SIXTH WEEK-SATURDAY.

INSTINCT.

In proceeding from examining the state of plants during winter, to the consideration of that of animals, the subject of Instinct forces itself on our attention. This is one of the most mysterious and wonderful of all the qualities inherent in organized beings, and, in its operation, exhibits so distinctly a Designing Cause, separate from the being which possesses it, as to be calculated, more perhaps than almost any other natural phenomenon, to carry to the inquiring mind a settled conviction of a supreme and intelligent Creator.

Instinct has been defined to be "the operation of the principle of organized life, by the exercise of certain natural powers, directed to the present or future good of the individual ;" and it has been distinguished from reason, by considering the latter as "the operation of the principle of intellectual life, by the exercise of certain acquired powers, directed to the same end."* This definition, without entering into the theory with which it is connected, seems sufficiently accurate to answer our present object.

Symptoms of an instinctive principle, as thus defined, are to be found in various productions of the vegetable world. Two or three instances of this kind may be mentioned.

A strawberry offset, planted in a patch of sand, will send forth almost the whole of its runners in the direction in which the proper soil lies nearest.

When a tree, which requires much moisture, has been planted in a dry soil, in the vicinity of water, it has been observed, that much the greater proportion of its roots have been directed towards the water.

*Good's 'Book of Nature,' vol. ii. p. 141.

Trees which have sprung up on a bare rock, will send out their roots in every direction, till they reach the soil below. Every one is familiar with this fact, who has frequented a wooded rocky district.

A fact of a similar nature, which is noticed, I think, by Lord Kames, and which I have myself witnessed, occurred at the Abbey of Sweetheart, in Galloway, where an ash-tree, growing on the wall which surrounds the abbey, after exhausting the small quantity of soil which had collected on its site, stopped from growing for a time, and seemed to unite all its strength in sending down a root to the ground. As soon as this root had established itself in the soil, the tree began again to flourish and increase, till it grew to a considerable size.

I have somewhere seen an account of a tree, which grew in the valley of the Earn, in Perthshire, if I mistake not, on a scanty soil, by the bank of a stream, over which, in its immediate vicinity, a footbridge, covered with turf, had been erected. The tree, taking advantage of this circumstance, pushed its roots through the dead turf of the bridge, till they fastened in the fertile soil, which happened to be on the other side of the stream; and then, swelling and strengthening its new organ of communication, drew sufficient nourishment from this source to supply all the wants of its nature.

All facts of this kind, and many more that might be mentioned, may, in my opinion, be clearly attributed to the principle of instinct.

Of instinct in animals, Dr. Good gives the following curious notices :-"All the different species of birds, in constructing their nests, not only adhere to a peculiar plan, but, whenever they can obtain them, to peculiar kinds of materials; but, if these materials be not to be procured, the accommodating power of the instinctive principle directs them to others, and suggests the best substitutes. Thus, the redbreast uniformly prefers oak leaves as a lining for her nest, wherever she can acquire them; but, if these are not to be had, she supplies the want by moss and hair. So, when the bird is of a small size, and the eggs are naturally numerous, the nest is

always made proportionally warm, that the nestlings may all equally partake of the vivifying heat. Thus, the wren, who lays from ten to eighteen eggs, constructs her little edifice with the greatest care, and of the warmest materials; while the plover and the eagle, whose eggs are so few, that the body may easily cover them, build with little solicitude, and sometimes content themselves with the naked cleft of a rock. And thus, too, in very cold winters in Lapland, the fond waterfowl will occasionally strip the down off its breast, to line its nest and protect its progeny. When a wasp, in attempting to transport a dead companion from the nest, finds the load too heavy, he cuts off its head and carries it out in two portions.

These illustrations may suffice for the present, especially as by far the greater share of the facts relative to the animal creation, which I am about to adduce, must be referred to the same principle. Instinct, I may add, as in some of the above instances, does not unfrequently resemble reason, and it may be united with, and modified by, this quality; but it may always be distinguished from it by this, that its operations are generally perfect of their kind; that its powers are precisely the same in all generations; that they belong, nearly in an equal degree, to all individuals of the same species; and that its functions proceed blindly towards the attainment of an important object, the use and tendency of which is not perceived by the creature itself.

I have said, that this principle is probably calculated, better than any other natural phenomenon, to lead the mind to an acknowledgement of a Divine Hand. Let us revert, for a few moments, to this view.

In examining the general structure of the universe, we observe a few simple, though vast and comprehensive, powers inherent in matter, which, by their universal and uniform operation, move Nature with the same regularity as if it were a mighty machine impelled by brute force; and hence the indolent or skeptical may be inclined to rest in the existence of these powers as an ultimate fact, without seeking for an intelligent Creator, from whom they emanated, and by whom they have been adjusted

and regulated. The same thing may take place in contemplating the structure of organized bodies. So much of mere mechanical power enters into every process of their formation, growth, and preservation, that, although it does seem to be the blindness of utter stupidity to deny to these productions unequivocal marks of wise and beneficent design, it is possible to conceive, that, in tracing the mere physical laws by which their various. properties are governed, the cold calculations of a contracted mind may proceed no further. On turning from these appearances of external nature, to the operations of rational creatures, such minds may be led to admire the wisdom which contrives, and the power and skill which executes, the various plans of life, without directing one serious thought beyond the intelligence of the immediate agent. But it requires a still greater degree of obtuseness and of obstinacy, to resist the evidence of a designing and bountiful Creator, in the wonders of instinct. These are altogether independent of reasoning powers, and impel organized beings, by a sagacity, obviously not their own, to compass important ends, which, though essential to the welfare, and even to the very existence, not only of the individual, but of the species, could not, by any possibility, be within their contemplation, being far beyond the range of their limited faculties. Here, then, there is a designing cause, distinct from, and superior to, the agent; and this is the more clearly discernible, because its operations are governed by other than mere mechanical powers. "I look upon instinct," says Addison, "as upon the principle of gravitation in bodies, which is not to be explained by any known qualities inherent in the bodies themselves, nor upon any laws of mechanism; but, according to the best notions of the greatest philosophers, is an immediate impression from the First Mover, and the Divine energy acting in the creatures; such an operation of the Supreme Being as that which determines all the portions of matter to their proper centre."

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SEVENTH WEEK-SUNDAY.

ON SEEING GOD IN HIS WORKS.

ALMOST all men, not in the lowest stages of barbarism or degradation, are capable of admiring the beauties of Nature. Even the dullest and most unreflecting mind is, at times, more or less vividly impressed with the wonderful skill and beauty so profusely scattered over all creation. But the intelligent eye is always delighted, and frequently kindled into rapture, by the rich and splendid scenery that on every side solicits its attention. Our susceptibility of impressions of grandeur or beauty, deserves to be ranked among our original faculties; for it is observable in all classes of the human family,-refined and exalted in the bosom of the enlightened European, and not unfelt by the savage tenant of the African or American desert. A love of Nature appears to be implanted in man, to feed the flame of religion in his soul,— to assist in leading him from the wonderfully contrived objects around him to a belief in an intelligent and bountiful Creator. We are told in Holy Scripture, that God never left Himself without a witness to the human race, inasmuch as His power and goodness may be always clearly known from the exuberant plenty and beauty scattered over the earth, their magnificent abode. As they had hearts to feel a sentiment of gratitude for bounty lavishly bestowed, and understandings to reason from effects to causes, the ancient heathen were altogether inexcusable in not knowing the true God, the great First Cause of all, and the source of " every good and perfect gift." They wandered from the right way, only because they were heedless or wilfully perverse. Their feelings and powers became the instruments of their selfdelusion; and, instead of seeing in Nature a supreme and infinite God, they saw a thousand grovelling divinities;