+Buffon+ attempted to explain the phænomena of insect life by the simple laws of mechanism, conceding to the insects at the same time a power of distinguishing and choosing between pleasure and pain. Some have even ventured to assert that the invariable exactness of the cell-work of bees is a proof of their stupidity, and "that the wonders of the honey'd reign," no more bespeak the agency of mind or intellect, than the configuration of salts into their respective crystals. "Shall then proud sophists arrogant and vain. Spurn all the wonders of the honey'd reign. And bid alike one mindless influence own The social bee, and crystallizing stone? Each link they trace in animation's round, Dashes their poison'd chalice to the ground." +Evans.+ If this theory respecting insects were just, it should elucidate all the phenomena which it undertakes to explain, otherwise it is injurious to science. Examination will prove it to be a mere hypothetical opinion, ingenious, and at first sight plausible, but completely unsatisfactory. This theory is the natural consequence of denying to insects any portion of intellect, and its erroneousness is shown by their capability of instruction. Instinct itself cannot be a purely mechanical process, or it would be incapable of modification, and would, under like circumstances, always act in the same manner. +Sir Joseph Banks's+ _spider_ that, on being crippled, changed from a sedentary web-weaver to a hunter, is an instance of modified instinct[Y]. The well known fact that birds build their nests differently, where climate and other circumstances require a variation, is another instance. A _dog_ may be restrained from obeying its instincts, by the intimidating recollection of a beating which it had formerly received; a bee, if alarmed, will quit the nectary of a flower:--here the intellect of the creatures _counteracts their instincts_. There are other instances in which the intellect appears to _direct the instincts_. When the bee makes excursive flights in quest of pasture, its senses serve to guide it, and enable it, by the aid of memory, to retrace its passage home again. At the conclusion of its outward and homeward journeys, its instincts immediately begin to operate; in the one case, teaching it to imbibe nectar, collect pollen, &c.; in the other, to store and apply those materials to their respective uses. [Footnote Y: The account of this spider was sent to _Dr. Leach_ by _Sir Joseph Banks_. An interesting history of it is given in the Linnæan Transactions, vol. ii. page 393. It had lost five of its legs, which were afterwards reproduced, but the new legs were shorter than those for which they were substituted.]