1. What preternatural state of the body means	6. The remote causes of diseases
2. The variety of diseases	7. Of fevers
3. Reduced to three classes: those of the solids	8. The way to preserve health
4. Those of the fluids, particularly, the blood	9. Of life and death
5. Those of the animal spirits

1. When the structure or disposition of the parts of the body is so disturbed and disordered, that the natural operations are no longer performed, or not in the manner they ought: this is a preternatural ,state of the body, otherwise termed a disease.

2. There cannot but be a great variety of diseases, whether we consider the manner, wherein that structure or disposition is disturbed, the part wherein each disease has its seat, or the various effects and circumstances of them. Some diseases only. hurt the. use of the parts; some wholly destroy it. Some affect this’ or that part; others the whole body. Some disorder the body, some the mind; and others both mind and body.

3. But they are all reducible to three classes, those of the SOLIDS, of the FLUIDS, and of both. The solid parts may be bruised, wounded, swelled, or removed out of their natural place.

It is a wonderful provision which nature makes in one of the most dreadful calamities incident to the solids. When a bone is broken, let it only be replaced and preserved in that situation, and nature does the rest, by supplying the divided parts with a callus.

This oozes out from the small arteries and bony fibres of the divided parts, in form of a jelly, and soon fills up the cavities between them. It soon grows cartilaginous, afterwards bony, and joins the fractured parts so firmly, that the bone will be more easily broken in any other part than in that.

A callus of a different kind is formed on our hands and feet. This is composed of several layers of particles loosely connected. These, if steeped in fair water easily separate; and then are found, if viewed through a microscope, to be all of one shape, resembling that of a weaver’s shuttle, broad in the middle and pointed at each end. Being steeped again, they divide into a great number of smaller particles, all of the same figure with the first.

The thickness of the skin in the hands of those who labour hard, is wholly owing to vast numbers of these particles which combine together, but so loosely that they are easily separated on moistening. That thick skin is composed of several layers of different thickness, which have been added from time to time: each of which layers is only a congeries of almost an infinity of these particles.

But people who labour ever so hard, will have little callus on their hands if they wash them often. The washing the hands daily rubs off a great quantity o these scales. Indeed it is sur­prising to see, how large a quantity of them is daily thrown off from our hands and feet, though from no other part of the body. We may learn from this the great bounty of nature, in so care­fully supplying the parts designed for walking or labour, with an additional matter for their defence, which is not in any other part of the body.

4. The diseases of the FLUIDS lie chiefly in the blood, when it is either too thick and sizy, whereby its motion becomes too languid and slow, whence spring the diseases owing to obstruc­tion: or too thin. From the former cause arise leprosies, scir­rhus's, lethargies, melancholy, hysteric affections; and if at the same time it abounds in acid salts, the sharp points of these tear the tender fibres, and occasion the scurvy, king’s-evil, consump­tion, with a whole train of painful distempers.—Fevers frequently arise from the too great thinness in the blood.

The plague is not an European disease. It is properly a disease of Asia, where it is epidemical, and is never known elsewere, but by importation from thence. The small-pox also is an exotic disease, and was not known in Europe, or even Asia Minor, till a spice trade was opened by the later princes of Egypt, to the remotest part of the East-Indies. Thence it originally came, and thert it rages at this day.

5. As to the diseases ascribed to the ANIMAL SPIRITS, some are thought to proceed from the suppression or diminution of their motion, as apoplexies and palsies; some from their exces­sive or irregular motion, as madness, convulsions, epilepsies.

I know not whether the gentlemen of the faculty would not term the following, “a disease of the animal spirits.” Donald Monro, at Strathbogie, in Scotland, imitates unawares all the motions of those he is with. He is a little, slender, old man, and was subject to this infirmity from his infancy. He is loath to have it observed, and therefore casts down his eyes in the streets, and turns them aside when in company. We had made several trials before be perceived it, and afterwards had much ado to make him stay. He imitated not only our scratching our heads, but the wringing our hands, and every other motion. We needed not to persuade him to be covered; for he still covered or uncovered aš we did: and all so exactly, and yet with such a natural and unaf­fected air, that none could suspect he did it designedly. When we held both his hands, and caused another to make such motions, he struggled to get free. But when we would have known more particularly, how he found himself affected, he would only give us this simple answer, that “it vexed his heart and his brain.”

But to what class shall we refer the disease of Ann Jackson She was born at Waterford, of English parents, both said to be sound and healthy, and from three years old, had horns growing on various parts of her body. She is now thirteen or fourteen: the horns grow chiefly about the joints; they are fastened to the skin like warts, and about the roots resemble them much in substance, but toward the end are much harder. At the end of each finger and toe is one, as long as the finger or toe itself, rising a little between the nail and flesh, and bending again like a turkey’s claw. On the joints of each finger, and toe are smaller ones, which sometimes fall off, but others come in their place. Round her knees and elbows are many; two in particular at each elbow, which twist like ram’s horns. At each ear grows one: yet she eats and drinks heartily, sleeps soundly, and performs all the offices of nature, like other healthy persons.

6. Such are the proximate causes of diseases. As to the remote, the chief are these, 1. Intemperance in meat or drink, either with regard to the quantity or quality. 2. Want of exercise, or excess therein. 3. immoderate sleep or watching. 4. Unwholesome air.

5. The diminution of some natural evacuation. 6. Irregular passions. All or any of these affect the temperature and motion of the blood and spirits.

7. But it can scarcely be conceived, after all that has been said and wrote, on almost every subject, how very little is known to this day, concerning the causes of diseases. In most cases the skilful physicians acknowledge they have nothing but conjectures to offer. We may give a specimen with regard to fevers, the most common of all distempers. These are of various kinds: at present we will speak of intermitting fevers only. Most of these agree in the following symptoms. During the approach of the fit, cold and shivering seize the body, with a small and slow pulse. Heat succeeds, with a quick, strong, hard pulse, followed by sweat and a softer pulse. These fits return at stated times.

It is supposed, -that these changes in the blood arise from some foreign matter mixt with it, which it cannot readily assimilate, and which therefore must in some measure hinder its motion: perhaps because the particles of it are too large, too long, or branching out. When the circulation is hindered or retarded, chilness naturally follows. And if these particles, sticking in the finer passages, are prest on by the affluent blood, this will occa­sion both a shock and tremor of the muscles, and make the pulse more weak and slow. But when they are at length broken and commmuted, by the continued afflux of the blood, it will flow more violently, and of course occasion heat, which driving tile blood to tile surface of the body, many of its thinner particles will burst through the pores, in the form of sweat. As to the fevers returning at stated times, it is supposed, the peccant matter is generated from time to time, and mingled with the blood afresh; whence the same symptoms of course return, and that with more or less violence, as more or less of that matter is generated. And as this is done more swiftly or slowly, the fever returns in one, two, or three days. But all this is mere conjec­ture. It may be so; and it may not. So that though we may guess much, we know nothing about it.

8. It is sufficient for us to know how we may avoid diseases, whether we can account for them or not. To this end, we should avoid whatever, in meat, drink, motion or rest, is likely to pro­duce any considerable change in the blood. The body likewise should be as far as possible accustomed to bear some change of food, air, and other externals, that if we should at any time be constrained to make such a change, no ill consequence may ensue. But no precise rule can be laid down which will suit all consti­tutions. Every man must consult his own reason and experience, and carefully follow them.

A most unaccountable method of removing many diseases, was that of the famous Mr. Greatrix. “I give you nothing concern­ing him,” says Mr. Boyle, “but from eye-witnesses. My own brother, some time since, was seized with a violent pain in his head and back. Mr. Greatrix, coming by accident to our house, gave present ease to his head by stroking it. He then stroked his back: the pain immediately fled to his right thigh. He pur­sued it with his hand to tile knee, ankle, foot, toe, then he stroked this, and it was gone.

“ My uncle’s daughter was seized with a pain in her knees, which occasioned a white swelling. She tried many remedies without effect, for six or seven years. Mr. Greatrix then coming to Dublin, my aunt brought her to him. He stroked her knees, and the pain fled downward from his hands, till he drove it out of her toes. And in a little time the white swelling went away.

“I had an acquaintance, who, after a fever, was very deaf, and had a violent pain in her ears. Mr. Greatrix put sonic spittle in her ears and rubbed them, which cured both the pain anti deafness.

“Another told me, that when a child, she was extremely troubled with the king’s-evil. She tried many remedies in vain; but Mr. Greatrix stroked and perfectly cured him. A smith near us had two daughters troubled with the same distemper. One of these had a running sore in the thigh, the other in the arm : he cured them both. He cured all kinds of hysteric fits. He likewise cured the falling sickness, and without any relapse, provided he could see the patient in three or four fits.”

9. As long as the soul and body are united, a man is said to be ALIVE. But it is extremely difficult to determine the precise time at which life ceases, or what that is which is absolutely necessary to the continuance of it. Is respiration But when this is entirely ceased, as- is the case in a person strangled, blow strongly into the lungs, and they play again; which shews he was not dead before. Is the beating of the heart But when this also is ceased, in the forementioned case, take the same method, and when the lungs begin to play, the heart begins to beat anew. Is the circulation of the blood But persons drowned, who have been so long under water, as to have no pulse remaining in any artery, and consequently no circulation, have recovered by the use of proper means, and lived many years after. Is the fluidity of the blood Nay, but it is a common thing in Sweden, to recover to life one who has been twenty-four hours under water; and who not only has no pulse, but is as stiff all over, as any dead corpse can be. What then is death Undoubtedly it is the sepa­ration of the soul and body. But there are many cases wherein none but God can tell the moment wherein they separate.

Many who seem to be dead, may be recovered. A person suffocated by the steam of coals, set on fire in the pit, fell down as dead. He lay between half an hour and three quarters, and was then drawn up, his eyes staring, his mouth gaping, his skin cold: not the least breathing being perceivable, nor the least pulse either in his heart or arteries.

A surgeon applied his mouth to that of the patient, and by blowing strongly, holding the nostrils at the same time, raised the chest by his breath. Immediately he felt six or seven quick beats of the heart; the lungs began to play, and soon after the pulse was felt in the arteries, lie then opened a vein, which at first bled drop by drop, but in awhile bled freely. Mean time he caused him to be pulled and rubbed. In an hour he began to come to himself; in four hours walked home, and in four days returned to his work.

Wherever the solids are whole, and their tone unimpaired, where the juices are not corrupted, where there is the least remains of animal heat, it would be wrong not to try this experi­ment. This takes in a few diseases, and many accidents. Among the first are many that cause sudden deaths, as apoplexics and fits of various kinds. In many of these it might be of use to apply this method: arid in various casualties, such as suffocations from the damps of mines and coal-pits, the condensed air of long unopened wells, the noxious vapours of fermenting liquors received from a narrow vent, the steam of burning charcoal, arsenical effluvia, or those of suiphurous mineral acids. And perhaps those who seem to be struck dead by lightning, or any

its height in the prime of manhood. But as soon as the body begins to decrease, life decreases also; for, as the human frame diminishes, and its juices circulate in smaller quantity, life diminishes and circulates with less vigour; so that as we begin to live by degrees, we begin to die in the same manner.

Why then should we fear death, if our lives have been such as not to make eternity dreadful Why should we fear that moment which is prepared by a thousand other moments of the same kind, the first pangs of sickness being probably greater than the last struggles of departure Death, in most persons, is as calmly endured, as the disorder that brings it on. If we inquire from those, whose business it is to attend the sick, and the dying, we shall find, that, except in a very few acute cases, where the patient dies in agonies, the greatest number die quietly, and seemingly without pain. And even the agonies of the former rather terrify the spectators, than torment the patient; for how many have we seen, who have been accidently relieved from this extremity, and yet had flO memory of what they then endured In fact, they had ceased to live, during that time when they ceased to have sensation; and their pains were only those of ‘which they had an idea.

The greatest number of mankind die, therefore, without sen­sation: and- of those few that still preserve their faculties to the last moment, there is scarcely one that does not also preserve the hopes of still out-living his disorder. Nature, for the happiness of man, has rendered this sentiment stronger than his reason. A person dying of an incurable disorder, which he must know to be so, by frequent examples of his case; which lie perceives to be so, by the inquietude of all around him; by the tears of his friends, and the departure, or the face of the physician, is, nevertheless, still in hopes of getting over it. His interest is so great, that lie only attends to his own representations; the judgment of others is considered as a hasty conclusion; and while death every moment makes new inroads upon his constitu­tion, and destroys life in some part, hope still seems to escape the universal ruin, and is the last that submits to the blow.

Death, therefore, is not the terrible thing which we suppose it to be. It is a spectre which frights us at a distance, but which disappears when we come to approach it more closely. Our ideas of its terrors are conceived in prejudice, and dressed up in fancy; we regard it not only as the greatest misfortune, but as also an evil accompanied with the most excruciating tortures: we have even increased our apprehensions, by reasoning on the extent of our’ sufferings. It must be dreadful, say some, since it is sufficient to separate the soul from the body; it must be long, since our sufferings are proportioned to the succession of our ideas; and these being painful, must succeed each other with extreme rapidity. In this manner false philosophy labours to augment the violent agitation of the passions, as joy, fear, anger, surprise, might frequently be recovered by this simple process.

The animal machine is like a clock the wheels whereof may be in ever so good order, the mechanism complete in every part, and wound up to the full pitch; yet without some impulse communicated to the pendulum, the whole continues motionless.

Thus, in these accidents, the solids are whole and elastic, and the juices no otherwise vitiated, than by a short stagnation from the quiescence of that moving something, which enables matter In animated bodies, to overcome the resistance of the medium it acts in. Inflating the lungs, and thus communicating motion to the heart, like giving the first vibration to a pendulum, enables this something to resume the government of the fabric, and actuate its organs afresh. It has been suggested, that a pair of bellows might be applied better than a man’s mouth.” But, I. Bellows may not be at hand: 2. The lungs of one man may safely bear as great a force, as the lungs of another can exert, ‘which by the bellows cannot always be determined.: 3. The warmth and moisture of the breath may likewise be of use.

But what is properly a natural death 7 From the very birth, every vessel in the human body grows stiffer and stiffer by the adhesion of more and more earthly particles to its inner surface Not only solid food supplies it with these, but every fluid that circulates through it. Hereby more and more of the small vessels are so filled up, as to be no longer pervious. In propor­tion, the coats of the larger vessels grow harder, and their cavities narrower. Hence the dryness and stiffness of all the parts, which are observable in old age. By this means, more and more of the Vessels are destroyed, the finer fluids secerned in less quantity, the concoctions weakened, and the reparation of the decayed and injured parts prevented. So that only the’ coarser juices continue to run slowly through the larger vessels. Soon these also not only become narrow, but stiff, bony, and unelastic, till even the great artery having lost its spring, can propel the blood no longer. And then follows death by old age, which is a purely natural death. But this is a very rare case: it is seldom life is so long protracted, the lamp of life being easily blown out, when it burns with so feeble a flame. So that the age of man seldom exceeds three score years arid ten before dust returns to dust.

The term of life can be prolonged but a very little time, by any art we can use. A few only have lived beyond the ordinary duration of human existence; such as Parre, and Jenkins: yet these men used no particular arts to prolong life; on the contrary, they were peasants, accustomed to the greatest fatigues, and who had no settled rules. Indeed, if we consider that the Euro­pean, the negro, the Chinese, and the American, the civilized man, and the savage, the rich and the poor, the inhabitant of the city, and of the country, though all so different in other respects, are yet entirely similar in the period allotted them for living; if we consider that neither the difference of race, of climate, of nourishment, of convenience, or of soil, makes any difference in the term of life; if we consider that those men, who live upon raw flesh, or dried fishes, upon sage or rice, upon cassava, or upon roots, nevertheless ‘live as long as those who are fed upon bread and meat; we shall readily acknowledge, that the duration of life depends neither upon habit, customs, nor the quantity of food, and that nothing can change the laws of that mechanism, which regulates the number of our years.

If there be any difference in the different period of man’s existence, it ought principally to be ascribed to the quality of the air. It has been observed, that in elevated situations there have been found more old people than in those that were low. The mountains of Scotland, Wales, Auvergne and Switzerland, have furnished more instances of extreme old age, than the plains of Holland, Flanders, Germany, or Poland. But, in general, the duration of life is nearly the same in most countries. Man, if not cut off by accidental diseases, is generally found to live ninety or a hundred years. Our ancestors did not live beyond that date; and, since the time of David, this term has had but little alteration.

If we be asked how, in the beginning, men lived so much longer, than at present, and by what means their lives were extended to nine hundred and thirty, or even nine hundred and sixty years, it may be answered, that the productions of the earth, upon which they fed, might be of a different nature at that time, from what they are at present. But perhaps it is better to say, that the term was abridged by divine command, in order to keep the earth from being overstocked with human inhabitants; since, if every person were now to live and generate for nine hundred years, mankind would be increased to such a degree, that there would be no room for subsistence: so that the plan of Providence would be altered; which is seen not to produce life, without pro­viding a proper supply!

But to whatever extent life may be prolonged, or however some may have delayed the effects of age, death is the certain goal to which all are hastening. All the causes of decay, which have been mentioned, contribute to bring on this dreadful disso­lution. However, nature approaches to this awful period, by slow and imperceptible degrees, life is consuming day after day, and some one of our faculties, or vital principles, is every hour dying before the rest; so that death is only the last shade in the picture: and it is probable, that man suffers a greater change in going from youth to age, than from age into the grave. When we first began to live, our lives may scarcely be said to be our own; as the child grows, life increases in the same proportion, and is at its height in the prime of manhood. But as soon as the body begins to decrease, life decreases also; for, as the human frame diminishes, and its juices circulate in smaller quantity, life diminishes and circulates with less vigour; so that as we begin to live by degrees, we begin to die in the same manner.

Why then should we fear death, if our lives have been such as not to make eternity dreadful Why should we fear that moment which is prepared by ‘a thousand other moments of the same kind, the first pangs of sickness being probably greater than the last struggles of departure Death, in most persons, is as calmly endured, as the disorder that brings it on. If we inquire from those, whose business it is to attend the sick, and the dying, we shall find, that, except in a very few acute cases, where the patient dies in agonies, the greatest number die quietly, and seemingly without pain. And even the agonies of the former rather terrify the spectators, than torment the patient; for how many have ‘we seen, who have been accidently relieved from this extremity, and yet had no memory of what they then endured In fact, they had ceased to live, during that time when they ceased to have sensation ; and their pains were only those of which they had an idea.

The greatest number of mankind die, therefore, without sen­sation: and of those few that still preserve their faculties to the last moment, there is scarcely one that does not also preserve the hopes of still out-living his disorder. Nature, for the happiness of man, has rendered this sentiment stronger than his reason. A person dying of an incurable disorder, which he must know to be so, by. frequent examples of his case; which he perceives to be so, by the inquietude of all around him; by the tears of his friends, and the departure, or the face of the physician, is, nevertheless, still in hopes of getting over it. His interest is so great, that he only attends to his own representations; the judgment of others is considered as a hasty conclusion; and while death every moment makes new inroads upon his constitu­tion, and destroys life in some part, hope still seems to escape the universal ruin, and is the last that submits to the blow.

Death, therefore, is not the terrible thing which we suppose it to be. It is a spectre which frights us at a distance, but which disappears when we come to approach it more closely. Our ideas of its terrors are conceived in prejudice, and dressed up in fancy; we regard it not only as the greatest misfortune, but as also an evil accompanied with the most excruciating tortures: we have even increased our apprehensions, by reasoning on the extent of our sufferings. It must be dreadful, say some, since it is sufficient to separate the soul from the body; it must be long, since our sufferings are proportioned to the succession of our ideas; and these being painful, must succeed each other with extreme rapidity. In this manner false philosophy labours to augment the miseries of our nature, and to aggravate that period, which nature has kindly covered with insensibility. Neither the mind, nor the body, can suffer these calamities; the mind is, at that time, mostly without ideas, and the body too much enfeebled, to be capable of perceiving its pain. A very acute pain produces either death, or fainting, which is a state similar to death: the body can suffer but to a certain degree; if the torture becomes excessive, it destroys itself; and the mind ceases to perceive, when the body can no longer endure.

In this manner excessive pain admits of no reflection; and wherever there are any signs of it, we may be sure, that the sufferings of the patient are no greater than what we ourselves may have remembered to endure.

But, in the article of death, we have many instances in - which the dying person has shewn, that every reflection that presup­poses an absence of great pain, and, consequently, that pang which ends life, cannot even be so great as those which have preceded. Thus, when Charles XII. was shot at the siege of Frederickshall, he was seen to clap his hand on the hilt of his sword; and although the blow was great enough to terminate one of the boldest and bravest lives in the world, yet it was not painful enough to destroy reflection. He perceived himself attacked, lie reflected that he ought to defend himself, and his body obeyed the impulse of his mind, even in the last extremity. Thus, it is the prejudice of persons in health, and not the body in pain, that makes us suffer from the approach of death: we have, all our lives, contracted a habit of making out excessive pleasures and pains; and nothing but repeated experience shews us, how seldom the one can be suffered, or the other enjoyed to the utmost.

If there he any thing necessary to confirm what we have said, concerning the gradual cessation of life, or the insensible ap­proaches of our end, nothing can more effectually prove it, than the uncertainty of the signs of death. If we consult what Winslow or Bruhier have said upon this subject, we shall be convinced, that between life and death, the shade is so very undistinguisha­ble, that even all the powers of art can scarcely determine where the one ends, and the other begins, The colour of the visage, the warmth of the body, the suppleness of the joints, are but uncer­tain signs of life, still subsisting; while, on the- contrary, the paleness of the complexion, the coldness of the body, the stiff­ness of the extremities, the cessation of all motion, and the total insensibility of the parts, are but uncertain marks of death begun. In the same manner, also, with regard to the pulse, and the breathing: these motions are so often kept under, that it is im­possible to perceive them. By approaching a looking-glass to the mouth of the person supposed to be dead, people often expect to find whether-he breathes or not. But this is a -very uncertain experiment. The glass is frequently sullied by the vapour of the dead man’s body; arid often the person is still alive, although the glass is no way tarnished. In the same manner, neither burning, nor scarifying, neither noises in the ears, nor pungent spirits applied to the nostrils, give certain signs of the discontinuance of life; arid there are many instances of persons who have endured them all, and afterwards recovered, without any external assistance, to the astonishment of the spectators. How careful, therefore, should we be, before we commit those who are dearest to us to the grave, to be well assured of their departure. Expe­rience, justice, humanity, all persuade us not to hasten the funerals of our friends, but to keep their bodies unburied until we have certain signs of their real decease.

Indeed, soon after the creation, when the earth was to be peopled by one man and one woman, the wise providence of God prolonged the -life of man to above 900 years. After the flood, when there was three men to people the earth, their age was cut shorter. And none of these patriarchs, except Shem, attained to 500 years. In the next century, none reached 240. In the third, none but Terah lived 200: men being then so increased that they built cities and divided into different nations. As their number increased, the length of their lives diminished, till about -the time of Moses it was reduced to 70 or 80 years, where it stands at this day. This is a good medium, so that the earth is neither overstocked, nor kept too thin of inhabitants. If men were now to live to Methuselah’s age, of 969 years, or only to that of Abraham’s, of 175, the earth would be over-peopled. If, on the contrary, the age of man was limited, like that of divers other animals, to 10, 20, or 30 years, it would not be peopled enough.. But, at the present rate, the balance is nearly even, and life and death keep on an equal pace.

This is highly remarkable, that wherever any account has been taken, there is a certain rate and proportion in the propagation of mankInd. Such a number marry, and so. many are born, in proportion to the number of persons in every town or nation. And as to births, two things are very observable: one is, the proportion of males and females; fourteen males to thirteen females, which is exactly agreeable to all the bills of mortality. And this surplusage of males allows one man to one woman, -not­withstanding the casualties to which men are exposed above women. T he other is, that a few more are born than appear to die in any place. This is an admirable provision for extraordi­nary emergencies, to supply unhealthy places, to make up the ravages of epidemic distempers, and the depredations of war; and to afford a sufficient number for colonies, in the yet unpeo­pled parts of the earth. On the other hand, those extraordinary expenses are not only a just punishment of sin, but also a wise means to keep the balance of mankind even. So one would be ready to conclude by considering the Asiatic, and other more fertile countries, where prodigious multitudes are swept away by wars and plagues, and still they remain full of people.

As to the length of life; it has been an ancient opinion, that men lived longer in cold countries than in hot. But the reverse is true. The inhabitants of the Caribbee islands frequently live a hundred and fifty years. In the Molucca islands, this ordinary life of the natives is a hundred and thirty years. In Sumatra, Java, and the neighbouring islands, the life of the inhabitants commonly extends to a hundred and forty years: in the realm of Cassuby, to 150. The Brasilians frequently live 160 years, and many, in Florida and Jucatan, still longer.

Nor is this at all improbable. For there being no such ine­quality of weather in those climates as in ours, the body is not shocked by sudden changes, but kept in a more equal temper. And sickly persons with us, when fixt to their beds, and kept in an equal degree of heat, are often found to hold out many years, who would otherwise scarce have survived one.

Before concluding this head, we may observe one more emi­nent instance of the divineWisdom, in the great variety through­out the world of men’s faces, voices, and hand-writing. Had men’s faces been cast in the same mould, their organs ₀f speech given the same sound; and had the same structure of muscles and nerves, given the hand the same direction in writing: what confusion, what numberless inconveniencies must we have been exposed to No security could have been to our persons, no tertainty of our possessions. Our courts of justice abundantly testify the effects of mistaking men’s faces or hand-writing. But this, the wise Creator has taken care to prevent from being a general case. A man’s face distinguishes him in the light, as his voice does in the dark: and his hand-writing can speak for him when absent, and secure his contracts to future generations.

Lastly, how admirably has God secured the execution of his original sentence, upon every child of man, “ dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return !" From the moment we live, we prepare for death, by the adhesion of dust, mixt with all our aliments, to our native dust; so that whatever we eat or drink, to prolong life, must sap the foundation of it. Thus, in spite of all the wisdom of man, and all the precautions which can be used, every morsel we take, poisons while it feeds, and brings us nearer to the dust from whence we came.