ON INSTINCT. 
345 
impossible—we may call the instincts of animals those unknown 
faculties implanted in their constitution by the Creator, by which, 
independent of instruction, observation, or experience, and with¬ 
out a knowledge of the end in view, they are impelled to the 
performance of certain actions tending to the well-being of the 
individual and the preservation of Uie species; and with this 
description, which is in fact merely a confession of ignorance, we 
must, in the present state of metaphysical science, content our¬ 
selves. That instinct is dependent upon structure is very evident, 
as it invariably follows the development of the organization. 
We will now proceed to consider some of those actions that are 
generally considered as purely instinctive. To do this we must 
have recourse to the insect tribe, and the best example that can 
be produced is found in the remarkable instance of the bees’ cell. 
It is well known that the bees construct their combs with small 
cells on both sides, fit both for holding their store of honey, and for 
rearing their young. It has been demonstrated that, by making 
the bottom of the cells to consist of three planes meeting in a 
point, there is a saving of material and labour. The bees, as if 
acquainted with these principles of solid geometry, follow them 
most accurately,—the bottom of each cell being composed of 
three planes, which make obtuse angles with the side partitions 
and with one another, and meet in a point in the centre of the 
bottom; the three angles of the bottom being supported by 
three partitions on the other side of the comb, and the point of 
it by the common intersection of these three partitions. 
Shall I ask here. Who taught the bees to build their cells of an 
hexagonal figure? If a honeycomb were the work of human art, 
every man of contmon sense would conclude that he who in¬ 
vented the construction must have understood tlie principles on 
which it was constructed. I need not say that bees know none 
of these things. They work most geometrically, without any 
knowledge of geometry—somewhat like a child, who, by turning 
the handle of an organ, makes good music without any know¬ 
ledge of music. The art is not in the child, but in him who 
made the organ. In like manner, when a bee makes its combs 
so geometrically, the geometry is not in the bee, but in that 
great Geometrician who made the bee. 
The wasp will afford us another remarkable example of pure 
instinct. She digs holes in the sand, and in each hole she deposits 
an egg; but how is the worm after it is hatched to be nou¬ 
rished ? Here the instinct of the mother merits attention. 
Though she feeds upon flesh herself, and certainly knows not 
that an animal is to [jrocced from the egg, and far less that the 
