learned by experience. The young bee, for instance, the moment it leaves the cell where it has been produced and cradled, cleans its body, smooths its wings, then leaves its hive, and flies, without a guide or teacher, to the nearest flower, where, using its feelers, and inserting its proboscis, it sips the sweet nectar with which the Author of Nature has, for its use, filled so many vegetable cups, and then returns to its native roof, tracing its solitary way through the trackless air, and deposits the gleanings of its industry, to add to the hoarded treasures of the parent swarm. Then, again, it exudes the secreted wax from the rings of its body; and, still without instruction, begins to form those wonderful hexagonal cells, the scientific construction of which the mathematician has found such reason to admire. All this is instinct.

Yet, though there is wisdom here, it is not that of the animal, but of its Creator. It has been guided to these intelligent works by a blind impulse. This, however, is not the case with many of the actions of the inferior creation; and, however difficult it may be to draw the line between reason and instinct, I believe no person who has, without prejudice, studied the character and habits of the living creatures below him, will find it easy to deny them at least some glimpses of that higher faculty to which his own species has the most appropriate claim. A few well-authenticated instances will illustrate this remark.

I have the following anecdote from a gentleman* of undoubted veracity, and acute observation, in the vicinity of Dumfries. A few years ago, this gentleman had beautified his residence, by converting a morass in its neighborhood into an extensive piece of water, which he had stocked with fish; and, as places of retreat for these tenants of his lake, he had caused numerous roots of trees to be thrown in here and there, which were usually hid below the surface. In the year 1836, however, the unusually dry spring caused the necessary supply of water unexpectedly to fail, and the pond sank so low, that some * James Lennox, Esq. of Dalscairth.

of the roots made their appearance, and on one of these, more elevated than the others, a pair of wild ducks constructed their inartificial nest; and the female had already laid some eggs, when the weather changed, and the descending rains having filled the streams by which the lake was fed, the surface gradually rose, and threatened to overwhelm the labors of this luckless pair, and to send their eggs adrift upon the waves. Here instinct had no

resource. It was an unexpected occurrence, for which this faculty could not provide; but if any glimmerings of reason belonged to these fond parents, it might be expected to be exerted. And so it was. Both the duck and the drake were observed to be busily employed in collecting and depositing materials; presently the nest, which the rising waters had already reached, was seen to emerge as it were from the flood; more and more straw and grass were added, till several inches of new elevation was gained, and the nest, with its precious contents, appeared to be secure. Here the mother patiently brooded her full time; and one duckling rewarded her care; when, just as it had escaped from the shell, another torrent of rain fell, more sudden and more violent than the first; the water rose higher and higher; the nest, and remaining eggs, were swept away. In this emergency, the whole attention of the parents was given to the living progeny, which was safely conveyed by them to the shore, where another nest was constructed; and thus their sagacity and solicitude were finally crowned with success.

An example, it should seem, of a still higher order of intelligence, is recorded by Mr. Jesse, in his 'Gleanings in Natural History,' which came under his own observation. "I was one day," says he, "feeding the poor elephant (who was so barbarously put to death at Exeter Change) with potatoes, which he took out of my hand. One of them, a round one, fell on the floor, just out of the reach of his proboscis. He leaned against his wooden bar, put out his trunk, and could just touch the potato, but could not pick it up. After several ineffectual efforts, he at last blew the potato against the

opposite wall with sufficient force to make it rebound; and he then, without difficulty, secured it." If we can believe that this extraordinary action was any thing but an ebullition of anger which led him to puff away the root which he could not secure,—that this half-reasoning animal, as the elephant has been called, really intended the potato to rebound within his reach, it is impossible to deny the justice of Mr. Jesse's conclusion, that it could not be instinct which taught him to procure his food in this manner; and that it must, therefore, have been reason which "enabled him to be so good a judge of cause and effect."

In some of the insect tribes, there seems to be an extraordinary faculty, which, if it can be called instinct, surely approaches to the highest faculty possessed by man,—I mean the power of communicating information by some natural language. Huber affirms," that Nature has given to ants a language of communication, by the contact of their antennæ; and that, with these organs, they are enabled to render mutual assistance in their labors and in their dangers, discover again their route when they have lost it, and make each other acquainted with their necessities." This power seems to be confirmed by what occurred to Dr. Franklin. Upon discovering a number of ants regaling themselves with some treacle in one of his cupboards, he put them to the rout, and then suspended the pot of treacle by a string from the ceiling. He imagined that he had put the whole army to flight, but was surprised to see a single ant quit the pot, climb up the string, cross the ceiling, and regain its nest. In less than half an hour, several of its companions sallied forth, traversed the ceiling, and reached the repository, which they constantly revisited, till the treacle was consumed. The same power of communication belongs also to bees and wasps; as may be proved by any one who carefully attends to their habits. This is their language, not of articulate sounds, indeed, but of signs,a language which, as Jesse observes, "we can have no doubt is perfectly suited to them, adding, we know not how much, to their happiness and enjoyments, and fur

nishing another proof that there is a God all-mighty, allwise, and all-good, who has ornamented the universe' with so many objects of delightful contemplation, that we may see Him in all his works, and learn, not only to fear Him for his power, but to love Him for the care which He takes of us, and of all his created beings." Whether this power of communication be rational or instinctive, it is obviously only suited to be useful to a being possessed, at least to a certain extent, of intellectual faculties, of the power of forming designs,—of combining, with others, to execute them, of accommodating itself to circumstances, and, therefore, of remembering, of comparing, of judging, and of resolving. These are assuredly acts of reasoning; at least, I know not under what other category to arrange them.

The instance which Dr. Darwin gives of a wasp, noticed by himself, is in point. As he was walking one day in his garden, he perceived a wasp upon the gravel walk, with a large fly, nearly as big as itself, which it had caught. Kneeling down, he distinctly saw it cut off the head and abdomen, and then, taking up with its feet the trunk or middle portion of the body, to which the wings remained attached, fly away; but a breeze of wind, acting on the wings of the fly, turned round the wasp, with its burden, and impeded its progress. Upon this, it alighted again on the gravel walk, deliberately sawed off, first one wing, and then another, and having thus removed the cause of its embarrassment, flew off with its booty.

Here we have contrivance, and recontrivance; a resolution accommodated to the case, judiciously formed and executed; and, on the discovery of a new impediment, a new plan adopted, by which final success was obtained. There is, undoubtedly, something more than instinct in all this. And yet we call the wasp a despica

ble and hateful insect!

There is, I am well aware, a great reluctance in some minds to admit that any of the lower animals can be gifted with a faculty superior to blind unreasoning intinct. It is imagined that this would be to confound,

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man with the brutes, and thus to deprive him of that distinctive superiority on which he founds his strongest argument for the immortality of the human soul. Of such a consequence, I have no fear. It is not on natural arguments that the Christian's hope of future happiness is chiefly founded, but on that gospel, which has "brought life and immortality to light." Yet, I freely admit, that the argument from natural religion is satisfactory as a proof of the coincidence of revelation with the rational expectations, and the analogical reasonings, of man. But these expectations and reasonings are founded on stronger grounds than that of the absence of every thing approaching to reason among the lower animals, otherwise, I fear, they could not be readily sustained. Whatever may be their strength, however, it is delightful to know that our assurance comes from a higher source, and that we are not reduced, like one of the most enlightened and virtuous of heathens, to end all our anxious arguments on this most important subject, with the feeble and doubting conclusion, "Quod, si in hoc erro, libenter erro. [“If in this I am in error, I am content to err."]

SEVENTH WEEK-TUESDAY.

HYBERNATION OF INSECTS.-EGGS.

In attending to the state of animated nature in winter, as compared with that of summer, few things are more striking than the almost total disappearance, during the former season, of all the insect tribes. In the warmth and sunshine of the summer months, all Nature was instinct with life; and the abundance and variety of the more minute animals could not fail to attract the observation, and excite the wonder, of all who have eyes to see. The bee, the dragon-fly, the butterfly, the gnat,

* Cicero.