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Now, the class of animals which has the most complex movements of locomotion is that of birds; and it is interesting to find that this class also posesses the largest cerebellum.

The class of reptiles, again, has the smallest cerebellum; and in it do we meet with the greatest sluggishness of movement.

Lastly, fishes, requiring for their respiratory mechanism the greatest efforts, have precisely the medulla oblongata the most developed.

Intelligence increases from fishes to reptiles; from these to birds; and from birds to mammalia; and in the last class, it increases from the rodentia to the ruminantia; from the ruminantia to the pachydermata; from these to the carnivora; and from these again to the monkey tribe, where it exists in its greatest perfection in the orang-outang and the chimpanzé.

The brain proper increases with the intelligence. In fishes, in which its manifestations are so very obscure, anatomists are at a loss to say which part of the cranial contents corresponds to the brain. Reptiles exhibit somewhat more intelligence, and their brain already begins to show itself. Birds have much more intelligence than reptiles, and their brain is much more developed; it is greatly more so in the class mammalia, and in these it shows itself larger and more complex, just in proportion as we ascend from those which have the least intelligence to those which have the most; that is to say, from the rodents up to the orang-outang and chimpanzé.

Finally, we arrive at man, who possesses beyond all comparison an intelligence superior to any other animal, and, at the same time, a brain much exceeding in size that of any other.

Some philosophers have thought that the intellectual and instinctive faculties of animals might afford a new order of characters, which would serve as a base for classification; and it was the opinion of a celebrated German naturalist, that, if properly studied, instinct and intelligence would afford still more specific characters than those drawn from organization.

This conjecture is so far correct, that in many instances the intellectual faculties appear to give the only definite characteristics of species. For example, by consulting organization alone, the wolf would be classed as a dog; and yet, how widely different is the destination of these two animals! The former prowls about, seeking its prey in the forests, whilst the dog lives with man, becomes his companion,—I had nearly said, his friend; the one almost solitary, the other essentially social: the wolf has retained all its savage tendencies, whilst the dog has become domesticated, nay, almost civilized. Hence it is manifest, that nothing more resembles a wolf than a dog in its figure and organization; and yet, how immensely do they differ in instincts, habits, and intelligence!

Again the hare and the rabbit differ but little in outward appearance and structure; and yet we see the former make its bed on the surface of the ground, whilst the rabbit excavates a burrow for itself. Then, again, whilst we find our squirrel building its nest in the tops of trees, that of Hudson's Bay constructs its habitation under-ground, between the roots of pine-trees, on the fruit of which it feeds.

Hence it is obvious that, viewed only in relation to the positive distinction of species, the careful study of the intellectual and instinctive faculties is not of less importance than that of organic qualities; and the reason of this is very evident, when we consider that it is by these that the animal acts; consequently, as its life depends on its actions, it is clear that this, as well as the preservation of the species, depends at least as much on the animal's intellectual and instinctive faculties as upon its organic qualities.

Habit has so remarkable an influence on many of our faculties, as almost to transform them into instincts. Locke has acutely remarked, that "reflection watches over our habits at first; but, in proportion as they become formed and established, it abandons them to themselves."

Thus, in learning to write, the boy is attentive to the formation of every letter he writes by what Locke calls "reflection," or intelligence. At length, he comes no longer to attend to the letters: he writes by habit or instinct. Nay, more, there are some words which, from habit, our hand seems to know-if I may so express myself-better than our intelligence. I often forget, for instance, the orthography of a word; and in order to bring it again to mind, I only require to take up my pen and write it: from long-continued habit, my hand forms the letters in their proper relations.

Indeed, habit so acts upon and influences the intelligence, that it may be said to transform it into instinct; and thus gives another instance of the secret union which connects these two principles, and assigns them their seat in the same organ.

Like many other terms in familiar use, the word "instinct” has obtained a great variety of meanings. Nevertheless, in a philosophical study of the actions of animals, its precise acceptation is an object of much importance. In common language, the term is applied to all our inclinations, determinations, and tendencies. All the states of the mind are denominated by Gall instincts and faculties.

In exact philosophic language, instinct, as applied to the actions of animals, may be defined, "a determined exclusive aptitude for a given action." It is thus defined by Cuvier: "I apply," says he, "the term 'instinctive action' to every action which the animal perforins naturally, without instruction or experience, and which, in order that it might be performed by man, would require instruction and repeated trials; experience, in short."

The so-named language of animals is so closely allied to the object of this article, that a few remarks on the subject will not be misplaced here. Brutes utter cries, sounds, use natural language; but they do not possess language. Words or speech ought not to be confounded with those natural sounds and movements which represent the passions.

Animals have voices, cries, accents, expressive of love, pain, fury, hatred, &c. in short, they possess gestures. But in their case, these facts are nothing beyond sounds, cries, gestures, &c., and they have no further meaning; whereas, in regard to man, the sound, the cry, the gesture, are expressive of ideas: they are signs.

But although man makes use of his voice, of gestures, &c., he might, and often does, use other signs. Writing, for instance, is a language; and it may be here remarked, that in human language everything is invented: for it is not the voices, sounds, &c.,-gifts of nature,-which constitute language; it is rather the art, invented by man, of so combining sounds, as to form speech and words, and, by means of the latter, signs of ideas.

Everything is artificial in language; both the combination of sounds forming speech, (the physical part of language,) which the animal imitates, and the association of the idea with the word, (its metaphysical part,) which the brute cannot imitate, and is consequently peculiar to man. Parrots, &c., repeat the sound, but not the sign.

I have already said, that the brute makes no progress as a species, and that, however much the individual may advance in knowledge, the species

perpetually remains stationary. The present generation is not superior to that which preceded it ; nor will the succeeding race in any respect surpass the present.

Man alone progresses as a species, because he alone possesses the faculty of reflection; this supreme faculty, which has been defined, the action of mind upon mind. Now, it is this action, this study of mind by mind, which gives origin to method, which may be looked upon as the code of laws established by the intelligence for its own guidance; and it is by the proper use of this instrument (method) that the mind is led on to future discoveries.

Method may indeed be considered as the instrument of the mind, just as ordinary instruments are the instruments of our senses; and this mental instrument adds to the power of the mind, as optical or acoustic instruments add to the power of our senses.

Hence man possesses the faculty of reflection, which is totally wanting in the brute. By reflection, he is led on to method, by means of which he discovers and invents. "By method, the minds of many become a single mind, which is continued from generation to generation, and never ends. One generation begins a discovery which it may require many succeeding generations to complete."

I have thus endeavoured to point out in what consists the difference between the instinct and the intelligence of animals and the intelligence of man, reason. It is a question which, more or less, has engaged the attention of the philosophers of all ages; and it is to the admirable work of Cuvier "on Instinct" that I am chiefly indebted for the materials of this article. To him is due the merit of searching out, not only facts, but their limitation and definite boundaries. This, indeed, may be considered as the most important element in the study of every department of nature; for, so long as facts remain confusedly collected together, however numerous and important they may be as materials, we cannot be said to possess true science, the end of which is to ascertain the relations which are established between these facts, or the laws by which they are governed. Hence, in the study of every science, the great object to be kept in view is, the separation, limitation, and classification of facts.

(To be concluded in our next.)

THE POPE IN CONCLAVE.

RECEPTION OF A NEW CARDINAL.

It is very amusing, because novel, to stand near the door of the grand chapel, and look at the Cardinals as they enter one by one at short intervals; accompanied by a Chaplain in full black clerical costume, followed by an attendant in russet brown, with a bag, and their footmen in bright liveries, whose coats hang loosely upon their shoulders, as if made for their grandfathers. The party draw up in the outer hall to settle the tail of his Eminence; the bag is opened, robe taken out and adjusted, and let down so as to sweep the ground in a long, graceful train. The dress of a Cardinal on such state occasions is not only rich and splendid, but peculiarly elegant and becoming. The colours on certain festivals vary; red, purple, white. Sometimes during a religious ceremony the tippet is removed and laid aside; why, I never could find out. This I would regret, as it looks beautiful enough; yet I am consoled by observing what is underneath is even finer still. But I must enter to see what Cardinal does when he struts in so proudly, like a peacock with his gaudy tail. He sweeps along

between files of obsequious Swiss: the noble guard receive him as a Prince of the blood. The moment his Eminence crosses the threshold of the sacred inclosure he drops gently on his knees: while engaged in pious meditations, the fine gentlemen of the palace, (who wait on the Pope in black courtdress, lace ruffles, and sword,) not to lose time, settle the dress about the shoulders of the Cardinal, and pull out the tail properly. When his Eminence rises, all is right, and he may move on, which he does with solemn dignity; not, however, to his seat, but to salute his Holiness the Pope, who sits apart in solitary grandeur under a canopy, with two Priests at each side, to fold and unfold his robe, and take off his mitre and put it on again, and hold the book, with a pair of huge wax candles lighted in broad-day, to enable his Holiness at intervals of the service to read. One might suspect the Pope had neither arms nor hands; for he never touches anything, except when a Cardinal kneels before him, when he graciously extends his robe, on which a cross is embroidered, to the devout man to kiss; which when the Cardinal (who never kisses his slipper) has done, he rises, makes a profound obeisance, and then gravely moves to his place on one of the cushioned benches which surround the inclosure. Here a difficulty would arise as to what should be done with his long tail, which looked so beautiful as he strutted along the floor. This is guarded against by a prudent arrangement. There is a lower bench, on which is seated the attendant in russet, who carries his master's bag: this practitioner rises, adjusts the Cardinal's robe, enables him conveniently to sit down, and then seats himself, ready for any emergency, at the feet of his Eminence. Occasionally the members of the Sacred College, during a religious ceremony, rise and descend to the floor: the men in russet are on the alert, watch the tails and untwist them, so that not the least discomposure happens. The new Cardinal was now introduced by two of his brethren. How fine he was! His crimson stockings, and scarlet robes, and shining buckles, and sparkling diamond ring, delighted me exceedingly. He went through all the ceremonies cleverly, and grew quickly into a pillar of the Church. Sometimes the whole company of Cardinals stood up, and with much formality bowed to each other, as if for the first time making acquaintanceship. Again, they whispered confidentially, what secret I know not; but when the new Cardinal was made, they had all severally to embrace him, a serious business to get through. This is done by each laying both arms on the shoulders of the other, as if the Cardinals were about to wrestle (which some say they do for power, and occasionally one of the wrestlers will get a heavy fall). This embrace is to prove their affection for the new comer, (and, no doubt, that affection must be very sincere,) who thenceforward is as great a personage as they are.

I confess my admiration for the Sacred College: they are the best-dressed men I ever saw; and they look so stately and grand, they quite fascinated me. Poor St. Paul would have seemed a very humble Apostle placed in juxta-position with these ecclesiastical Princes! I pondered what the thoughts of these grave men might be. Are their breasts torn by avarice, ambition, and lust of power? Do they prize or despise the glittering baubles of this world? The picture drawn by Ranke of the Roman Court in the sixteenth century is not pleasing; the outward mask of piety put on to hide a dissimulating, grasping spirit, and a profound selfishness. Let me hope better things of the churchmen seated in bright array around. Old Mezzofanti, the universal linguist, with, I think, a heavy countenance; and sour-faced Acton, and plotting Della Genga, and jolly Piccolomini, and

gentlemanly Barberini, and little gouty Gizzi, with his merry eye, and the radical Capuchin, Micara, who suspects his brethren and loves justice, and the haughty Lambruschini, with a good face and figure and a remorseless heart, and many more, I trust, better men, all by the will of a Pope converted from officials or Priests into ecclesiastical and temporal Princes, and rulers of the whole Christian world.-From Whiteside's Italy.

SKETCHES OF SOUTH AFRICA.

BY THE REV. THORNLEY SMITH.

(To the Editor of the Wesleyan-Methodist Magazine.)
(Continued from page 1111.)

CHAPTER V.-BATHURST AND LOWER ALBANY.

BATHURST is a scattered village, containing a very small population, but deriving importance from its being one of the principal settlements of Lower Albany, a tract of country previously alluded to, exceedingly beautiful and picturesque, and not unworthy of being designated the garden of the eastern province. The village was originally selected by Sir Rufane Shaw Donkin, as the seat of Government for the British emigrants; and, with this object in view, a spacious Drosdy-house was erected at considerable expense; but ultimately Lord Charles Somerset gave the preference to Graham's-Town, which became, in consequence, the capital of the district.

Within a circle of ten or fifteen miles round Bathurst are numerous locations of the settlers of 1820, who, notwithstanding the frequent aggressions of the Kaffirs, whom they adjoin, and many other obstacles to their progress and prosperity, are, with few exceptions, living in circumstances of ease and comfort. They have brought into cultivation some hundreds of acres of land, which, without irrigation, produces excellent crops of oats, maize, pumpkins, and potatoes. In several instances, large fields, the soil of which proves remarkably rich, have been rescued from the forests; the trees having been cut down, and their roots drawn out of the earth. The fundamental rock of this part of the country is a red quartzose sandstone, upon which lies a conglomerate stratum, consisting of the débris of the parent rock, next to which are tertiary deposits of marl and limestone rocks, extending from the coast upwards, a distance of several miles. It has been observed by Mr. Bain, that "in all the sandstone districts of the Colony, the water is pure, but the grass is sour; whereas in those districts where argillaceous rocks prevail, the water is brackish, but the grass is sweet. For this reason, the tracts where clay predominates are greatly preferred for breeding sheep and cattle." The neighbourhood of Bathurst, therefore, is not adapted for sheep, nor do cattle thrive so well as in other parts of the country indeed, the greater part of Lower Albany is best fitted for agriculture; and some parts of it have been found suitable for the growth of cotton. But it is very thinly inhabited. Were its resources developed, it would doubtless sustain a far larger population than now reside in it; and, could some of the poor but industrious peasantry at home be transported thither, they would probably be able, in the course of a few years, to place themselves in circumstances of comparative independence. Would that others of our noblemen might imitate the example of the Duke of

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