS man a foul or has he not? I have always been ftrongly difpofed to think that men differ in their opinions much lefs than is generally conceived: The difcuffion of the propofed queftion will illuftrate and fupport my perfuafion.

The materialift and immaterialist appear to disagree toto calo; I apprehend, however, we shall find that in reality they differ in a trifle, perhaps in nothing. It is only in an admiffion of facts, and in their judgment upon thofe facts, that men can differ; there is no other object upon which diverfity of fentiment can poffibly arife. Now in the prefent queftion the facts admitted by both parties must be precifely the fame. Each party muft acknowledge that man confifts of a mafs of organized matter, poffeffed of all the common properties of other matter; and, in addition to this, of a power of perceiving, of thinking, and of acting, of a fomething and of every thing which, in the eye of abftraction, diftinguifhes a living perfon from a vegetating carcafe. Some may confound, and others may divide thofe two principles in the compofition of man which my fubject has led me to feparate; but all who are not infane muft, in fome shape or other, admit their exiftence. Thus far both parties are agreed: In what then do they differ? As far as I can difcover they differ only in this, That the materialift confiders the intellectual powers as merely a property fuperadded to the matter which compotes the body; whilft the immaterialift efteems them the property of a fubftance totally diftinct from, and, in point of exiftence, independent of the corporeal machine. Of this fub ftance, however, the immaterialift profeffes to know nothing; the most accurate investigation of others, the moft minute attention to what paffes within ourfelves, is incapable of affording us the remoteft traces of its nature, its qualities, or its effects. The materialift, on the other hand, is compelled to acknowledge that there is nothing in the conftruction of the human frame to which the energies of the mind can poffibly be afcribed. We are formed of grofs terreftrial fubftance: our bodies are perpetually wearing away, and we draw the fubfiftence by which they are renewed from the bowels of the earth;

we feed on bread-it is formed of corn which fprung from the earth: we feed on meat-it is fevered from an animal who fed, who grew, who flourished, upon the herbage which fprung from the earth: to the earth we may trace whatever we confume; and when we die, when the animating principle is fled, we moulder away to earth again, to matter compofed like all other mat ter, of innumerable atoms, extended, impenetrable, weighty, and poffeffed of that sturdy principle of inactivity which equally refifts a change, either from reft to motion, or from motion to reft. Take then two hundred weight of this matter, and difpofe and combine and modify.it as you pleafe: mould it, in imagination mould it, into the figure of man: form out of it a heart, and brain, and lungs, and arteries, and veins, and mufcles; let a fluid be compelled to circulate like blood, to flow through twenty thousand channels, and recruit by a perpetual diftribution of adapted aliment, the inceffant wear and decay of every part of the machine: do this, do all that fancy can perform with matter-will there refult a fentient, a rational, and an active being, full of life, and vigour, and energy, who can explore the annals of time, meafure the remoteft regions of fpace, and controul the difcordant paffions of twenty millions of his equals The fuppofition is a mockery of fenfe; and we might as reasonably expect to roufe a mind from the conftruction of the fimpleft of the mechanical powers, of a lever, a pulley, or a fcrew, as from the most elaborate and complex machine, that conception can create.

The mental powers then exift: the immaterialift knows nothing of what they are attached to, and acknowledges that they are connected with the body: the materialift perceives that they are connected with the body, and acknow ledges that there is nothing in the canftruction of the body to which they can be afcribed: In what then do thefe men differ? Will the one party maintain that the body and the mind are totally independent of each other, and the other that they are totally dependent! As far as I can fee, this is the only cir cumitance which is left to diftinguish them; but I believe that neither party will contend for either of thefe pofitions in their fullest extent. It will not be

contended

contended that they are totally dependent: it has been already conceded that the powers of the mind refult not from the conftruction of the body; fhall we fay then that they entirely depend, for their existence and their exercife, upon an arrangement of particles, between which and thofe powers we are unable to difcover the remoteft relation? We know not, to be fures we know not, what may be the hidden connections and dependencies on a fubject fo immeafurably obfcure; it is however certainly unfafe, and repugnant to all juft principles of reafoning, to affume a greater degree of dependency than experience will justify, where, without experience, we could difcover no dependency at all. Now fuch a dependency (an entire dependency) is not warranted by the fact. If the powers of the mind be abfolutely dependent on the body, they muft fluctuate with every change which the body undergoes. But the body is in a ftate of rapid and perpetual change: it has been calculated, and with great appearance of truth, that in the lapfe of few years not an original particle remains in the compofition of the human frame by a change of diet, a filent alteration must take place in the texture of every part of the machine; and a paroxyfm of disease frequently disturbs like an earthquake the little world of man; yet we feel, and are fure, that our independent reafon furvives this gradual or this fudden revolution; we feel that we are the fame beings to-day that we were twenty, or forty, or fixty years ago; and an event which occurred while our organs and our faculties were young, will start upon us, during the laft moments of age, with all the vivid diftinctness of the most recent impreffior. In thofe laft moments, too, when the rigid and contracted mufcles are become almost incapable of action, when the blood languishes into ftagnation, when all the organs are decayed, and every part of the machine is actually worn up, we fometimes fee, we do not always, we do not frequently, but we fometimes fee, the vital park ftill pure and lucid, the memory retentive, the judgment clear, and the imagination warm, with all the luxuriant vigour of youth. Thele fymptoms do not certainly indicate an entire dependency of the mental powers upon the precarious texture of this fugitive machine. It will not, on the other hand, be contended, that they are abfolutely independent of it. It is

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by means of the body, by means of innumerable fibres which radiate from the brain to the eyes, the ears, the nofe, the tongue, and every part of the body, that we obtain all that external infor mation, all those materials for the ope ration of the mind, without which the intellects of a Newton would languish in hopeless inaction. Why indeed a filament of nerves connected with the brain at one extremity, and attached to its organ at the other; why a portion of ordinary matter, arranged in fuch a particular form, and acted upon like all other matter by contact or collifion, should convey to my mind any fenfation, any image, any conception, of what is tranfacting abroad in the material world, is a circumftance for which I cannot poffibly account: I am juftified, however, by the wisdom of nature in afferting, that all this apparatus is not formed in vain; and I know in fact, that if any part of it is impaired, I am deprived of a fource of intelligence of which 1 was before poffeffed, and which it is not within the compafs of human invention to supply. Without doubt there is an eternal diftinction between the power, and the organ, of perception; without doubt it is not the eye that fees, nor the ear that hears, nor the hand that feels, but that it is I who fee, and hear, and feel, by the intervention of these organs, and to whom, as to a common centre and a common point of reference, all their communications are directed; but ftill it is through them that I am affected, and without them it is not easily conceivable how I could acquire any perception at all. But it is not only for our perceptions that we are indebted to the body a ftrict and a frightful connection is frequently difcovered between the body and the mind in the exercife of thofe faculties which appear particularly capable of fubfifting in perpetual energy, detached from any material organ what ever the intelle&ual operations of the memory, the fancy, and the judgment, fhould feem to difdain the aid of any corporeal inftrument; and while we enjoy the fweet calm of health and vigour, our feelings corroborate our reafon in rejecting the connection: but a flight contufion in the brain, or the burning accefs of a fever, foon convinces us of our error; we then behold the most awful and affecting fpectacle that defolation can exhibit; we fee the human mind, the fource and feat of our immor. tal hopes, in hideous anarchy-the imagination

Imagination wild, the memory confufed, and the reafoning principle itfelf dif turbed. We in general find, too, that as the body finks beneath the infirmities of age, and all the organs of perception and of action languish, that the powers of the mind experience a correfpondent and proportionate decay; a hopelefs ftupor gradually creeps upon the most vigorous intellects; and we view, with a mixture of commiferation and horror, the cruel debility of fecond childhood and a driveling dotage fucceed to faculties which, in their meridian fplendor, expanded the empire of reafon, and impreffed the contemporary world with aftonishment and awe.

The powers of the mind, then, are not totally independent of the body; they are not on the other hand entirely de

pendent on it. What is the degree of their connection? A curious and interefting theme! which I leave, with my beft benedictions, to abler fpeculators. I thought, indeed, to have faid much, more upon the subject myfelf than I find I have done; but the difficulties have thickened upon me as I have advanced. My pains, however, will not have been entirely mifemployed if I have proved, what I think I have done, that two fets of men who apparently differ in toto, in reality differ not at alf. Upon the facts it is impoffible they fhould difagree; and every conclufion from thofe facts is involved in fuch obfcurity that it cannot afford a subje&t for contention.

G. N.

On the NATURE and PROPERTIES of AIR, and the REFLECTIONS the ADVANTAGES, we derive from it ought to lead us to make.

THERE is nothing more worthy of

the refearches of human nature, than in exploring the works of the Creator. Were we more frequently and more minutely to investigate the various means he has ufed to provide for our happinefs, our comfort, and the enjoyment of our lives, we fhould be more ftrongly imprefied with thofe emotions of gratitude which the Divine Providence is entitled to. And of the various means he has taken to render ir lives happy, there is none that more effentially promotes this end, and with out which indeed we could not actually live, than the air, the fubje&t now under confideration. The air, then, is generally defined to be that fubtle fluid and elaftic body which furrounds our globe, and is that element to which the whole animal world entirely owes its life, fubfiftence, and prefervation. Though it does furround our whole globe, and is fo near us that we directly experience its effects, vet we are not however certaed refpecting its real nature. We know that it is a body in which are combined the properties of fluidity, gravity, and elafticity. That it is a fluid, and confits of feparate parts of globular forms, which pals over one another, and yield to the flight impreffion without any apparent attraction between them, is evident from that facility with which animals breathe this element, and país through it without any refittance or interruption. That the air does gravitate on inferior bodies, and

that it is likewife elaftic, may be demonftrated by innumerable experi

ments.

Such are the nature and properties of air; let us now briefly state the ufe and neceffity of it.

Air is, as I before obferved, that ele. ment to which this world owes its life and prefervation. All the changes we obferve in the different beings our globe contains, depend on air. It is abfolutely necellary for the prefervation of every fpecies of animals, whether they inhabit the earth, water, or clouds. Man, when deprived of this element but for a few minutes, gradually lofes his ftrength, and, unleís fhortly relieved with a fresh fupply, expires. Let us but take it away from any dumb animal, and they all, though fome fupport exiftente under fo preffing a want longer than others, will fhortly die. The birds, in order to fly, must be fupported by the air; for which reafon their lungs have openings through which the air they breathe paffes through the whole cavity of their bodies. Plants even, in order to vegetate and grow, require air, and are therefore furnished with a multitude of little veffels which ferve to draw it in, and by means of which the minuteft particles of them are provided with all the neceffary juices.

It is manifeft from this, then, that the air is the grand aid and fupport, not only of the human, but brute and vegutable race. It is of ufe to the life and breath of living animals, to the motions

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(FROM THE NOTES TO THE NEW TRANSLATION OF GRAMMONT'S MEMOIRS.")

OF

the early part of Nell's life little is known but what may be collected from the lampoons of the times; in which it is faid, that fhe was born in a night cellar, fold fish about the streets, rambled from tavern to tavern, entertaining the company after dinner and fupper with fongs (her voice being very agreeable); was next taken into the houfe of Madame Rofs, a noted courtezan, and was afterwards admitted into the theatre, where the became the miftrefs of both Hart and Lacey, the cele brated actors. Other accounts fay he was born in a cellar in the Coal-yard in Drury-lane, and that he was firft taken notice of when felling oranges in the play-houfe. She belonged to the king's company at Drury-lane; and, according to Downes, was received as an actrefs a few years after that houfe was opened, in 1663. The first notice I find of her is in the year 1668, when the performed in Dryden's play of Secret Love; after which, the may be traced every year until 1672, when I conjecture the quitted the ftage. Her appears to have been comedy. In an epilogue to Tyrannic Love, fpoken by her, the fays,

forte

-I walk, because I die

Out of my calling in a tragedy. And from the fame authority it may be collected that her perfon was fmall, and the was negligent in her drefs. Her fon,, the Duke of St. Alban's, was born before the left the ftage, viz. May 8, 1670. Bishop Burnet fpeaks of her in thefe terms: "Gwynn, the indifcreetest and wildeft creature that ever was in' a court, continued to the end of the king's life in great favour, and was maintained at a vait expence. The Duke of Buckingham told me, that when the was firft brought to the king, the afked only

S.

500 pounds a-year, and the king refufed it. But when he told me this, about four years after, he faid the had got of the king above fixty thoufand pounds. She acted all perfons in fo lively a manner, and was fuch a conftant diverfion to the king, that even a new miftrefs could not drive her away; but after all, he never treated her with the decencies of a mistress." Hiftory of his Own Times, vol. i. p. 369. The fame author notices the king's attention to her on his death-bed. Cibber, who was diffatisfied with the bishop's account of Nell, fays,." If we confider her in all the difadvantages of her rank and education, he does not appear to have had any criminal errors more remarkable than her fex's frailty, to anfver for; and if the fame author, in his latter end of that prince's life, feems to reproach his memory with poo kind. a concern for her fupport, we may allow, it becomes a bihop to have had no eyes or talte for the frivolous charms or playful badinage of a king's mistress; yet if the common fame of her may be believed, which in my memory was not doubted, he had lefs to be laid to her charge than any other of thofe ladies who were in the fame fate of prefers ment: the never eddled in inatters of ferious moment, was the tool of working politicians; never broke into thofe amorous infidelities which others in that grave author are accused of; but was as visibly diftingutshed by her particular perfonal inclination to the king, as her rivals were by their tities and grandeur."-Cibber's Apology, 8vo. p. 459. One of Madame Sevigne's letters exhibits no bad portrait of Mrs. Gwynn-Madamoifelle de K(Kerouaille, afterwards Duchefs of Portsmouth) has not been disappointed in any thing the propofed. She defired

to

to be miftrefs to the king, and she is fo: he lodges with her almost every night, in the face of all the court: fhe has had a fon, who has been acknowledged and prefented with two duchies: the amaffes treasure; and makes herfelf feared and refpected by as many as the can. But the did not forefee that the fhould find a young actress in her way, whom the king dotes on; and fhe has it not in her power to withdraw him from her. He divides his care, his time, and his health, between thefe two. The actress is as haughty as Mademoiselle; the infults her, the makes grimaces at her, the attacks her, the frequently steals the king from her, and boafts whenever he gives ber the preference. She is young, indifcreet, confident, wild, and of an agreeable humour, fhe fings, the dances, the acts her part with a good grace. She has a fon by the king, and hopes to have him acknowledged As to Mademoifelle, the reafons thus: This duchefs, fays the, pretends to be a perfon of quality the fays the is related to the beft families in France; whenever any perfon of diftinétion dies, the puts herfelf in mourning: if the be a lady of fuch quality, why does the demean herself to be a courtezan? fhe ought to die with fhame. As for me, it is my profeffion: I do not pretend to any thing better. He has a fon by me: I pretend that he ought to acknowledge him; and I am well affured he will; for he loves me as well as Mademoiselle. This creature gets the

apper hand, and difcountenances and embarraffes the duchefs extremely."Letter 92. Mr. Pennant fays, "the refided at her houfe, in what was then called Pall-Mall. It is the first good one on the left hand of St. James'sfquare, as we enter from Pall-Mall. The back room on the ground-floor was (within memory) entirely of look. ing-glafs, as was faid to have been the ceiling. Over the chimney was her picture; and that of her sister was in a third room."-London, p. 101. At this house he died, in the year 1691, and was pompously interred in the parish. church of St. Martin's in the Fields, Dr. Tennison, then vicar, and afterwards archbishop of Canterbury, preaching her funeral fermon. This fermon, we learn, was fhortly afterwards brought forward at court by Lord Jerfey to impede the doctor's preferment; but Queen Mary, having heard the ob jection, anfwered, "What then?" in a fort of difcompofure to which the was but little fubject, “I have heard as much this is a fign that that poor unfortunate woman died penitent: for if I can read a man's heart through his looks, had not the made a pious and christian end, the doctor could never have been induced to fpeak well of her."-Life of Dr. Thomas Tennifon, P. 20. Cibber alfo fays, he had been unqueftionably informed, that our fair offender's repentance appeared in all the contrite fymptoms of a Chriftian fincerity.-Cibber's Apology, P. 451.

ANECDOTE OF CHARLES TOWNSEND AND ALDERMAN BAKER.

MR. TOWNSEND, being offended

with the Duke of Newcastle, thought fit to fhew his ill-humour by making an attack upon Alderman Baker's contract, and he played off all the lightning of his eloquence upon the occafion. The Alderman, who was no orator, but poffeffed as found a judg

ment as any man of the age, got up as foon as Mr. Townfend had finished his Philippic, and told the House he had but two words to fay by way of answer to all the Gentleman's fine fpeech against him-" Prove it;" and fat down under a roar of applaufe from all parts of the Houfe.

AN EFFECTUAL METHOD OF CURING THE SCAB IN SHEEP. BY SIR JOSEPH BANKS, BART. F. R. S.

TAKE one pound of quickfilver, half a pound of Venice turpentine, half a pint of oil of turpentine, four pounds of hogs' lard: Let them be rubbed in a mortar till the quick filver is thoroughly incorporated with the

other ingredients; for the proper mode of doing which it may be neceffary to take the advice of fome apothecary, or other perfon ufed to make fuch mixtures.

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