have likewise a more perfect language in proportion, always confined however to the necessaries of life." I am quite wearied with writing, so believe me, your sincere friend. Penscellwood. ACHILLES. LETTER VII. My dear Patroclus, Perhaps there are few subjects that have puzzled the philosophic world more than to give an accurate definition of the term Instinct, and to fix its application. What is Instinct? It is that impulse which prompts us to do certain things without having an opportunity of learning them through experience or imitation, and without knowing why or wherefore, for what good, or for what end they are performed. An inclination rises within us to do a certain thing, and we do it. "Instinct," says the author of Ancient Metaphysics, "is a determination given by Almighty Wisdom to the mind of the brute, to act in such or such a way, upon such or such an occasion, without intelligence, without knowledge of good or ill, and without knowledge for what end or for what purpose he acts." This agrees with the famous lines "And reason raise o'er instinct as you can, Yes, if it be an irresistible impulse communicated to us or to the animal, " Say, where full instinct is the unerring guide, Some philosophers have carried the instinctive system to such an extent as almost to banish the very name and office of reason from the human race, while others have denied that in human nature there is any property or propensity which can be called instinctive. Locke and Shaftesbury have been at war in this matter, and Berkeley and Hume, on Locke's principles, have produced consequences which may be called extreme. Minor philosophers, such as Hutchinson, Priestley, Reid, Smellie, &c., have written much, but none perhaps give so clear and reasonable a definition of Instinct as that one which I have above adduced. Instinct, be it remembered, is a determination imparted to the mind, and with this purpose of mind the various parts of the animal machine are set in motion for performance. Instinct is not itself a wholly mechanical quality, like the action of breathing, because there is spontaneous exertion necessary. Doubtless, in the performance of instinctive measures, there is a mental delight and resolution, as though the action were wholly of the mind. A bird, although impelled by instinct to build a nest, feels a pleasurable sensation in doing so, and we may judge thus, from their happy and cheerful application to the business; and a child that fulfils the instinctive call of sucking the breast, has a feeling of the same kind, so that where there is instinct there is mind, and instinct but impels the mind, it is not a mere blind mechanical movement of certain mechanical contrivances: it is, in short, the teaching of the mind direct from God, a gentle and natural wish to do that which is good for our preservation and general maintenance. For, recollect, when we speak of instinct, there is as much of it in man as in the inferior animal. If the new-born lamb turns to derive nourishment from its mother, so does the human babe. It may be very difficult in civilized life to distinguish the effects of habit and imitation from the operations and impulses of nature, because the principle of association acts so powerfully in man, and at such an early period. But the act of sucking in an infant seems to be a direct case of instinct. A child is not led by any peculiar smell of the mother, or by any taste for milk in particular; but it suck anything that is will make an attempt to presented to its mouth; and further, lest this may seem to be what Dr. Priestley calls automatic, or the effect of irritation, a child will within ten minutes of its birth, although nothing be brought in contact with its mouth, give clear and certain evidence of a desire to suck. The action of breathing must be automatic, for it is plain that the child exerts no spontaneous effort, and the irritation of the air will account for the action of the lung; but this act of sucking is not automatic, inasmuch as no outer irritation is offered from any thing coming in contact with the child's mouth, and exercising an influence, or furnishing a motive, neither can the principle of association of ideas, which is the result of simultaneous impressions constantly repeated, have as yet had a beginning. It is purely an internal impulse, demanding a spontaneous effort, an impulse from God on the internal mind, producing an outward act apart from any rational motive, and this is instinct. There are other cases of instinct, such as the act of eating, &c., which in deep probing will be ascertained to be so, but, as I have said before, it is difficult absolutely to determine what actions have their commencement in instinct, and what are the effects of early association. In the savage state we have full reason to believe that man would be nearly as much, if not quite as much, indebted to the impulses of instinct, as the animal itself—and in like manner as a young kitten thrown into the water will swim, so will a young savage make the same effort. After all that has been said and written upon reason and instinct as two distinct phenomena of mind, I am much disposed to think that the two act together, or rather, that the former directs and manages what the latter commences. Now, if we believe that young birds of the first year invariably build nests, and cannot have had any opportunity of learning to build, or of seeing any pattern, we may |