Modesty is a kind of quick and delicate feeling in the soul; it is such an exquisite sensibility, as warns a woman to shun the first appearance of every thing Id. Spectator. hurtful. As sound in a bell, or musical string, or other sounding body, is nothing but a trembling motion, and the air nothing but that motion propagated from the object, in the sensorium it is a sense of that motion Newton. under the form of sound. Is not the sensory of animals the place to which the sensitive substance is present, and into which the sensible species of things are carried through the nerves of the brain, that there they may be perceived by their immediate presence to that substance? Newton's Opticks. Air is sensible to the touch by its motion, and by its resistance to bodies moved in it. Arbuthnot on Air. That we all have double sensories, two eyes, two ears, is an effectual confutation of this atheistical sophism. Bentley. God hath endued mankind with powers and abili ties which we call natural light and reason, and comId. mon sense. The sensitive faculty may have a sensitive love of some sensitive objects, which, though moderated so as not to fall into sin, yet, through the nature of man's sense, may express itself more sensitively towards that inferior object than towards God: this is a piece of human frailty. Hammond. There is no condition of soul more wretched than that of the senseless obdurate sinner, being a kind of numbness of soul; and, contrariwise, this feeling and sensibleness, and sorrow for sin, the most vital quality. Id. The versification is as beautiful as the description complete; every ear must be sensible of it. Broome's Notes on the Odyssey. There's something previous even to taste; 'tis two of those senses, and leave it only one remaining, and affix the other senses or ideas to other words. Watts's Logick. The flower consists of one leaf, which is shaped like a funnel, having many stamina in the centre : these flowers are collected into a round head: from the bottom of the flower rises the pistillum, which afterwards becomes an oblong flat-pointed pod, which opens both ways, and contains in each partition one roundish seed. Of this plant the humble plants are a species, which are so called, because, upon being touched, the pedicle of their leaves falls downward; but the leaves of the sensitive plant are only con tracted. Miller. SENSE, COMMON, is a term that has been variously used both by ancient and modern writers. With some it has been synonymous with public sense; with others it has denoted prudence; in certain instances it has been confounded with some of the powers of taste; and, accordingly, those who commit egregious blunders with regard to decorum, saying and doing what is offensive to their company, and inconsistent with their own character, have been charged with a defect in common sense. Some men are distinguished by an uncommon acuteness in discovering the characters of others; and this talent has been sometimes called common sense; similar to which is that use of the term which makes it to signify that experience and knowledge of life which is acquired by living in society. To this meaning Quintilian refers, speaking of the advantages of a public education, lib. i. cap. 2. But the term common sense hath in modern times been used to signify that power of the mind which perceives truth, or commands belief, not by progressive argumentation, but by an instantaneous, instinctive, and irresistible impulse; derived neither from education nor from habit, but from nature; acting independently of our will whenever its object is presented, according to an established law, and therefore called sense; and acting in a similar manner upon all, or at least upon a great majority of mankind, and therefore called common sense. See METAPHYSICS, and MORAL PHILOSOPHY. SENSE, MORAL, is a determination of the mind to be pleased with the contemplation of those affections, actions, or characters, of rational agents, which we call good or virtuous. This moral sense of beauty in actions and affections may appear strange at first view; some of our moralists themselves are offended at it in lord Shaftesbury, as being accustomed to deduce every approbation or aversion from rational It is certain that his lordship views of interest. has carried the influence of the moral sense very far, and some of his followers have carried it farther. The advocates for the selfish system seem to drive their opinions to the opposite extreme, and we have elsewhere endeavoured to show that the truth lies between the contending parties. See MORAL PHILOSOPHY. SENSE, PUBLIC, is defined by the noble author of the Characteristics to be an innate propensity to be pleased with the happiness of others, and to be uneasy at their misery. It is found, he says, in a greater or less degree in all men, and was sometimes called кowovonua, or sensus communis, by ancient writers. Of the reality of this public sense, we have great doubts. The conduct of savages, who are more under the influence of original instinct than civilised men, gives no countenance to it. Their affections seem all to be selfish, or to spring from self-love variously modified. For the happiness of their wives they have very little regard; considering them merely as instruments of their own pleasure, and valuing them for nothing else. Hence they make them toil, while they themselves indulge in listless idleness. To their children, we believe, they exhibit strong symptoms of attachment, as soon as they derive assistance from them in war, or in the business of the chase; but, during the helpless years of infancy, the child is left by the selfish father wholly to the care and protection of its wretched mother; who, impelled by the storgé of all females to their young, cherishes her offspring with great fondness. The savage is, indeed, susceptible of strong attachments, similar to that which we call friendship; but such attachments are no proofs of disinterested benevolence, or what his lordship calls the public sense. Two barbarous heroes are probably first linked together by the observation of each other's prowess in war, or their skill in pursuing their game; for such observations cannot fail to show them that they may be useful to one another; and we have elsewhere shown how real friend ship may spring from sentiments originally selfish. The savage is very much attached to his horde or tribe, and this attachment resembles patriotism; but patriotism itself is not a sentiment of pure benevolence, delighting in the happiness of others and grieving at their misery: for the patriot prefers his own country to all others, and is not very scrupulous with respect to the rectitude of the means by which he promotes its interest, or depresses its rivals. Witness Cato, whose patriotic attachment to his own country was equalled or exceeded by his vindictive ma lice against the Carthaginians. See CATO. The savage pursues with relentless rigor the enemies of himself, or the tribe to which he belongs; shows no mercy to them when in his power, but puts them to the cruellest death, and carries their scalps to the leader of his party. These facts, which cannot be controverted, are perfectly irreconcilable with innate benevolence, or a public sense, comprehending the whole race of men; and show the truth of that theory by which we have in another place endeavoured to account for all the passions, social as well as selfish. See MORAL PHILOSOPHY. SENSIBILITY, is a nice and delicate perception of pleasure or pain, beauty or deformity. It is very nearly allied to taste; and, as far as it is natural, seems to depend upon the organization of the nervous system. It is capable, however, of cultivation, and is experienced in a much higher degree in civilised than in savage-nations, and among persons liberally educated than among boors and illiterate mechanics. He who has been long accustomed to that decorum of manners which characterises the polite part of the world, perceives almost instantaneously the smallest deviation from it, and feels himself almost as much hurt by behaviour harmless in itself, as by the grossest rudeness; and the man vice. who has long proceeded steadily in the paths of virtue, and often reflected on the deformity of vice, and the miseries of which it is productive, is more quickly alarmed at any deviation from rectitude, than another who, though his life has been stained by no crime, has yet thought less upon the principles of virtue and consequences of That sensibility which we either have from nature, or necessarily acquire, of the miseries of others, is of the greatest use when properly regulated, as it powerfully impels us to relieve their distress; but, if it by any means becomes so exquisite as to make us shun the sight of misery, it counteracts the end for which it was implanted in our nature, and only deprives us of happiness, while it contributes nothing to the good of others. Indeed there is reason to believe that all such extreme sensibilities are selfish affectations, employed as apologies for with-holding from the miserable that relief which it is in our power to give; for there is not a fact better established in the science of human nature, than that passive perceptions grow gradually weaker by repetition, while active habits daily acquire strength. It is every man's duty to cultivate his moral sensibilities, so as to make them subservient to the purposes for which they were given to him; but if he either feel, or pretend to feel, the miseries of others to so exquisite a degree as to be unable to afford them the relief which they have a right to expect, his sensibilities are perverted. That the man of true sensibility has more pains and more pleasures than the callous wretch, is universally admitted, as well as that his enjoyments and sufferings are more exquisite in their kinds; but as no man lives for himself alone, no man will acknowledge his want of sensibility, or express a wish that his heart were callous. See PHYSIOLOGY. SENSITIVE PLANT. See DIONEA, HEDYSARUM, and MIMOSA. The sensitive plants are well known to possess a kind of motion, by which the leaves and stalks are contracted and fall down upon being slightly touched, or shaken with some degree of violence. The contraction of the leaves and branches of the sensitive plant when touched is a very singular phenomenon. Different hypotheses have been formed by botanists to explain it; but these have generally been deduced rather from analogical reasoning than from a collection of facts and observations. The following are the most important facts collected upon this curious subject. 1. It is difficult to touch the leaf of a healthy sensitive plant so delicately that it will not immediately collapse, the foliola or little leaves moving at their base till they come into contact, and then applying themselves close together. If the leaf be touched with a little more force, the opposite leaf will exhibit the same appearance. If a little more force be applied the partial foot-stalks bend down towards the common foot-stalk from which they issue, making with it a more acute angle than before. If the touch be more violent still, all the leaves situated on the same side with the one that has been touched will instantly collapse, and the partial foot-stalk will approach the common footstalk to which it is attached, in the same manner as the partial foot-stalk of the leaf approaches the stem or branch from which it issues; so that the whole plant, from having its branches extended, will immediately appear like a weeping willow. 2. These motions of the plant are performed by means of three distinct and sensible articulations. The first, that of the foliola or lobes to the partial foot-stalk; the second, that of the partial foot-stalk to the common one; the third, that of the common foot-stalk to the trunk. The primary motion of all is the closing of the leaf upon the partial footstalk, which is performed in a similar manner, and by a similar articulation. This, however, is much less visible than the others. These motions are wholly independent on one another. 3. Winds and heavy rains make the leaves of the sensitive plant contract and close; but no such effect is produced from slight showers. 4. At night, or when exposed to much cold in the day, the leaves meet and close in the same manner as when touched, folding their upper surfaces together, and in part over each other, like scales or tiles, so as to expose as little as possible of the upper surface to the air. The opposite sides of the foliola or leaves do not come close together in the night, for when touched they apply themselves closer together. Dr. Darwin kept a sensitive plant in a dark place for some hours after day-break; the leaves and foot-stalks were collapsed as in its most profound sleep; and on exposing it to the light above twenty minutes passed before it was expanded. 5. In August a sensitive plant was carried in a pot out of its usual place into a dark cave, the motion that it received in the carriage shut up its leaves, and they did not open till twenty-four hours afterwards; at this time they became moderately open, but were afterwards subject to no changes at night or morning, but remained three days and nights with their leaves in the same moderately open state. At the end of this time they were brought out again into the air, and there recovered their natural periodical motions, shutting every night, and opening every morning as naturally and as strongly as if the plant had not been in this forced state; and while in the cave it was observed to be very little less affected with the touch than when abroad in the open air. 6. The great heats of summer, when there is open sunshine at noon, affect the plant in some degree like cold, causing it to shut up its leaves a little, but never in any very great degree. The plant, however, is least of all affected about 9 A. M., and that is consequently the most proper time to make experiments on it. A branch of the sensitive plant cut off, and laid by, retains yet its property of shutting up and opening in the morning for some days; and it holds it longer if kept with one end in water, than if left to dry more suddenly. 7. The leaves only of the sensitive plant shut up in the night, not the branches; and if it be touched at this time the branches are affected in the same manner as in the day, shutting up, or approaching to the stalk or trunk, in the same manner, and often with more force. It is of no consequence what the substance is with which the plant is touched; but there is a little spot, distinguishable by its paler color in the articulation of its leaves, where the greatest and nicest sensibility is evidently placed. 8. Du Hamel having observed, about the 15th of September, in moderate weather, the natural motion of a branch of a sensitive plant, remarked that at 9 A. M. it formed with the stem an angle of 100°; at noon 112°; at 3 P. M. it returned to 100°; and after touching the branch the angle was reduced to 90°. Three-quarters of an hour after it had mounted to 112°; and at 8 P. M. it descended again without being touched to 90°. The day after, in finer weather, the same branch, at 8 A. M., made an angle of 135° with the stem; after being touched the angle was diminished to 80°; an hour after it rose again to 135°; being touched a second time it descended again to 80°; an hour and a half after it had risen to 145°; and upon being touched a third time descended to 135°; and remained in that position till 5 P. M. when, being touched a fourth time, it fe!! to 110. 9. The parts of the plant which have collapsed afterwards unfold themselves, and return to their former expanded state. The time required for that purpose varies according to the vigor of the plant, the season of the year, the hour of the day, the state of the atmosphere. Sometimes half an hour is requisite, sometimes only ten minutes. The order in which the parts recover themselves varies in like manner; sometimes it is the common foot-stalk; sometimes the rib to which the leaves are attached; and sometimes the leaves themselves are expanded before the other parts have made any attempt to recover their former position. 10. If, without shaking the other smaller leaves, we cut off the half of a leaf or lobe belonging to the last pair, at the extremity or summit of a wing, the leaf cut, and its antagonist, that is to say, the first pair, begin to approach each other; then the second, and so on successively, till all the lesser leaves, or lobes of that wing, have collapsed in like manner. Frequently, after twelve or fifteen seconds, the lobes of the other wings, which were not immediately affected by the stroke, shut; whilst the stalk and its wing, beginning at the bottom, and proceeding in order to the top, gradually recover themselves. If, instead of one of the lesser extreme leaves, we cut off one belonging to the pair that is next the foot-stalk, its antagonist shuts, as do the other parts successively, from the bottom to the top. If all the leaves of one side of a wing be cut off, the opposite leaves are not affected, but remain expanded. With some address it is possible even to cut off a branch without hurting the leaves, or making them fall. The common foot-stalk of the winged leaves being cut as far as three-fourths of its diameter, all the parts which hang down collapse, but quickly recover without appearing to have suffered any considerable violence by the shock. An incision being made into one of the principal branches, to the depth of half the diameter, the branches betwixt the section and the root will fall down; those above the incision remain as before, and the lesser leaves continue open; but this direction is soon destroyed by cutting off one of the lobes at the extremity. A whole wing being cut off with precaution, near its insertion into the common foot-stalk, the other wings are not affected by it, and its own lobes do not shut. No motion ensues from piercing the branch with a needle or other sharp instrument. 11. If the end of one of the leaves be burned with the flame of a candle, or by a burning glass, or by touching it with hot iron, it closes up in a moment, and the opposite leaf does the same, and after that the whole series of leaves on each side of the partial or little foot-stalk; then the foot-stalk itself; then the branch or common foot-stalk; all do the same if the burning has been in a sufficient degree. This proves that there is a very nice communication between all the parts of the plant, by means of which the burning, which only is applied to the extremity of one leaf, diffuses its inAuence through every part of the shrub. If a drop of aquafortis be carefully laid upon a leaf of the sensitive plant, so as not to shake it in the least, the leaf does not begin to move till the acrid liquor corrodes the substance of it; but at that time not only that particular leaf, but all the leaves placed on the same foot-stalk, close themselves up. The vapor of burning sulphur has also this effect on many leaves at once, according as they are more or less exposed to it; but a bottle of very acrid and sulphureous spirit of vitriol, placed under the branches unstopped, produces no such effect. Wetting the leaves with spirit of wine has been observed also to have no effect, nor the rubbing oil of almonds over them; though this last application destroys many plants. From the preceding experiments the following conclusions may be fairly drawn: 1. The contraction of the parts of the sensitive plant is occasioned by an external force, and the contraction is in proportion to the force. 2. All bodies which can exert any force affect the sensitive plant; some by the touch or by agitation, as the wind, rain, &c.; some by chemical influence, as heat and cold. 3. Touching or agitating the plant produces a greater effect than an incision or cutting off a part, or by applying heat or cold. Attempts have been made to explain these curious phenomena. Dr. Darwin, in the notes to his admired poem entitled the Botanic Garden, lays it down as a principle, that the sleep of animals consists in a suspension of voluntary motion; and, as vegetables are subject to sleep as well as animals, there is reason to conclude, says he, that the various action of closing their petals and foliage may be justly ascribed to a voluntary power; for without the faculty of volition sleep would not have been necessary to them.' Whether this definition of sleep when applied to animals be just, we shall not enquire; but it is evident that the supposed analogy between the sleep of animals and the sleep of plants has led Dr. Darwin to admit this astonishing conclusion, that plants have volition! As volition presupposes a mind or soul, it were to be wished that he had given us some information concerning the nature of a vegetable soul, which can think and will. We suspect, however, that this vege table soul will turn out to be a mere mechanical or chemical one; for it is affected by external forces uniformly in the same way, its volition is merely passive, and never makes any successful resistance against those causes by which it is influenced. All this is a mere abuse of words. The sleep of plants is a metaphorical expression, and has not the least resemblance to the sleep of ánimals. Plants are said to sleep when the flowers or leaves are contracted or folded together; but we never heard that there is any similar contraction in the body of an animal during sleep. See PHYSIOLOGY. The fibres of vegetables have been compared with the muscles of animals, and the motions of the sensitive plant have been supposed the same with muscular motion. Between the fibres of vegetables and the muscles of animals, however, there is not the least similarity. If muscles be cut through, so as to be separated from the joints to which they are attached, their powers are completely destroyed; but this is not the case with vegetable fibres. The following very ingenious experiment, which was communicated to us by a respectable member of the university of Edinburgh, is decisive on this subject. He selected a growing poppy, at that period of its growth, before unfolding, when the head and neck are bent down almost double. He cut the stalk where it was curved half through on the under side, and half through at a small distance on the upper side, and half through in the middle point between the two sections, so that the ends of the fibres were separated from the stalk. Notwithstanding these several cuttings on the neck, the poppy raised its head, and assumed a more erect position. There is, therefore, a complete distinction between muscular motion and the motions of a plant; for no motion can take place in the limb of an animal when the muscles of that limb are cut. In fine, we look upon all attempts to explain the motions of plants as absurd, and all reasoning from supposed analogy between animals and vegetables as the source of wild conjecture, and not of sound philosophy. We view the contraction and expansion of the sensitive plant in the same light as we do gravitation, chemical attraction, electricity, and magnetism, as a singular fact, the circumstances of which we may be fully acquainted with, but must despair of understanding its cause. What has been said under this article chiefly refers to the mimosa sensitiva and pudica. For a full account of the motions of vegetables in general, see MOTION. SENSITIVE PLANT, BASTARD. See ÆSCHYNOMENE. SENSORIUM, in anatomy. See ANATOMY. SEN'SUAL, adj. Fr. sensual. Consisting SEN'SUALIST, n. s. in sense; depending on SENSUALITY, or affecting the senses; SEN'SUALIZE, V. A. devoted to sense; affectSEN'SUALLY, adv.) ing the senses; lewd: all the derivatives follow these senses. The greatest part of men are such as prefer their own private good before all things, even that good which is sensual before whatever is most divine. Hooker. But you are more intemperate in your blood Shakspeare. Kill not her quickening power with surfeitings; Mar not her sense with sensuality; From amidst them rose Davi. 6. Milton. Far as creation's ample range extends, SENTENCE, n. s. & v. a.` SEN TENTIOUSLY, adv. Id. Fr. sentence; Latin sententia. Determination or decision; legal decision or doom; maxim; short paragraph or period: sententiosity is comprehension in a sentence: sententious, abounding in maxims or proverbs; comprising sentences: the adverb and noun substantive corresponding. Now also will I give sentence against them. Jeremiah iv. 12. An excellent spirit, knowledge, understanding, and shewing of hard sentences were found in Daniel. Dan. v. 12. If we have neither voice from heaven, that so pronounceth of them, neither sentence of men grounded upon such manifest and clear proof, that they, in whose hands it is to alter them, may likewise infallibly, even in heart and conscience, judge them so upon necessity to urge alteration, is to trouble and disturb without necessity. After this cold considerance sentence me; And, as you are a king, speak in your state, What I have done that misbecame my place. He is very swift and sententious. Hooker. Shakspeare. Id. As You Like It. By the consent of all laws, in capital causes, the evidence must be full and clear; and if so, where one man's life is in question, what say we to a war, which is ever the sentence of death upon many? Bacon's Holy War. They describe her in part finely and elegantly, and in part gravely and sententiously: they say, look how many feathers she hath, so many eyes she hath underneath. Id. Essays. Eyes are vocal, ears have tongues: Sententious showers! O let them fall! Their cadence is rhetorical. Crashaw. What rests but that the mortal sentence pass? Milton. Came the mild judge and intercessor both To sentence man. Id. Vulgar precepts in morality carry with them nothing above the line, or beyond the extemporary sententiosity of common conceits with us. Broune's Vulgar Errours. Eloquence, with all her pomp and charms, Waller. Foretold us useful and sententious truths. Idleness, sentenced by the decurions, was punished by so many stripes. Could that decree from our brother come? Nature herself is sentenced in your doom: Piety is no more. Temple. Dryden. The Medea I esteem for the gravity and sententiousness of it, which he himself concludes to be suitable to a tragedy. Id. The making of figures being tedious, and requiring much room, put men first upon contracting them, as by the most ancient Egyptian monuments it appears they did: next, instead of sententious marks, to think of verbal, such as the Chinese still retain. Grew's Cosmologia. If matter of fact breaks out with too great an evidence to be denied, why, still there are other lenitives, that friendship will apply, before it will be brought to the decretory rigours of a condemning South's Sermons. sentence. Atterbury. A sentence may be defined a moral instruction couched in few words. Broome's Notes on Odyssey. Nausicaa delivers her judgment sententiously, to give it more weight. Broome. set of words comprehending some perfect sense SENTENCE, in grammar, denotes a period, or a is to distinguish the several parts or members of or sentiment of the mind. The business of pointing sentences, so as to render the sense thereof as clear, distinct, and full as possible. See PUNCTUATION. In every sentence there are two parts necessarily verb; whatever is found more than these two required a noun for the subject, and a definite affects one of them, either immediately, or by the intervention of some other, whereby the first is affected. Again, every sentence is that consisting of one single subject and one finite verb. A compound sentence contains several subjects and finite verbs, either expressly or implicitly. A simple sentence needs no point or distinction; only a period to close it: as, 'A good man loves virtue for itself.'-In such a sentence the several adjuncts affect either the subject or the verb in a different manner. Thus the word good expresses the quality of the subject, virtue the object of the action, and for itself, the end thereof. Now none of the sentence; for if one be why should not all of these adjuncts can be separated from the rest, the rest? and, if all be, the sentence will be minced into almost as many parts as there are words. But if, several adjuncts be attributed in the same manner either to the subject or the verb, the sentence becomes compound, and is to be divided into parts. In every compound sentence as many subjects, or as many finite verbs as there are, either expressly or implied, so many distinctions may there be. Thus, My hopes, fears, joys, pains, all centre in you.' And thus, Catilina abiit, excessit, evasit, erupit. The reason of which pointing is obvious; for as many subjects or finite verbs as there are in a sentence, so many members does it really contain. Whenever, therefore, there occur more nouns than verbs, or contrariwise, they are to be conceived as equal. Since, as every subject requires its |