som, that the offender, instead of being hurried on to guilt by irresistible destiny, was merely the ready tool of appetites which he might have controuled; the willing slave of passions which he might have corrected. The lunatic incendiary is regarded as no proper object of punishment, frenzy having usurped the throne of reason, and the exercise of rational free-will being precluded by the paroxism of disease. And, on similar grounds, the destroyer of life by mere accident, is exempt from the vengeance of human laws, which point their thunder only against those who are both capable of distinguishing right from wrong, and of avoiding the crimes into which they voluntarily plunge themselves. If, therefore, any conclusion whatever can be justly inferred from the almost instinctive feelings of mankind, which even those uniformly act upon who systematically controvert and ridicule them, how powerful must the argument, hence derived, be considered in favour of that liberty of will, without which the agonies of remorse appear only the gratuitous self-inflictions of folly; and the most essential acts of legislation, seem the most execrable operations of tyranny? The moral and religious consequences, considered as arising from the system of necessity, are regarded by the advocates for free-will as of a nature so repulsive to the interests of virtue, so incompatible with moral discipline, so full of palpable absurdity and extreme impiety, that these alone are deemed sufficient to justify the rejection of a doctrine, from which they appear essentially and decidedly to flow. Can that system, it is asked, be true, which saps the foundations of virtue, by ascribing every act and thought, every feeling and wish, connected with moral character, to imperious and resistless impulse? which constitutes man a mere machine, guiltless even in the extreme of wickedness, and worthless in the maturity of benevolence; because in both cases, equally compelled by circumstances to good or evil, and equally destitute of moral quality with the quickening sun or the devouring tempest? If every sentiment and deed of every human individual be the result of preceding situations, which situations themselves are only links in an interminable series of processes, equally compelled and necessitating, how vain are all the popular and presumed means of operating upon the mind, to reclaim from vice, or to guide to virtue? Can VOL. VI.

there be any stimulus to exertions decidedly fruitless? or can there be any penitence for inevitable crime? or can there be any justice, human or divine, in the punishment of offences committed, indeed, by choice, yet committed through necessity? With what disgust will be viewed the imputation thrown by this system on the Supreme Being (who is considered by it to be not only the sovereign, but the sole agent, in the universe), as the origin of all existing evil! Under what character is the Divine Being represented by this doctrine, but under that of a baffling tyrant, and a deriding fiend; exhorting men to what they cannot accomplish, and torturing them for what they cannot avoid, and, under the designation of the God of truth, uttering a tissue of the most malignant falsehoods? With what horror must we contemplate a Deity, who is exhibited as the very author of what he professes to hate, the performer of what he punishes, and the source of every polluted thought, every tormenting passion, and every evil work; whose chosen instruments and objects appear to be, hatred and uncharitableness, guilt and terror, confusion, pain, and death; who is displayed, in short, as the introducer of all moral evil, and the scourge of all moral nature?

It is by no means surprising that observations, or arguments, such as these, should have operated strongly on the majority even of persons in some degree habituated to reflection. The moral man has trembled for the interests of virtue; the pious man has recoiled from the dreaded charge of blasphemy; and so coincident is the misapprehended system of liberty with the feelings of indiscriminating and unreflecting minds, that it would be truly extraordinary if the opposite doctrine had not to encounter from such, prejudices the most violent and hostile. General consent, however, and presumed consciousness, are no more sufficient to establish the doctrine of philosophical free-will, than the appearance exhibited by the sun and stars of revolving round this terraqueous globe, and the universal conviction once entertained of the reality of this appearance, can be considered to have been irrefragable evidence of this popular philosophy. And with regard to the interests of virtue, and even the honour of the Deity, the man who refrains from the discussion of important topics, from a

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trembling apprehension lest these should be injuriously involved in the result of his investigation, displays inexpressibly more of fastidious sensibility than of vigorous intellect. If discussion can possibly evince that virtue is detrimental or worthless, instead of being extolled as the best source of hope, and the only guide to happiness, let it be instantly exposed to the aversion and avoidance of mankind. And if the most acute and profound speculation can possibly disconnect from the Supreme Being those qualities of wisdom and goodness, of power and perfection, which have hitherto only appeared the more clearly to belong to him the more his attributes have been investigated, let the veil be, at once, rent from the imagined sanctuary, and let detestation or contempt be substituted for joyful devotion and humble imitation. These delicate scruples, and fearful doubts, and awful hesitations, have too long retarded the march of the human mind in its pursuit of the ends and means most worthy of its researches. They have been in every age supports, as, indeed, they are results, of superstition: they have aided the views of civil tyranny, and inquisitorial bigotry; and until the operations of thought be unimpeded by these morbid tremours, any rapid advance to the maturity of social institutions can be expected only in vain. In opposition, then, to the doctrine of free-will, so tenaciously maintained, and so ardently advocated, it may be observ. ed, that upon the only sound principles of philosophy, upon the very basis of all human speculation and conclusion, the imagined liberty of man will appear equally unsupportable, as any change in the arrangements of material nature without a corresponding change of pre-existing circumstances. If volitions, in any case, start up in the mind uncaused, as well may it be presumed, that the universal system of nature sprang into existence without any previous and operative energy. All inquiry into causes is vain; all reference to circumstances is absurd: conclusions, the most opposite, may, with equal propriety, be inferred from the same premises; or, rather, the only conclusion to be formed is, that of one immense and universal chaos, in which processes, both of mind and matter, are incipient without cause, and operative without effect. If, on the other hand, man be uniformly and imperiously influenced by motives, volitions are as definitive, in definite circumstances, as the

movements of palpable mechanism; and the determinations of the mind are equally decided and inevitable, as the inclinations of the balance. The most animated display of evils, imagined to result from the system of necessity, will scarcely induce any vigorous and unprejudiced mind to surrender the only basis on which inference can be formed and inquiry instituted. But the principles of religion are equally adverse to free-will with the axioms of philosophy; and it is curious to observe, that the doctrine of liberty, under consideration, meets with its destruction in what may be regarded, possibly, as the very source of its existence. Sentiments of religion, unquestionably, suggested the expediency of human freedom, to screen the character of Deity from imputation on the ground of natural and moral evil; and man was thus invested with a paramount and mysterious faculty, by which, in circumstances precisely the same, he is capable of performing any action, or its opposite. By a fallacy, more reverential than ingenious; by a sophism, such as in ordinary life would expose its employers to instant detection and ridicule, this pre-eminent power, though admitted to be communicated, is considered as the efficient cause of all that evil which it was regarded indecorous and blasphemous to ascribe to Deity. The responsibility on this subject, which was conceived to reflect severely on the character of God, by this accommodating invention, was imagined to be easily and happily removed. But if piety has, upon this curious ground, contributed to establish the belief in human free-will, it has no less decidedly maintained the doctrine of divine omniscience: yet to unite these articles in the same creed, must be regarded by the unbiassed inquirer as absolutely and eternally impossible. How can it be within the power of man to avoid doing what God foresees he will perform? or how can that remain undone which is foreknown, and unquestionably, therefore, certainly will be accomplished? What becomes of that boasted liberty, which is incapable of being exerted, and the exercise of which, though strangely denied to be precluded by necessity, it must be at least admitted, has to encounter the most indubitable and decided certainty? And how is the difficulty which, on every other system, presses from the consideration of existing evil, at all mitigated by an hypothesis, which merely transfers the charge from the principal to the agent: from the

Creator to the creature; from the be. stower of the faculty of freedom, who must be aware of all its possible applications and consequences, and who therefore, in the eye of reason, intends all the effect, of the principle he thus communicates, to the frail possessor and foreseen abuser of it? With respect, moreover, to moral discipline, how can any system, which has this object in view, be at all applicable to beings, whose merit and perfection are supposed to consist in a total superiority to motive; who can resist the strongest applications of menace or conciliation, of remuneration or penalty; with whom caprice alone is principle, and chance direction; and an indefinable, unintelligible power of self-determination, without the aid of motive, or even in diametrical opposition to the strongest, is the substitute for all steady object and rational inducement? With regard to virtue, in this system, its maturity consists not in useful tendencies and affections, so confirmed by habit as to have acquired almost an incapability of effectual counteraction, a definition founded on the only correct theory of the human mind, and which presents the most admirable and impressive lessons of morality, but in an imagined principle or faculty which has no perceivable connection with character, habit, or affection; and in proportion to the degree in which any intelligent agent can be supposed to act from this unmotived faculty, in that proportion must he be presumed less capable of forming those fixed and almost indestructible associations which are the sole security of moral excellence. Free-will, then, thus appears to be in irreconcileable hostility with the fundamental principle of human discussion and investigation, on every subject moral or material, that every thing which begins to be must have a cause its complete operation excludes man from the possibility of virtuous habits, as these can result solely from his definite impressibility by definite circumstances: it prevents any consistent application of threats or exhortation, of reward or punishment; because, to a mind unguided and ungovernable by motive, these are equally useless as expostulation with a storm, or advice to a conflagration. Finally, from the character of God it snatches that attribute, without which Providence must be supposed to be any thing rather than what the term naturally implies. Instead of a superintending Deity, foreseeing every event, affected by no surprize, and subject to no

disappointment, we are presented with a governor at the helm of Nature, who, in the impressive language of scripture, "knows not what a day may bring forth:" his arrangements may be frustrated by human folly; his happiness may be impaired by human hostility: man, that is a worm, may baffle the views of Divine intelligence, and counteract the energies of Almighty power!

WILL and TESTAMENT, is that disposition of property which is made by a person to take place after his decease. Every person capable of binding himself by contract, is capable of making a will.

Also a male infant of the age of fourteen years and upwards, and female of twelve years or upwards, are capable of making a will respecting personal estates only. But a married woman cannot make a will, unless a power be reserved in a marriage settlement; but wherever personal property, however, is given to a married woman, for her sole and separate use, she may dispose of it by will.

If a feme sole make her will, and afterwards marry, such marriage is a legal revocation of the will. Wills are of two kinds, written and verbal: the former is most usual and secure.

It is not absolutely necessary that a will should be witnessed; and a testament of chattels, written in the testator's own hand, though it have neither the testator's name nor seal to it, nor witnesses present at his publication, will be good, provided sufficient proof can be had that it is his hand writing. By statute 29 Charles II. c. 3, all devises of lands and tenements shall not only be in writing, but shall also be signed by the party so devising the same, or by some other person in his presence, and by his express direction, and shall be witnessed and subscribed in the presence of the person devising, by three or four credible witnesses, or else the devise will be entirely void, and the land will descend to the heir at law.

A will, even if made beyond sea, bequeathing land in England, must be attested by three witnesses.

A will, however, devising copyhold land, does not require to be witnessed: it is sufficient to declare the uses of a surrender of such copyhold land made to the use of the will. The party to whom the land is given becomes entitled to it by means of the surrender, and not by the will.

A codicil is a supplement to a will, or an addition made by the person making the same, annexed to, and to be taken

as part of the will itself, being for its explanation or alteration, to add something to, or take something from, the former disposition, and which may also be either written or verbal, under the same restrictions as regard wills.

If two wills are found, and it does not appear which was the former or latter, both will be void; but if two codicils are found, and it cannot be ascertained which was the first, but the same thing is devised to two persons, both ought to divide; but where either wills or codicils have dates, the latter is considered as valid, and revokes the former. See ADMINISTRATOR, EXECUTOR, LEGACY.

WILLICHIA, in botany, so named in honour of Christ. Lud. Willich, a genus of the Triandria Monogynia class and order. Essential character: calyx fourcleft; corolla four-cleft; capsule twocelled, many-seeded. There is only one species; viz. W. repens, found by Mutis in Mexico.

WILLUGHBEIA, in botany, so named in memory of Francis Willughby, F. R.S. a genus of the Pentandria Monogynia class and order. Natural order of Contortæ. Apocineæ, Jussieu. Essential character: contorted; corolla salver-shaped; stigma-headed; fruit a one or two-celled berry or pumpkin. There are two species; viz. W. acida and W. scandens, both natives of Guiana.

WIND. See METEOROLOGY. WIND gage, in pneumatics, an instrument serving to determine the velocity and force of the wind. See ANEMOMETER, ANEMOSCOPE.

Dr. Hales had various contrivances for this purpose. He found, that the air rushed out of a smith's bellows at the rate of 683 feet in a second of time, when compressed with a force of half a pound upon every square inch lying on the whole upper surface of the bellows. The velocity of the air, as it passed out of the trunk of his ventilators, was found to be at the rate of 3,000 feet in a minute, which is at the rate of 34 miles an hour. The same author says, that the velocity with which impelled air passes out at any orifice, may be determined by hanging a light valve over the nose of a bellows, by pliant leather hinges, which will be much agitated and lifted up from a perpendicular, to a more than horizontal position, by the force of the rushing air.

M. Bouguer contrived a simple instrument, by which may be immediately discovered the force which the wind exerts on a given surface. This is a hollow

tube, A A, BB, (Plate XVI. Miscel. fig. 13.) in which a spiral spring, CD, is fixed, that may be more or less compressed by a rod, F.SD, passing through a hole within the tube at A A. Then having observed to what degree different forces or given weights are capable of depressing the spiral, mark divisions on the rod in such a manner, that the mark at S may indicate the weight requisite to force the spring into the situation, CD: afterwards join at right angles to this rod at F, a plane surface, CFE, of any given area at pleasure; then let this instrument be opposed to the wind, so that it may strike the surface perpendicularly, or parallel to the rod; then will the mark at S show the weight to which the force of the wind is equivalent.

The following Table will give the different velocities and forces of the wind, according to their common appellations.

of 32, which are nearly in the ratio of 5 to 9. Dr. Hutton found their resistances, with a velocity of 20 feet per second, to be the one, 1.196 ounces, and the other, 2.542 ounces; which are in the ratio of 8 to 17, being an increase of between onefifth and one-sixth parts more than the ratio of the surfaces.

WINDLASS, a machine used to raise heavy weights withal, as guns, stones, anchors, &c. It is very simple, consisting only of an axis, or roller, supported horizontally at the two ends, by two pieces of wood and a pulley: the two pieces of wood meet at top, being placed diagonally, so as to prop each other; the axis, or roller, goes through the two pieces, and turns in them. The pully is fasten ed at top where the pieces join. Lastly, there are two staves or handspikes go through the roller, whereby its is turned, and the rope which comes over the pulley is wound off and on the same.

WINDLASS, in a ship, is an instrument in small ships, placed upon the deck, just abaft the foremast. It is made of a piece of timber, six or eight feet square, in form of an axle-tree, whose length is placed horizontally upon two pieces of wood at the ends thereof, upon which it is turned about by the help of handspikes put into holes made for that purpose. This instrument serves for weighing anchors, or hoisting of any weight, in or out of the ship, and will purchase much more than any capstan, and that without any danger to those that heave; for if in heaving the windlass about, any of the handspikes should happen to break, the windlass would pall of itself.

WINDMILL, a kind of mill, the internal parts of which are much the same with those of a water-mill; from which, however, it differs, in being moved by the impulse of the wind upon its vanes or sails, which are to be considered as a wheel on the axle. Plate, Windmill, is a vertical section of a windmill of that kind, which is called a smock-mill, i. e. when the building, the mill, and machinery are fixed, and the head of the mill supporting the axis of the sails turns round upon it. A A are the walls of the mill-house, which is longer one way than the other, and the section is through the shortest side; in this direction it will but just contain the machinery, and leave a passage; in the other direction the house is longer, and is used as a warehouse to stow the corn and flour. The roof of the house is · framed of large beams, a flooring is laid

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on these beams, and then the whole is covered with sheet lead. Eight long upright beams, B B, are framed into the roof of the house, and disposed round in a circle; at the upper angle they support a circular kirb, DD; the eight uprights, B B, are braced by cross pieces framed between them, so as to render the whole building very staunch; the outside is covered with weather-board, just to shoot off the rain, but open enough to admit the wind to pass freely through the house. Upon the upper fixed kirb, DD, thirty-six rollers are placed (two of them are seen in the section;) these rollers turn in mortices, through a circular ring of wood, which keeps the thirty-six rollers in their places, and at their proper distances from one another. The rollers support another cir. cular wooden ring, a a, on which the head of the mill is framed. This framing consists of two beams, b, halved into the ring, parallel to the main axis of the sails, and including the great cog wheel between them, only one of them is shown in the figure, the other being taken away in the section. Two cross beams, d and e, bolted upon bb, supports the bearings for the main axis, and another cross beam, f, bolted to the under side of b, to sus tain the upper bearing for the vertical axis.

We now come to speak of the machinery: H H, are two of the four sails seen which is covered with cloth, is set edgeways; the broad part of the sails, oblique to the plane of the sails, motion, and the axis of the sails is set in the direction of the wind; it is by the action of the wind upon the oblique sail, that it is made to revolve on its axis; the wind acts constantly as a wedge upon the sails, and thus drives them round. The four sails are firmly bolted to an iron cross, e, cast in one piece with the main : abcdefgis a wooden pole fixed on at the intersection of the four sails, and forming a continuation of the axis; four ropes are extended from the end of the pole to the end of the sails, and hauled tight by a block of pulleys, by these the sails are stiffened, and prevented from bending by the action of the wind upon them: h is the main cog wheel, fixed upon the iron axis, and turning round with it; it has a flexible ring of wood, composed of five seg. ments, and jointed together by iron hinges, and compassing it; one end of this ring of wood, called the brake, is fastened by a joint to the under side of the beam, b;