Enquiries and Correspondence.

ON INSTINCT.

(Continued from page 207.)

BUT if it be admitted that we have rightly stated the application of the term, what, we may ask, is contained in the examples adduced? or what inferences are we to make as to the nature of instinct itself, as a source and principle of action? We shall, perhaps, best aid ourselves in the inquiry by an example, and let us take a very familiar one, of a caterpillar taking its food. The caterpillar seeks at once the plant which furnishes the appropriate aliment, and this even as soon as it creeps from the ovum ; and the food being taken into the stomach, the nutritious part is separated from the innutritious, and is disposed of for the support of the animal. The question then is, What is contained, in this instance, of instinct? In the first place, What does the vital power in the stomach do, if we generalise the account of the process, or express it in its most general terms? Manifestly it selects and applies appropriate means to an immediate end, prescribed by the constitution; first of the particular organ, and then of the whole body or organisms. This, we have admitted, is not instinct. But what does the caterpillar do? Does it not also select and apply appropriate means to an immediate end prescribed by its particular organisation and constitution? But there is something more: it does this according to circumstances; and this we call instinct. But may there not be still something more involved?

A dozen of these

What shall we say of Hüber's humble-bees? were put under a bell-glass, along with a comb of about ten silken Cocoons, so unequal in height as not to be capable of standing steadily; to remedy this, two or three of the humble-bees got upon the comb, stretched themselves over its edge, and, with their heads downwards, fixed their forefeet on the table on which the comb stood; and so with their hindfeet, kept the comb from falling;-when these were weary, others took their places. In this constrained and painful posturefresh bees relieving their comrades at intervals, and each working in its turn-did these affectionate little insects support the comb for nearly three days, at the end of which time they had prepared sufficient wax to build pillars with it; and, what is still further curious, the first pillars having got displaced, the bees had again recourse to the What, then, is involved in this case? Evidently selection and appropriation of means to an immediate end as before; but observe, according to varying circumstances.

same manoeuvre.

the same

And here we are puzzled-for this becomes understanding; at least, no materialist, however predetermined to contrast and oppose instinct to understanding, but ends at last in facts in which he himself can make out no difference. But are we hence to conclude that the instinct is the same, and identical with, the human understanding? Certainly not; though the difference is not in the essential of the

definition, but in an addition to, or modification of, that which is essentially the same in both. In such cases, namely, as that which we have last adduced, in which instinct assumes the semblance of understanding, the act indicative of instinct is not clearly prescribed by the constitution or laws of the animal's peculiar organisation; but arises out of the constitution and previous circumstances of the animal, and those habits, wants, and that predetermined sphere of action and operation, which belong to the race, and beyond the limits of which it does not pass. If this be the case, I may venture to assert that I have determined an appropriate sense for instinct; namely, that it is a power of selecting and applying appropriate means to an immediate end, according to circumstances and the changes of circumstances, these being variable and varying; but yet so as to be referable to the general habits, arising out of the constitution and previous circumstances of the animal, considered not as an individual, but as a race.

We may here, perhaps, most fitly explain the error of those who contend for the identity of reason and instinct, and believe that the actions of animals are the result of invention and experience. They have, no doubt, been deceived in their investigation of instinct by an efficient cause simulating a final cause; and the defect in their reasoning has arisen in consequence of observing, in the instinctive operations of animals, the adaptation of means to a relative end, from the assumption of a deliberate purpose. To this freedom, or choice in action and purpose, instinct, in any appropriate sense of the word, cannot apply; and to justify and explain its introduction, we must have recourse to other and higher faculties than any manifested in the operations of instinct. It is evident, namely, in turning our attention to the distinguishing character of human action, that there is, as in the inferior animals, a selection and appropriation of means to ends; but it is (not only according to circumstances, not only according to varying circumstances, but it is) according to varying purposes. But this is an attribute of the intelligent will, and no longer even mere understanding.

And here let me observe, that the difficulty and delicacy of this investigation are greatly increased by our not considering the understanding (even our own) in itself, and as it would be were it not accompanied with, and modified by, the co-operation of the will, the moral feeling, and that faculty, perhaps less distinguished by the name of reason, of determining that which is universal and necessary, of fixing laws and principles, whether speculative or practical, and of contemplating a final purpose or end. This intelligent will-having a self-conscious purpose, under the guidance and light of the reason by which its acts are made to bear as a whole upon some end in and for itself, and to which the understanding is subservient as an organ in the faculty of selecting and appropriating the means-seems best to account for that progressiveness of the human race, which so evidently marks an insurmountable distinction and impassable barrier between man and the inferior animals; but which would be inexplicable, were there no other difference than in the design of their intellectual faculties.

Man, doubtless, has his instincts, even in common with the inferior

animals; and many of these are the germs of some of the best feelings of his nature. What, amongst many, might I present as a better illustration, or more beautiful instance, than the stirp, or maternal instinct? But man's instincts are elevated and ennobled by the moral ends and purposes of his being. He is not destined to be the slave of blind impulses,-a vessel purposeless, unmeant. He is constituted, by his moral and intelligent will, to be the first free being, the masterwork and the end of nature; but this freedom and high office can only co-exist with fealty and devotion to the service of truth and virtue.

And though we may even be permitted to use the term instinct, in order to designate those high impulses which in the minority of man's rational being, shape his acts unconsciously to ultimate ends; and which, in constituting the very character and impress of the humanity, reveal the guidance of Providence; yet the convenience of the phrase, and the want of any other distinctive appellation for an influence, de supra, working unconsciously in and on the whole human race, should not induce us to forget that the term instinct is only strictly applicable to the adaptive power, as the faculty, even in its highest proper form of selecting and adapting appropriate means to proximate ends, according to varying circumstances; a faculty which, however, only differs from human understanding in consequence of the latter being enlightened by reason; and that the principles which actuate man, as ultimate ends, and are designed for his conscious possession and guidance, are best and most properly named ideas.

THE SPANISH ARMADA.

ATTEND all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise,
I tell of the thrice-famous deeds she wrought in ancient days,
When that great Fleet Invincible against her bore in vain
The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain.
It was about the lovely close of a warm summer's day,
There came a gallant merchant ship full sail to Plymouth bay;
Her crew hath seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's isle,
At earliest twilight, on the waves lie heaving many a mile;
At sunrise she escaped their van, by God's especial grace;
And the tall Pinta, till the noon, had held her close in chase.
Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall,
The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecumbe's lofty hall;
Many a light fishing-bark put out to pry along the coast;
And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post.
With his white hair unbonneted the stout old sheriff comes;
Behind him march the Halberdiers, before him sound the drums;
His yeomen, round the market-place, make clear and ample space,
For there behoves him to set up the standard of her Grace.
And haughtily the trumpet's peal, and gaily dance the bells,
As slow upon the labouring wind the royal blazon swells.
Look how the Lion of the sea lifts up his ancient crown,
And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down.
So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard field,
Bohemia's plume, and Genoa's bow, and Cæsar's eagle shield :

So glared he when at Agincourt in wrath he turned to bay,

And crushed and torn beneath his claws the princely hunters lay.
Ho strike the flagstaff deep, sir knight: ho scatter flowers, fair maids:
Ho! gunners, fire a loud salute: ho! gallants, draw your blades:
Thou sun shine on her joyously-ye breezes waft her wide;
Our glorious SEMPER EADEM-the banner of our pride.

The freshening breeze of eve unfurled that banner's massy fold,
The parting gleam of sunshine kissed that haughty scroll of gold;
Night sunk upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea-
Such night in England ne'er had been, nor e'er again shall be.
From Eddystone to Berwick bounds, from Lynn to Milford Bay,
That time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day;
For swift to east and swift to west the warming radiance spread;
High on St. Michael's Mount it shone-it shone on Beachy Head.
Far on the deep the Spaniard saw, along each southern shire,
Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire;
The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves,
The rugged miners poured to war from Mendip's sunless caves.
O'er Longleat's towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks, the fiery herald flew;
He roused the shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beaulieu :
Right sharp and quick the bells all night rang out from Bristol town,
And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton down;
The sentinel on Whitehall Gate looked forth into the night,
And saw o'erhanging Richmond Hill the streak of blood-red light.
Then bugle's note and cannon's roar the death-like silence broke,
And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke.
At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires;
At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires;
From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear,
And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer;
And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet,
And the broad streams of flags and. pikes dashed down each roaring
street;

And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the din,
As fast from every village round the horse came spurring in,
And eastward straight from wild Blackheath, the warlike errand went,
And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant squires of Kent.
Southward from Surrey's pleasant hills flew those bright couriers forth;
High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started for the north;
And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still,
All night from tower to tower they sprang they sprang from hill to hill,
Till the proud Peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales-
Till like volcanoes flared to heaven the stormy hills of Wales-
Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely height-
Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light-
Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane,
And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain;
Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent,
And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent,
Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile,
And the red glare on Skiddaw roused the burghers of Carlisle.

MACAULAY.

Papers read before Young Men's Societies.

No. IV.

THE LOVE OF REPUTATION AS INFLUENCING THE MORAL CHARACTER.

Ir must be evident to all, who have at all considered this subject, that the word reputation is always used in a comparative sense. Independent of there being two kinds of reputation-a bad and a good-as the notoriety of Eratostratus, and the celebrity of Luther; it is clear that what is generally termed a good character, is susceptible of great varieties, and depends in a great measure upon extraneous circumstances; and, consequently, differs widely in different times and countries. The old Roman virtues, as those which characterised the elder and younger Brutus and the younger Cato, would hardly, in the present day, be deemed creditable to their possessors; the virtues of the Middle Ages, for instance, the endowment of monasteries and foundation of chantries, are open to the same remark; and yet these two classes of virtues once procured for their respective possessors an excellent reputation. So also in some parts of Ireland, at the present day, a good reputation may be acquired, amongst a certain class, by the perpetration of cold-blooded murder and wilful perjury; whilst among the North American Indians, a man covers his own head with honour in proportion as he strips the hairy covering from the skulls of his enemies. Many more examples might, but none need, be given, to show that the value of reputation must be determined, and its influence upon the moral character estimated, by the intellectual and moral character of those persons from whom it is sought to be obtained. The conclusion we draw, therefore, from this division of the subject, is, that a man whose actions are determined by the desire of present reputation, is as likely to do ill as to do well; the nature of his actions being influenced by the character of his associates, which may or may not be conformable to Christian principles. It is very certain that the man who desires posthumous fame will not altogether resemble the lover of present reputation, but will use very different means of acquiring that which must be accorded by posterity for such very different reasons. But the acquisition of posthumous fame either requires such a degree of foresight and reflection as cannot be possessed by ordinary men, or else it is acquired by the total absence of anxiety for any fame at all, other than that which is the lot of a good man. these reasons we cannot allow that it has any great influence upon the conduct of mankind in general, however powerful it may be in particular cases; nor must we forget, that the man whose actions are prompted only by a desire of reputation, either present or future, may do some little good to his fellow-men, but can do none whatever to himself; for, as we are told, that even when all our actions are dictated by the love of God we are but unprofitable servants, how much more useless must we be when they are fashioned and guided solely for the gratification of self.

For