gence. Illustrations equally striking, might be adduced by scores, for the difficulty, which I meet in this examination, is, not so much the scarcity, as the abundance of material. Industrious, powerful and intelligent as is the ant, it meets a formidable enemy in the ant-lion. Slow in its movements, and those invariably backward instead of forward, its cunning compensates for its infirmity, while at the same time it sets at naught the caution and sagacity of the ant. One would think that such a creature would be thankful for any chance game, any old carcass that it might have the good fortune to discover; but no; a decided epicure, it disdains every thing but the most exquisite delicacies.

Constructing a conical pit, it conceals its grim visage beneath the sand at the bottom, and patiently lies in wait for some unsuspecting ant; a fatal curiosity impels the insect to explore the den, or a careless step, precipitates it to the bottom, when the enormous pincers of the lion close unerringly upon the victim. Sometimes the ant stops half-way upon the declivity, but it is not yet out of danger; those twelve eyes quickly perceive the chance of escape, and their cunning owner, throws a cloud of sand and dirt after the retreating ant, which seldom fails to bring it stunned and blinded to the bottom. Having made a meal of the favorite food, it carefully bears every relic of the murder away from its den. Cast a pebble into the pit, and the trapper will somehow get it upon its back, and scramble up the sides with the ponderous load, balancing it with the skill of a wire-dancer; sometimes a misstep causes it to stumble, and the pebble rolls to the bottom. No way discouraged, the ant-lion retraces its steps, and again shouldering the burden, struggles up the little ravine, made by the descending stone,

Crabs, of which there are several species, present an interesting subject for contemplation.

Who has not heard of the annual journeys of the landcrab from hollow stumps and clefted rocks, to the sea-side? The soldier-like manner in which these singular creatures move, is indeed wonderful. Collecting by hundreds of thousands, they take up the line of march, not as undisciplined militia, but as regulars. The strongest, boldest males form the first battalion, clearing the way, and facing the danger as gallant soldiers should. Then comes the central battalion, composed altogether of females, and the rear is brought up by straggling parties of both sexes, which one could almost think were prompted by no other motive than that which brings all the urchins in the neighborhood to general muster; viz: to see them "train." The hermit crab, when in want of a shell, may be seen crawling slowly along the row of empty shells which the last retreating wave has left upon the beach; now it stops by a commodious habitation, turns it round and over, passes on, and stops again; slipping its tail out of the old house, it tries the new, and thus maintains the search diligently for "lodgings to rent," until it finds a deserted mansion, light, airy and commodious, when it takes immediate possession. Sometimes the new home is much too large, and like a lad in his father's coat, the tenant is almost entirely hidden, claws and all, in the spacious dwelling. Whenever two homeless crabs meeting in the same street, exhibit a remarkable coincidence in opinion, relative to a deserted shell, a regular fight ensues, and the victor takes triumphant possession, rent free.

With these examples, I must, though unwillingly, bring this subject to a conclusion. Unwillingly, I say, not because I fear that the position is not sustained, viz: that intelligence

is possessed by some animals below the grade of man; but because this view of animated nature, is full of intrinsic interest. The demonstrations of intelligence to which I have alluded, are by no means extraordinary, as your own memory will bear me witness, but they are none the less conclusive; the more closely you observe the actions of the brute creation, with the more force, will the conviction be pressed upon you, that they Do remember, compare, reflect, and profit by experience, as well as love and hate, exhibit gratitude, and seek revenge; and the more deeply you will feel the injustice, of that wholesale slander which it has become so fashionable to cast upon four fifths of our fellow tenants of the earth. Leaving every other consideration out of the account, an enlightened selfrespect would assign to each its appropriate place, how elevated soever, knowing that man would still be the crowning work of omnific Power.

CHAPTER VI.

Difference between intelligence and reason-The young human being-Its helplessness-Its improvement―The internal world-Rapidity of thought-What is worthy of the name of Self-The relation which intelligence and reason sustain to language-Classification.

I have already attempted to distinguish between intelligence as possessed by the brute creation, and that birth-right of man, a living soul. The latter collects and presents images drawn from real life, rapidly following each other like the pictures in a magic lantern; this is fancy, but we do not at

tribute it to the most sagacious brute. Man unites ideas; breathes into them as if the breath of life; makes them human; combines as by some chemical power, elements the most heterogeneous; this is imagination; but who supposes a dog endowed with such a gift? Man has a conscience; perceives the moral quality of actions, as right or wrong; but a brute has no such possession or perception. The lioness may destroy her young, but we do not view her with that feeling of abhorrence, that we should the human mother performing a similar act; there is a moral quality in the one, which does not exist in the other.

As in plants we find instinct; in the sponge, instinct and sensation; in the elephant, instinct, sensation and intelligence, so, in the man, we find all these, crowned with reason and a soul. But with all these possessions, what is a young human being? The most helpless of creatures. The chick bursting its prison walls, runs off, tortoise-like, with the shell upon its back. The kitten frisks upon the hearth, in the exuberance of a new and delightful existence. Throw it from the table, upon which, from stool to chair it has clambered. Do you kill it? It scampers away, evidently well pleased with the adventure. Not so with the infant. Caress or handle it with maternal tenderness; its feeble accents are only those of pain and weakness. Even the glad light of the morning, is a source of pain, and we forsooth must blanket out the day to insure its comfort. Withdraw the supporting arm, and it falls helpless to the ground. Let the vernal breezes, so bracing, so full of life to beast, bird, insect and flower, blow upon it. Do they invigorate its little frame? They rather rack it with an ague. Turn its face toward the most beautiful landscape. It does not see it, (but let the tongs jingle in the corner, and its at

tention is quickly arrested,) and if perchance a tiny copy is pictured upon the magic canvas of its eye, it receives no pleasure. What! no pleasure in the beauties of nature, the handiwork of God! Is it then a little brute? Stay your judgment and look again. Its first birth-day has gone by; perhaps its second. Now a smile lights up its countenance. Give it a rattle or a toy; it tosses its little arms about, as though it would perform some wondrous feat, and crows with very glee. Its clear, blue eye beams with something like intelligence. It has learned to balance itself, and exulting in its newly acquired powers, it attempts a little journey from the cradle to the chair. The experiment is a perilous one; still it totters on, and now a cry of delight, announces the suc cess of its enterprise. Frown upon it. Inquiry is mirrored in its eyes, and wonder is depicted on its parted lips. Speak a harsh word. Ah! you have gone too far; those spirit-windows are dimmed, and its cheeks suffused with tears.

All this is interesting; but do not some other animals display abilities almost equal? Need we seek a more extended or copious language for the young child, than for the dog? Cannot every feeling of the former find a sound, a look or a gesture to express it, in the vocabulary of the latter? Such a sentiment may conflict with the foolish pride of the heart, but it is nevertheless true. Will the natural language of cries, looks and gestures be adapted to the capacities of this being, when it shall have attained its full stature, during subsequent periods of its existence? Let us see. A few more birth-days have been celebrated by the fond parents of that blue-eyed, laughing child. A child no longer; a man now, he loves to contemplate nature. He looks, where beast or bird has never looked through nature, up to God." That frail thing, that a few years ago, was laid moaning on the downy pillow,