Nature has diffused these distractions, and these consonances of fortune over volatile beings, in order that our soul, susceptible as it is of every woe, finding every where occasions of extending that susceptibility, might every where be enabled to alleviate the pressure. She has rendered insensible bodies themselves capable of these communications. She presents to us frequently in the midst of scenes which pain the eye, other scenes which delight the ear and soothe the mind with interesting recollections. It is thus that from the bosom of forests she transports us to the brink of the waters, by the rustling of the aspins and of the poplars. At other times she conveys to us, when we are by the side of the brook, the noise of the Sea, and the manœuvres. of navigation, in the murmuring of reeds shaken, by the wind. When she can no longer seduce our reason by foreign imagery, she lulls it to rest by the charm of sentiment: she calls forth from the bosom of the forests, of the meadows, and of the vallies, sounds ineffable, which excite in us pleasing reveries, and plunges us into profound sleep.

Of the Sense of Touching.

I shall make but a few reflections on the sense of touching. It is the most obtuse of all our senses, and nevertheless it is in some sort the seal of our intelligence. To no purpose is an object exposed to the examination of the eye, in every possible position; we cannot be persuaded that we know it, unless we are permitted to put it to the touch. This instinct proceeds perhaps from our weakness, which seeks in those approximations points of pro

*tection.

tection. Whatever may be in this, the sense in question, blunt as it is, may be made the channel of communicating intelligence, as is evident from the example adduced by Chardin, of the blind men of Persia, who traced geometrical figures with their fingers, and formed a very accurate judgment of the goodness of a watch by handling the parts of

the movement.

Wise Nature has placed the principal organs of this sense, which is diffused over the whole surface, of our skin, in our hands and feet, which are the members the best adapted to judge of the quality of bodies. But in order that they might not be exposed to the loss of their sensibility by frequent shocks, she has bestowed on them a great degree of pliancy, by dividing them into several fingers and toes, and these again into several joints; farther, she has furnished them, on the points of contact, with elastic half-pincers, which present at once resistance in their callous and prominent parts, and an exquisite sensibility in the retreating.

It is a matter of astonishment to me, however, that Nature should have diffused the sense of touching over the whole surface of the human body, which becomes thence exposed to variety of suffering, while no considerable benefit seems to result from it. Man is the only animal laid under the necessity of clothing himself. There are indeed some insects which make cases for themselves, such as the moth; but they are produced in places where their clothing is, if I may say so, ready made. This necessity, which is become one of the most inexhaustible sources of human vanity, is in my opinion one of the

most humiliating proofs of our wretchedness. Man is the only being who is ashamed of appearing naked. This is a feeling of which I do not discern the reason in Nature, nor the similitude in the instinct of other animals. Besides, independently of all sense of shame, he is constrained by powerful necessity to clothe himself in every variety of climate.

Certain Philosophers, wrapped up in good warm cloaks, and who never stir beyond the precincts of our great cities, have figured to themselves a natu ral Man on the Earth, like a statue of bronze in the middle of one of our squares. But to say nothing of the innumerable inconveniences which must in such a state oppress his miserable existence from without, as the cold, the heat, the wind, the rain; I shall insist only on one in convenience, which is but slightly felt in our commodious apartments, though it would be absolutely insupportable to a naked man, in the most genial of temperatures, I mean the flies. I shall quote, to this purpose, the testimony of a man whose skin ought to have been proof against this attack it is that of the free-booter Raveneau du Lussan, who in the year 1688, crossed the isthmus of Panama, on his return from the South Seas. Hear what he says, speaking of the Indians of Cape de Gracias a Dios: "When they are overtaken with

an inclination to go to sleep, they dig a hole in "the sand, in which they lay themselves along, and "then cover themselves all over with the sand "which they had dug out; this they do to shelter "themselves from the attack of the musquitos, with " which the air is so frequently loaded. They are a "kind of little flies that are rather felt than seen,

"and

"and are armed with a sting so keen, and so ve"nomous, that when they fix on any one, they "seem to dart a shaft of fire into the blood.

"The poor wretches are so grievously tormented. "with those formidable insects, when it does not "blow, that they become like lepers; and I can "affirm it as a serious truth, for I know it from my own experience, that it is no slight evil to be "attacked by them; for besides their preventing "all rest in the night-time, when we are obliged to

trudge along with our backs naked for want of "shirts, the unceasing persecution of those merci"less little animals drove us almost to madness "and despair."*

It is, I am disposed to believe, on account of the troublesomeness of the flies, which are very common, and very necessary, in the marshy and humid places of hot countries, that Nature has placed but few quadrupeds with hair on their shores, but quadrupeds with scales, as the tatou, the armadillo, the tortoise, the lizard, the crocodile, the cayman, the land-crab, bernard-the-hermit, and other scaly reptiles, such as serpents, upon which the flies have not the means of fastening. It is perhaps for this reason likewise that hogs and wild-boars which take pleasure in frequenting such places, are furnished with hair, long stiff, and bristly, which keep volatile insects at a distance.

Once more, Nature has not employed, in this respect, any one precaution in behalf of Man. Of a

Journal of a Voyage to the South Sea in 1688.

E 4

truth,

truth, on contemplating the beauty of his forms, and his complete nakedness, it is impossible for me not to admit the ancient tradition of our origin. Nature, in placing him on the Earth, said to him: "Go, degraded creature, animal destitute of cloth

ing, intelligence without light'; go and provide for "thy own wants; it shall not be in thy power to

enlighten thy blinded reason, but by directing it

"continually toward Heaven, nor to sustain thy "miserable life, without the assistance of beings "like thyself." And thus out of the misery of Man sprung up the two commandments of the Law.

OF THE SENTIMENTS OF THE SOUL.

And first, of Mental Affections.

I shall speak of mental affections, chiefly in the view of distinguishing them from the sentiments of the soul: they differ essentially from each other. For example, the pleasure which comedy bestows is widely different from that of which tragedy is the source. The emotion which excites laughter is an affection of the mind, or of human reason; that which dissolves ús into tears is a sentiment of the soul. Not that I would make of the mind and of the soul two powers of a different nature; but it seems to me, as has been already said, that the one is to the other what sight is to the body; mind is a faculty, and soul is the principle of it: the soul is, if I may venture thus to express myself, the body of our intelligence. I consider the mind then as an intellectual eye, to which may be referred the

other