know this? Not by having been taught; for they do thus when kept always by themselves; not by experiment, for all do so from the first; not by reason, for it is a thing not within the province of reason, until taught by facts. These animals know what no human being, under the circumstances, possibly could know; or they do not understand their own conduct, but are under direction of a wisdom acting through them, by a law which we have termed instinct.

BARN FOWLS. The above examples suffice to illustrate and confirm our definition; but for the sake of call· ing the attention of the young to the operations of instinct, let us observe them as illustrated in an animal with which all are familiar.

1. Why does the hen provide a nest for her eggs? Why does she not drop them about promiscuously? What has taught her to attach any value to them, or, if she value them, so to arrange them in a nest as to be able to cover them all with her feathers? Here, certainly, is design; but not springing from any wisdom in the untaught animal, for no reason, until taught by observation, could explain the means of hatching eggs. Here animal instinct first taught human reason.

2. Why does the hen, having filled her nest with eggs, incline to set upon them? It is a most self-denying business for the hen, which delights in roving about in quest of food, to be confined to a single spot. She could not, ordinarily, be made to stay there a moment. Scarcely a cord would suffice to bind her there. But here is some

thing stronger than any cord. It holds her, night and day, for three long weeks, to her chosen prison; from which she departs only at intervals long enough to get the food and drink essential to life. Sometimes she wastes away, and even dies of starvation, upon the nest. This cannot be explained by affection for her eggs, nor by any "pleasure which the bird is supposed to receive from the pressure of the smooth convex surface of the shells against the abdomen," for she often continues to set, after the eggs are removed; nor is it referable to example or instruction; for a hen raised by herself from a chick artificially hatched will do the same.

3. Why is the hen careful, when she leaves her nest for food, to return to it before the eggs become cold? What has taught her that a chill upon the egg destroys the chick? If food is not so accessible as to fill her crop within her time, she returns to the nest hungry, imparts a fresh warmth to the eggs, and goes again. If she cannot obtain food without leaving. her nest too long, she ordinarily pines with hunger.

4. After the chickens are hatched, why does the hen brood over and protect them? At all other times, when not setting, she perches upon a pole; nothing would induce her to expose herself upon the ground. She seems to prize the comfort and protection of her young above her own safety. How does she know that they require covering? She does not need any herself. Such a covering spread over her would be very oppressive. What has taught her, that the same genial warmth which hatched the chickens is, for a time, required to cherish them?

5. How is it that all hens have the same method of calling their chickens? They can make a variety of other noises; but when they call their young, they uniformly cluck. It is not because they remember that their parent clucked to them, when they were young; for those hatched and raised artificially do thus. And this cluck, all chickens, from the first, readily understand. If there be ducks or goslings among them, to these the cluck is unnatural. Slow to regard it, they stray from their guardian and plunge into the water, despite of her entreaties. Hens cluck only while setting and brooding, the ordinary cluck seeming designed to inform others of their engagement; and their peculiar rapid cluck, to call their chickens to food or from danger.

6. Why do hens and all other animals, after cherishing their young till they are able to take care of themselves, become as indifferent towards them as to all others of their species? We can readily see, that if the parental and filial affection were retained among them, as it is among human beings, it would become a source of immense evil to man; and perhaps, as animals have not reason to control it, lead to their ultimate extermination.

The

answer must be found, where we must look for the an swers to all our inquiries upon this point, in that power or law of instinct which we interpret the wisdom of the Creator, opera ing through animal mind as its instrument.

QUESTIONS ON CHAPTER III.

What place does instinct hold in brutes? Has man instinct? Define instinct. What have animals in common with man? What has man which the brute has not? What is the first distinction between instinct and reason? Illustrate this in the case of the child. In the case of the chicken. The second distinction between instinct and reason? Explain this. The third distinction? What does the entire range of instinct embrace? What is said of each species- the eagle, the duck, the cat, &c.? How is it with reason? What is said of Bees? Butterflies? Spiders? The mining spider? Fishes? The violet crab? Queries concerning the hen- providing a nest — setting — not allowing the eggs to become cold-brooding — clucking — becoming alienated from her offspring? Where must the answer be found?

CHAPTER IV.

NATURE OF THE HUMAN MIND.

INQUIRIES Concerning the human mind are of two kinds, ontological and psychological. The former respect its substance; the latter its phenomena. As we can know little or nothing of the former, true philosophy is mostly concerned with the latter. Some would reject or postpone all ontological inquiries; but when we are about to discourse upon any subject, it is of some importance to settle, so far as possible, what cannot, as well as what can, be known of it.

DEFINITION OF THE MIND.

What, then, is the mind? It is not a property, or appendage; it is a living and conscious being. It is not something that man possesses; it is what he is. It is that which he designates when he says I. Annihilate the mind, and you annihilate the man. The body is an instrument; it is a tool, a thing. The mind is an intelligent agent. In popular language, a man speaks of his mind as something distinct from himself. He then means to designate his mental powers, or to speak of the mind in distinction from the body. But, in strict philosophical accuracy, the mind is the man. "Do you think," said Socrates, after he had swallowed the fatal cup, "that the body which you will soon see laying here, cold and stiff, is myself? I shall be gone."

CREATION OF THE HUMAN MIND.

However curiously the Creator's hand might have wrought the frame of the first man, had not the more wonderful work been performed, the essential prerogatives of the man would have been wanting. There might have been an eye, wrought in the most finished style of artistic skill, but that eye could not see; an ear, but it could not hear; a hand, but it could have no cunning; a tongue, but it could not speak: there would have been only a mass of senseless, organized matter. But the breath of the Almighty rendered that matter instinct with living mind; it was by virtue of this that those eyes opened on creation, and a world of wonders burst on the vision. Those ears were saluted with the melodies of rejoicing nature; the taste was gratified with delicious fruits; the thirst assuaged with crystal waters; the touch saluted with downy carpets and soft breezes; the smell regaled with spicy breezes and sweet odors, because the living mind was there. Lifting the kindling eye upon this bright creation, every part of which, like a polished mirror, reflected its Maker's image to the sinless mind, man awoke to those exalted strains in which the morning stars sang together, and the sons of God shouted for joy.

THE ESSENCE OF MIND.

By the essence of mind we denote its substance, or that of which it is made. Respecting this, philosophy is at a stand. The learned and the ignorant are alike at fault here. Indeed, the more we truly learn, the more are we convinced of our utter ignorance on this point. "He, indeed, it may always safely be presumed, knows least of the mind, who thinks that he knows its substance best. What is the soul?' was a question once put to Marivaux. 'I know nothing of it,' he answered, but that it is spiritual and immortal.' 'Well,' said his friend, 'let us ask Fontenelle, and he will tell us what it is.' 'No,' cried Marivaux; 'ask any body but Fonteneile, for he has