brutes to do many things which are needed only as means for the
attainment of some ulterior purpose." When the butterfly extracts the
nectar from the flowers which she loves most, she meets a want of her
physical nature which demands satisfaction at the moment; but when, in
opposition to her appetite, she proceeds to the flowerless shrub to
deposit her eggs upon the leaves best suited to support her
unthought-of progeny, she is not influenced by any desire for the
immediate gratification of her senses, but is led to the act by some
dim impulse, in order that an ultimate object may be provided for to
which she has no reference at the time. We are surprised to find it
declared, in the very interesting "Psychological Inquiries" of Sir B.C.
Brodie, that the desire for food is the simplest form of an instinct,
and that such an instinct goes far towards explaining others which are
more complicated. It is true that the appetites and passions of animals
have an ultimate object, but they are impelled to action by a desire
for immediate gratification only; but when we speak of an instinct, we
mean something more than a mere want or desire,--we have chiefly in
view the end beyond the blind instrumentality by which it is reached.

When we watch the movements of a young bee, as it first goes forth from
its waxen cradle, we are forced to recognize an influence at work which
is unlike reason, and which is neither appetite nor any mechanical
principle of organic life. Rising upon the comb, and holding steadily
with its tiny feet, with admirable adroitness the young bee smooths its
wings for its first flight, and rubs its body with its fore legs and
antennae; then walking along the comb to the mouth of the hive, it
mounts into the air, flies forth into the fields, alights upon the
proper flowers, extracts their juices, collects their pollen, and,
kneading it into little balls, deposits them in the sacks upon its
feet; and then returning to its hive, it delivers up the honey and the