equally without the faculties which it is the sole property of such organs to develope. And hence, again, however curious and astonishing the powers they occasionally evince, they are powers that can only be resolved, as in the case of zoophytic worms, into the ever present and ever active law of instinct or organized life. We hear, indeed, at times, of the ascription of mental or corporeal passions to vegetables; of general feeling and ideas; of love and languishment, and desire and aversion. But all this is fancy, and proceeds from an erroneous and contracted view of the general nature of the law of instinct, and its extraordinary power of supplying the place of sense and reason, where these, or the organs in which they reside, are not present. We hear, in like manner, occasionally, of the brain, stomach, lungs, and nerves of vegetables; but all this is still more imaginary than the preceding; it is a mere fancy built upon a mere fancy: nobody has ever been capable of pointing out the probable or even possible seat of such organs, and they have only been idly conjectured because the faculties to which they give rise have been conjectured antecedently. Is there, then, no such thing as instinctive feeling ?-a term in every one's mouth, and which every one, till he tries, supposes he comprehends? What but an instinctive feeling is the love of life, the dread of death, the economy of pairing, and the desire of progeny ? Wherever feeling exists, these, in a certain sense, may unquestionably be called instinctive feelings; but it should be remembered that the expression is, in every instance, of a compound character, and involves two distinct ideas, which may exist either separately or conjointly: and we have the same reason for using the phrase instinctive intelligence as instinctive feeling: for we can only mean, or ought only to mean, instinct combined with intelligence, or instinct combined with feeling, according to the nature of the case before us. Combinations of this kind, indeed, are not unfrequent; and I shall presently proceed to produce examples of them: but it becomes necessary to observe, in the present place, that all the operations we are now adverting to, and which are usually characterized as instinctive feelings, as self-preserva tion, attachment to life, resistance of destruction, reproduction of the whole or of separate parts of the system, and even the economy of pairing, though often united with feeling, and not unfrequently with intelligence as well, occur, nevertheless, in a multiplicity of instances in which we have either direct proofs, or the most cogent reasons for believing, that there is neither feeling nor intelligence whatever; and that every thing is the result of pure, unintelligent, insentient instinct. I have just observed that the blood is alive: it has all the common properties of life; irritability, contractility, and a power of maintaining its natural scale of heat, whatever be the temperature of the atmosphere by which it is surrounded and it is perpetually showing its attachment to life by the due and discretionary exercise of these properties with a view of preserving life. It equally resists every excess of cold or of heat that may be injurious to it, and hence sometimes raises the thermometer and sometimes depresses it: it contracts itself, like the muscular fibre, upon the application of an appropriate stimulus, and conveys the principle of life, and powerfully assists in applying that principle to parts in which the vital action is languid, or has altogether ceased. There is no part of the animal system that evinces in a more eminent degree the faculty of self-preservation, or self-production, of attachment to life, or of resistance to whatever is injurious, than the blood; and yet every one knows that this faculty is pure, unmixed instinct, equally destitute of feeling or intelligence: it is, as I have already defined instinct to be in every instance, a "simple operation of the principle of organized life by the exercise of certain natural powers directed to the present or future good of the individual."* In the new-laid egg we have an equal proof of the same faculty of self * Compare here Girtanner's Mémoires sur l'Irritabilité, considerée comme Principe de Vie dans la Naturs organisée.-Jouru. de Physique, 1790. ! 2 preservation, the same attachment to life, and resistance to destruction. For, like the blood of a healthy adult, the new-laid egg, the few and simple vessels of which are merely in a nascent and liquescent state, and which can scarcely be regarded otherwise than as a fluid, is capable equally of counteracting heat, cold, and putrefaction, and does forcibly counteract them for a considerable period longer than an egg that has been frozen or in any other way deprived of its vital and instinctive principle. It is this vital and instinctive principle that alone matures the egg, and shapes the matter of which it consists into distinct and specific lineaments, and calls forth the power which it does not yet possess, of sensation and perception. In what way these attributes are produced we know not; but we see them issuing from the matter of the egg alone, when aided by the additional and cherishing power of simple heat. And, provided it be properly regulated and applied, it is of no importance from what quarter such heat is derived; for we have already had occasion to observe, that the warmth of a sand-bath or of an oven will answer as effectually as that of the mother's sitting over it. But let us not rest here: let us proceed to examples of the renewal or propagation of life, from parent stocks; to examples of the reproduction of the whole, or of separate parts of the system, in cases in which there is as obvious a destitution of sensation or intelligence; and where, as in the preceding instances, the whole must be the result of pure insentient instinct. There is not a single organ in the animal frame but what is perpetually reproducing itself, alternately dying and renewing; so that the same man of to-day has not an individual particle belonging to him of that which constituted his corporeal frame ten, fifteen, or twenty years ago. And yet the whole of this important change, this entire reproduction of the material system, though occurring in sentient and even in intelligent organs, occurs at the same time without any kind of feeling or consciousness in the individual, or the organs that constitute the individual. This very curious fact is still more obvious in the generation of new matter of every kind,-muscular, glandular, bony, and even nervous, upon the death of a considerable portion of an organ in consequence of external injury or other violence. The nice and admirable law by which the dead substance is carried off, and its place supplied by the gradual reproduction of fresh matter of the very same nature and properties, I have already explained.* In the separation of the dead from the living parts, there is generally, though not always, some degree of pain, from the increased local action that takes place, and more especially from the tension given to the skin by the secretion of sound and healthy pus, in order to effect its bursting; but in the actual generation of the new material that is to fill up the cavity, and supply the place of what is lost, there is no pain or sensation whatever in a healthy process; while, as I have likewise already observed, the pointing of the abscess, like the pointing of the seeds of peas or beans, in what direction soever they are sown, will be uniformly towards the surface,† whatever be the obstacles that must be overcome in order to reach it. The generation of life, then, no more necessarily demands or implies the existence of sensation, than attachment to life, or a self-preserving principle: it may be combined with it, but it may also exist separately or without it. Monro, indeed, has distinctly proved by experiment, that the limb of a frog can live and be nourished, and its wounds healed, without any nerve whatever, and, consequently, without any source or known possibility of sensation. Let us apply this reasoning, which I admit is thus far drawn from individual parts of the system alone, to a regeneration or reproduction of the entire system. The lungs or gills of an animal are precisely analogous to the leaves of a plant. All these, as I have already observed, are perpetually changing by a nicely balanced alternation of decay and reproduction. In animals and evergreen plants this change is so gradual as to elude all notice. In deciduous plants, on the contrary, it is sudden and obvious to every one; yet the same instinctive power that produces the one change produces also the other; and as in the former case we have a perfect consciousness that the effect takes place without any sensation or intelligence, no man will be so extravagant as to maintain that there is any sensation or intelligence concerned in the latter. But the very same process that produces the leaves or shoots of plants produces also their buds; the vegetable vessels are the same; there is no new principle employed, but merely an adaptation of the one common principle of instinct or the law of simple life to the production of a different effect; for the very same eye may, by too much or too little pruning of the wood, be converted into a shoot or into a bud. The buds of plants, however are their proper offspring; and in many cases as perfectly so as their seed lings, or those reared from seeds. In other instances we find a progeny equally perfect produced by a separation of bulbs or roots, or by radicles shooting out from creeping joints, as in the strawberry. In all which it would be absurd, even if plants were possessed of a nervous system, which they are not, to contend that a sense of feeling was more exerted than in the reproduction of the separate organs of an animal, to support the common wear and tear of animal life. Why, then, should it ever have been contended that such a kind of sensation is necessary in the formation of seeds, by the conjoint action of what have been denominated a male and female organization? The stimulus of moisture, of light, heat, and air, evolves equally the specific flower; and the ever-present and all-pervading law of Nature determines the different parts of the flower, or the different flowers themselves, to be of different characters: the farina is secreted from the anther, a part which is called the male organ; and as it drops upon the open tube of the pistil, which is denominated the female organ, it becomes a new stimulus, and excites to a new action. But neither stimulus nor action are necessarily sensation, nor the sources of sensation. The pistil, or rather the receptacle which lies at the bottom of the pistil, in consequence of this new excitation, evolves or produces a new material, which we call a seed; but during the formation and evolution of this seed, from first to last, there is no more necessity for supposing the existence of any thing like sensation, than during the antecedent stimulus of the light, and heat, and moisture, upon the parent stem by which the flower itself became evolved; or during the same stimulus upon the joints or bulbs of the plant by which an equally healthy and perfect progeny has, perhaps, been produced from these different organs. I have already observed, that in the lowest class of animals we meet with instances of reproduction equally varied, and of the very same nature: sometimes by buds or bulbs, as in the case of the polype; sometimes by slips or lateral offsets, as in one or two species of the leech; and sometines, and perhaps more generally, by seeds or ova. But as, in the tribes I now refer to, we meet with neither nerves or nervous system, and as the reproduction of living matter does not necessarily demand the existence of a nervous system, or of that corporeal feeling to which alone, so far as we are acquainted with nature, a nervous system is capable of giving birth; we have the strongest reason for supposing that the generation of progeny is, in these cases, as unaccompanied with passion or sensation as in the instance of plants. I have dwelt the longer upon this subject, as being anxions to divest one of the most elegant and interesting branches of natural history of the grossness and indelicacy with which it has been incrusted by the language and opinions of many modern physiologists; and to open it as widely as possible to the study and pursuit of every one. It must be obvious, I think, that instinct has no more necessary connexion with feeling or sensation than with intelligence; and that even the faculties of attachment to life, resistance to destruction, the economy of pairing, and the process of generation, though often combined with both sensation and intelligence, are not necessarily combined with either of them; that intelligence is not more discrepant from sensation than sensation is from instinct; that either may exist separately, and that all may exist together. Whence derive the young of every kind a knowledge of the peculiar powers that are to appertain to them hereafter, even before the full formation of the organs in which those powers are to reside? To adopt the beautiful language of the first physiologist of Rome, Cornua nata prius vitulo quam frontibus exstent, At catulei pantherarum, seymneique leonum, The young calf whose horns Ne'er yet have sprouted, with his naked front Scarce spring conspicuous; while the pinion'd tribes In like manner an infant, in danger of falling from its nurse's arms, stretches out its little hands to break the fall as though acquainted by experience with the use of such an action. We here meet with an instance of pure instinct; but we pursue the same conduct in adult age, and we have then an example of instinct combined with intelligence; and intelligence, instead of opposing So when caterpillars, the instinctive exertion, encourages and fortifies it. observes Mr. Smellie, are shaken from a tree, in whatever direction they descend, they all instantly turn towards the trunk and climb upwards, though till now they have never been on the surface of the ground. The vegetable kingdom offers us examples of simple instinct equally singular and marvellous. Thus the stalk of the convolvulus twines from the left or east by the south to the west, the face being towards the south: the phaseolus vulgaris, or kidney-bean, pursues the same course: while the honeysuckle and the hop take a perfectly reverse direction. Who will reveal to us the cause of these differences? : In the following instances the cause is obvious: it proceeds from the peculiar structure and power of the different animals to which they relate and it would perhaps be as obvious to us in the preceding, were we as intimately acquainted with the nature of plants as of animals. The squirrel, the fieldmouse, and the very curious bird called nut-hatch (sitta Europaa), live equally on hazel-nuts; but each of them opens them in a very different manner The squirrel, after rasping off the small end, splits the shell in two with his long fore-teeth, as a man does with his knife: the field-mouse nibbles a hole with his teeth as regular as if drilled with a wimble, and yet so small that it is wonderful how the kernel can be extracted through it; while the nut-hatch picks an irregular ragged hole with his bill; but as this artist has no paws to hold the nut firm while he pierces it, like an adroit workman he fixes it, as it were, in a vice in some cleft of a tree or in some crevice; when, standing over it, he readily perforates the stubborn shell; and while at work makes a rapping noise that may be heard at a considerable distance.t The sphex or ichneumon wasp, in its perfect state, feeds on the nectary of flowers; but as soon as she is fitted to deposite her eggs, she becomes actuated by an appetite of another kind. She first bores a small cylindrical hole in a sandy soil, into which, by accurately turning round, she drops an egg: she then seeks out a small green caterpillar that inhabits the leaves of the cabbage-plant, and which she punctures with her sting, yet so slightly and delicately as not to kill it; she then rolls it up into a circle, and places it in the sandy nest immediately over the egg. She continues the pursuit till she has counted twelve; and has, in like manner, deposited twelve caterpillars one over the other; and repeats the same process till she has exhausted herself of her entire stock of eggs. She immediately closes the holes and dies. *De Rer. Nat. v. 1038. † See White's Nat. Hist. of Selbourne intrusting her eggs to the parent heat of the sun. The egg in each separate cell or aperture is soon hatched, and finds its food duly prepared for it, and from its enfeebled state incapable of resisting its attack, though preserved from putrefaction by the little life that has remained to it. It feeds progressively on the twelve caterpillars; and by the time it has exhausted them, becomes fitted for, and converted into, a chrysalis; in due time it awakes from its dormancy, works its way to the surface of the earth, throws off its chrysalid investment, finds itself accommodated with wings, rises into the atmos phere, feeds on the honey of plants instead of on maggots; and at length pursues the very same train of actions to provide itself with a progeny which was pursued by the parent insect of the year before. In what I have thus far advanced, I have chiefly proved, however, that instinct may exist separately: I will next proceed to a few examples, in which it will be clear to every one that it may exist in conjunction with each of the other two principles of sensation and intelligence. And, first, as to its union with sensation. Wherever a nervous system is to be traced, which alone is the source of sensation, we have abundant proofs of such an alliance. We meet with it, without having language by which to describe it, in the glow and elasticity of health, in the satisfaction of a cheer ful meal, and in the refreshment of sound and natural sleep after fatigue; and we meet with it still more obviously, and in diversities which language is ca pable of characterizing, in all those natural emotions to which we have just adverted, and which, in consequence of such alliance, have obtained the popular name of instinctive sensations or feelings, but which in reality are peculiar instincts combined with peculiar feelings. Let us select a few other examples. We are told by Galen,* that on opening a goat big with young he found one of the young ones alive, which he hastily snatched up, and took into a room where there were various vessels severally fitted for the purpose with wine, oil, honey, milk, grains, and fruits. The little kid first rose upon its feet and walked; then shook itself, and scratched its side with one of its hoofs; it next smelt alternately at all the dishes before it, and at last fixed upon and licked up the milk. In this case the sense of smell went distinctly in aid of the instinctive search after food, and determined the particular kind: so that the instinct and the sensation co-operated. Thus rabbits, when left to the operation of pure instinct, dig holes in the ground for warmth and protection: but after continuing for some time in a domestic state, and finding that they can obtain a more comfortable asylum by other means, and with less labour, they seldom pursue, even when they have an opportunity, the instinctive process, but burrow in the straw, or whatever material is provided for them. In this case the sense of superior comfort combines itself, as in the preceding, with the instinct, and pursues the same end, though by a change of the means. So again, the new-born young of all animals, in whatever way they take their food, are at first stimulated by instinct alone. The lamb sucks, the chicken pecks, and the nestling of the sparrow gapes. In like manner, the mother secretes or selects its food from an instinctive stimulus alone. The udder of the dam swells and becomes painful, the crop of the pigeon does the same; and there are some birds, whose common food is grain, that during this season devour for their young, spiders and other insects, which nothing could induce them to touch at any other time. This sweet intercourse of natural action lays a foundation for something that in a short time shows itself to be superior to instinct, though it has often, but erroneously, been so denominated. The young of two different mothers, if interchanged as soon as they are born or hatched, are as satisfied with the foster or suppo sititious as with the natural parent: and the mothers, unless made suspicious of the deception, are as satisfied with their foster or supposititious young, But let the same interchange be attempted a week or a month afterward, and Short as has been the intervening period, there in no case will it succeed. * De Locis, lib. vi. cap. 6. |