that sets itself afloat in superb faith that the ever-moving waters will bring it to meet its mate and lover,--are not these instances of sympathy? And tell me by what means your eye conquers the furious dog that would bite you,--tell me how that dog is able to follow your traces, and to find the quail or the fox for you,--tell me how the cat chills the bird it would spring upon,--how the serpent fascinates its victim with a flash of its glittering eye. Our 'dumb beasts' yet have a language of their own, unguessed of us, yet perfectly intelligible to them,--how? We call this, Instinct. _Eh, bien, Monsieur!_ what is Instinct, but Sympathy? "Bah! it amounts to nothing, all this, if we only look at it in such relations. For centuries have _stupides_ bothered their brains about such matters, seeking to account for them. As well devote one's time to puzzling over 'Aelia Laelia'! Mysteries were not meant to be put in the spelling-books, Monsieur. Ah, bah! a far different path did César Prévost pursue! He studied these phenomena, not to _explain_ them,--being too wise to dream of living _par amours_ with such barren virgins as are Whence and Why (your Bacon was very shrewd, Monsieur). What cared I about _causes_? Let Descartes, and Polignac, and Reid, and Cudworth, _et id omne genus_, famish themselves in this desert; but ask it not of César Prévost! He is always considerate to the impossible. He says this, always:--Here we have certain interesting phenomena; their causes are involved in mystery impenetrable; their esoteric nature is beyond the reach of any microscope;--what then? My Heaven! let us do what we _can_ with them. Let us seek out their _relations_; let us investigate the laws regulating their interdependence,--if there be such laws; and _aprés_, let us inquire if there be any _practical results_ obtainable from such relations and laws.