It is plain that when intellectual activity is desired, not as a means, but as an end in itself, it excludes much intellectual emotion which is commonly associated therewith. Surprise and wonder, for instance, are intellectual emotions at contemplating a conjuncture very contrary to expectation, entirely opposite to some pre-formed induction, but they do not imply devotion to intellectual activity as such. The visitor to a biological laboratory who, on first seeing blood corpuscles, cries “Wonderful! Who would have thought it! One’s blood all full of such things! Let me look again!” is hardly actuated by the scientific motive. All phenomena are equally wonderful or wonderless—which amounts to the same thing—to the scientist; for him everything is simply natural, he forms no expectations not founded on facts. The “wonders of science” are wonders only to the outsider: the scientist takes them as matter of fact. It is no more wonderful to him that the blood should be full of corpuscles than that it should fall in drops. The tyro does not wonder at a drop of blood; he wonders to see the drop filled with myriads of animated corpuscles; the scientist wonders at neither. He who, on being told of blood corpuscles, exclaims, “I want to know,” plainly desires knowledge, but is not impelled by a pure thirst for knowledge. The scientific items appearing in the newspapers generally appeal merely to seekers for marvels and lovers of intellectual sensation. Surprise and wonder are then extraneous impulses to knowledge, the impulse to knowledge for its own sake being quite distinct. As based on intellectual shock they imply a considerable intellectual integration, and hence are by no means primitive in mental life, yet far from being as late as emotion for knowledge _per se_. Wonder gives birth to the Arabian Nights and to Jules Verne’s romances, but it always hinders true science.