The sensitive plants are well known to possess a kind of motion, by which the leaves and stalks are contracted, and fall down on 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, and different hypotheses have been formed by botanists in order to explain it; but we are disposed to believe that these have generally been deduced rather from analogical reasoning than from a collection of facts and observations. We shall therefore give an account of all the important facts which we have been able to collect upon this curious subject; and then draw such conclusions as obviously result from them, without, however, attempting to support any old, or to establish a new, hypothesis.

First, 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 footstalk bends down towards the common footstalk 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 footstalk will approach the common footstalk to which it is attached, in the same manner as the partial footstalk 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 birch.

Secondly, 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 footstalk; the second that of the partial footstalk to the common one, and the third that of the common footstalk to the trunk; the primary motion of all which 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 of one another, as may be proved by experiment. It appears, that if the partial footstalks are moved, and collapse toward the petiolii, or these toward the trunk; the little leaves, whose motion is usually primary to these, should be affected also; yet experiment proves that it is possible to touch the footstalks in such a manner as to affect them only, and make them apply themselves to the trunk, while the leaves feel nothing of the touch. But this cannot be, unless the footstalks are so disposed as that they can fall to the trunk, without suffering their leaves to touch any part of the plant in their passage, because, if they do, they are immediately affected.

Thirdly, winds and heavy rains make the leaves of the sensitive plant contract and close; but no such effect is produced from slight showers.

Fourthly, 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 leaves, or foliola, 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 daybreak; the leaves and footstalks were collapsed as in its most profound sleep, and on exposing it to the light, above twenty minutes passed before it was expanded.

Fifthly, in the month of 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.

Sixthly, 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 nine o'clock in the morning, 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 still 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.

Seventhly, 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 way, and often with more force. It is of no consequence what the substance is with which the plant is touched, it answers alike to all; but there may be observed a little spot, distinguishable by its paler colour, in the articulations of its leaves, where the greatest and nicest sensibility is evidently placed.

Eighthly, Duhamel having observed, about the 15th of September, in moderate weather, the natural motion of a branch of a sensitive plant, remarked, that at nine in the morning it formed with the stem an angle of 100 degrees; at noon, 112 degrees; at three afternoon, it returned to 100, and after touching the branch, the angle was reduced to 90. Three quarters of an hour afterwards, it had mounted to 112; and at eight at night, it descended again, without being touched, to 90. The day after, in finer weather, the same branch, at eight in the morning, made an angle of 135 degrees 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 afterwards, it had risen to 145; and on being touched a third time, descended to 135, and remained in that position till five o'clock in the afternoon, when being touched a fourth time, it fell to 110.

Ninthly, the parts of the plants which have collapsed, afterwards unfold themselves, and return to their former expanded state. The time required for that purpose varies, according to the vigour 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 footstalks, 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 be reinstated in their former position.

Tenthly, 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 footstalk, its antagonist shuts, as do the other pairs 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 footstalk 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 one half the diameter, the branches situated between 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, as was observed above. Lastly, a whole wing being cut off with precaution near its insertion into the common footstalk, 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.

Eleventhly, 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 footstalk; then the footstalk itself; then the branch or common footstalk; 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 influence 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 acid liquor corrodes the substance of it; but at that time, not only the particular leaf, but all the leaves placed on the same footstalk, close themselves up. The vapour 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 of oil of almonds over them; though this last application destroys many plants.

From the preceding experiments the following conclusions may be fairly drawn. First, the contraction of the parts of the sensitive plant is occasioned by an external force, and the contraction is in proportion to the force. Secondly, all bodies which can exert any force affect the sensitive plant; some by the touch or by agitation, as the wind or rain; some by chemical influence, as heat and cold. Thirdly, 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 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 inquire. But it is evident 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 vegetable 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 The sleep of plants is a metaphorical expression, and has not the least resemblance to the sleep of animals. 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.

The fibres of vegetables have been compared with the muscles of animals, and the motions of the sensitive plant have been supposed to be 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 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.