University of Virginia Library

1. CHAP. I.

THE world in which we dwell is a huge, opake,
reflecting, inanimate mass, floating in the vast etherial
ocean of infinite space. It has the form of an
orange, being an oblate spheroid, curiously flattened
at opposite parts, for the insertion of two imaginary
poles, which are supposed to penetrate and unite at
the centre; thus forming an axis on which the mighty
orange turns with a regular diurnal revolution.

The transitions of light and darkness, whence
proceed the alternations of day and night, are produced

by this diurnal revolution, successively presenting
the different parts of the earth to the rays of
the sun. The latter is, according to the best, that
is to say, the latest, accounts, a luminous or fiery
body, of a prodigious magnitude, from which this
world is driven by a centrifugal or repelling power,
and to which it is drawn by a centripetal or attractive
force; otherwise termed the attraction of gravitation;
the combination, or rather the counteraction
of these two opposing impulses producing a circular
and annual revolution. Hence result the vicissitudes
of the seasons, viz. spring, summer, autumn,
and winter.

I am fully aware, that I expose myself to the
cavillings of sundry dead philosophers, by adopting
the above theory. Some will entrench themselves
behind the ancient opinion, that the earth is an extended
plain, supported by vast pillars; others, that
it rests on the head of a snake, or the back of a huge
tortoise; and others, that it is an immense flat pancake,
and rests upon whatever it pleases God—formerly
a pious Catholic opinion, and sanctioned by a
formidable bull, dispatched from the vatican by a
most holy and infallible pontiff. Others will attack
my whole theory, by declaring with the Brahmins,
that the heavens rest upon the earth, and that the
sun and moon swim therein like fishes in the water,
moving from east to west by day, and gliding back
along the edge of the horizon to their original sta

tions during the night time.[1] While others will
maintain, with the Pauranicas of India, that is a vast
plain, encircled by seven oceans of milk, nectar and
other delicious liquids; that it is studded with seven
mountains, and ornamented in the centre by a mountainous
rock of burnished gold; and that a great
dragon occasionally swallows up the moon, which
accounts for the phenomena of lunar eclipses.[2]

I am confident also, I shall meet with equal opposition
to my account of the sun; certain ancient
philosophers having affirmed that it is a vast wheel
of brilliant fire,[3] others that it is merely a mirror or
sphere of transparent chrystal;[4] and a third class,
at the head of whom stands Anaxagoras, having
maintained, that it is nothing but a huge ignited
rock or stone, an opinion which the good people of
Athens have kindly saved me the trouble of confuting,
by turning the philosopher neck and heels
out of their city.[5] Another set of philosophers, who
delight in variety, declare, that certain fiery particles
exhale constantly from the earth, which concentrating
in a single point of the firmament by day, con

stitute the sun, but being scattered, and rambling
about in the dark at night, collect in various points
and form stars. These are regularly burnt out and
extinguished, like the lamps in our streets, and require
a fresh supply of exhalations for the next occasion.[6]

It is even recorded that at certain remote and obscure
periods, in consequence of a great scarcity of
fuel, (probably during a severe winter) the sun has
been completely burnt out, and not rekindled for a
whole month. A most melancholy occurrence, the
very idea of which gave vast concern to Heraclitus,
the celebrated weeping Philosopher, who was a
great stickler for this doctrine. Beside these profound
speculations, others may expect me to advocate
the opinion of Herschel, that the sun is a most
magnificent, habitable abode; the light it furnishes,
arising from certain empyreal, luminous or
phosphoric clouds, swimming in its transparent atmosphere.
[7] But to save dispute and altercation
with my readers—who I already perceive, are a captious,
discontented crew, and likely to give me a
world of trouble—I now, once for all, wash my
hands of all and every of these theories, declining
entirely and unequivocally, any investigation of

their merits. The subject of the present chapter is
merely the Island, on which is built the goodly city
of New York,—a very honest and substantial Island,
which I do not expect to find in the sun, or
moon; as I am no land speculator, but a plain matter
of fact historian. I therefore renounce all lunatic,
or solaric excursions, and confine myself to the
limits of this terrene or earthly globe; somewhere
on the surface of which I pledge my credit as a historian—(which
heaven and my landlord know is all
the credit I possess) to detect and demonstrate the
existence of this illustrious island to the conviction
of all reasonable people.

Proceeding on this discreet and considerate
plan, I rest satisfied with having advanced the most
approved and fashionable opinion on the form of this
earth and its movements; and I freely submit it to
the cavilling of any Philo, dead or alive, who may
choose to dispute its correctness. I must here intreat
my unlearned readers (in which class I humbly
presume to include nine tenths of those who
shall pore over these instructive pages) not to be
discouraged when they encounter a passage above
their comprehension; for as I shall admit nothing
into my work that is not pertinent and absolutely essential
to its well being, so likewise I shall advance
no theory or hypothesis, that shall not be elucidated
to the comprehension of the dullest intellect. I
am not one of those churlish authors, who do so

enwrap their works in the mystic fogs of scientific
jargon, that a man must be as wise as themselves to
understand their writings; on the contrary, my
pages, though abounding with sound wisdom and
profound erudition, shall be written with such pleasant
and urbane perspicuity, that there shall not
even be found a country justice, an outward alderman,
or a member of congress, provided he can read
with tolerable fluency, but shall both understand and
profit by my labours. I shall therefore, proceed
forthwith to illustrate by experiment, the complexity
of motion just ascribed to this our rotatory
planet.

Professor Von Poddingcoft (or Puddinghead as
the name may be rendered into English) was long
celebrated in the college of New York, for most
profound gravity of deportment, and his talent at
going to sleep in the midst of examinations; to the
infinite relief of his hopeful students, who thereby
worked their way through college with great ease
and little study. In the course of one of his lectures,
the learned professor, seizing a bucket of
water swung it round his head at arms length; the
impulse with which he threw the vessel from him,
being a centrifugal force, the retention of his arm
operating as a centripetal power, and the bucket,
which was a substitute for the earth, describing a
circular orbit round about the globular head and
ruby visage of Professor Von Poddingcoft, which

formed no bad representation of the sun. All of
these particulars were duly explained to the class of
gaping students around him. He apprised them
moreover, that the same principle of gravitation,
which retained the water in the bucket, restrains the
ocean from flying from the earth in its rapid revolutions;
and he further informed them that should
the motion of the earth be suddenly checked, it
would incontinently fall into the sun, through the
centripetal force of gravitation; a most ruinous
event to this planet, and one which would also obscure,
though it most probably would not extinguish
the solar luminary. An unlucky stripling, one of
those vagrant geniuses, who seem sent into the
world merely to annoy worthy men of the puddinghead
order, desirous of ascertaining the correctness
of the experiment, suddenly arrested the arm of
the professor, just at the moment that the bucket
was in its zenith, which immediately descended with
astonishing precision, upon the philosophic head of
the instructor of youth. A hollow sound, and a
red-hot hiss attended the contact, but the theory
was in the amplest manner illustrated, for the unfortunate
bucket perished in the conflict, but the
blazing countenance of Professor Von Poddingcoft,
emerged from amidst the waters, glowing fiercer
than ever with unutterable indignation—whereby
the students were marvellously edified, and departed
considerably wiser than before.

It is a mortifying circumstance, which greatly
perplexes many a pains taking philosopher, that
nature often refuses to second his most profound
and elaborate efforts; so that often after having invented
one of the most ingenious and natural theories
imaginable, she will have the perverseness to act
directly in the teeth of his system, and flatly contradict
his most favourite positions. This is a
manifest and unmerited grievance, since it throws
the censure of the vulgar and unlearned entirely
upon the philosopher; whereas the fault is not to
be ascribed to his theory, which is unquestionably
correct, but to the waywardness of dame nature,
who with the proverbial fickleness of her sex, is continually
indulging in coquetries and caprices, and
seems really to take pleasure in violating all philosophic
rules, and jilting the most learned and indefatigable
of her adorers. Thus it happened with
respect to the foregoing satisfactory explanation of
the motion of our planet; it appears that the centrifugal
force has long since ceased to operate, while
its antagonist remains in undiminished potency:
the world therefore, according to the theory as it
originally stood, ought in strict propriety to tumble
into the sun—Philosophers were convinced that it
would do so, and awaited in anxious impatience,
the fulfilment of their prognostications. But the
untoward planet, pertinaciously continued her
course, notwithstanding that she had reason, philosophy,

and a whole university of learned professors
opposed to her conduct. The philo's were all at a
non plus, and it is apprehended they would never
have fairly recovered from the slight and affront
which they conceived offered to them by the world,
had not a good natured professor kindly officiated
as mediator between the parties, and effected a reconciliation.

Finding the world would not accomodate
itself to the theory, he wisely determined to accomodate
the theory to the world: he therefore
informed his brother philosophers, that the circular
motion of the earth round the sun was no sooner
engendered by the conflicting impulses above described,
than it became a regular revolution, independent
of the causes which gave it origin—in short,
that madam earth having once taken it into her
head to whirl round, like a young lady of spirit in
a high dutch waltz, the duivel himself could not
stop her. The whole board of professors of the
university of Leyden joined in the opinion, being
heartily glad of any explanation that would decently
extricate them from their embarrassment—and immediately
decreed the penalty of expulsion against
all who should presume to question its correctness:
the philosophers of all other nations gave an unqualified
assent, and ever since that memorable
era the world has been left to take her own course,
and to revolve around the sun in such orbit as she
thinks proper.