Insects, so far as I find myself able to ascertain, seem to have neither sinews,[191] bones, spines, cartilages, fat, nor flesh; nor yet so much as a frail shell, like some of the marine animals, nor even anything that can with any propriety be termed skin; but they have a body which is of a kind of intermediate nature between all these, of an arid substance, softer than muscle, and in other respects of a nature that may, in strictness, be rather pronounced yielding, than hard. Such, then, is all that they are, and nothing more: in the inside of their bodies there is nothing, except in a few, which have an intestine arranged in folds. Hence, even when cut asunder, they are remarkable for their tenacity of life, and the palpitations which are to be seen in each of their parts. For every portion of them is possessed of its own vital principle, which is centred in no limb in particular, but in every part of the body; least of all, however, in the head, which alone is subject to no movements unless torn off together with the corselet. No kind of animal has more feet than the insects have, and those which have the most, live the longest when cut asunder, as we see in the case of the scolopendra. They have eyes, as well the senses of touch and taste; some of them have also the sense of smelling, and a few that of hearing. CHAPTER III. BEES. But among them all, the first rank, and our special admiration, ought, in justice, to be accorded to bees, which alone, of all the insects, appear to have been created for the benefit of man. They extract honey and collect it, a juicy substance remarkable for its extreme sweetness, lightness, and wholesomeness. They form their combs and collect wax, an article that is useful for a thousand purposes of life; they are patient of fatigue, toil at their labors, form themselves into political communities, hold councils together in private, elect chiefs in common, and, a thing that is the most remarkable of all, have their own code of morals. In addition to this, being as they are neither tame nor wild, so all-powerful is Nature, that, from a creature so minute as to be nothing more hardly than the shadow of an animal, she has created a marvel beyond all comparison. What muscular power, what exertion of strength are we to put in comparison with such vast energy and industry as theirs? What display of human genius, in a word, shall we compare with the reasoning powers manifested by them? In this they have, at all events, the advantage of us—they know of nothing but what is for the common benefit of all. Away, then, with all questions whether they breathe or no, and let us be ready to agree on the question of their blood.—And now let us form some idea of the instinct they display.