reflection being visible in the mirror, without the candle being lit before the clock. In brief, it does not seem as if nervous matter could exist without intelligence or sensibility; but consciousness is an extra. There is no need to take count of the old scholastic objection to the identification of the intelligence and the instinct. What is there serious in the other objection: that man, if he once had instincts, has lost them? The animal having the richest instincts ought also to have, or to have had, the richest intelligence. And reciprocally: intellectual activity supposes a greatly varied instinctive activity, either in the present or in the future. If man have not instincts, he ought to be in the way of making them. He has numerous instincts, and makes more every day: a part of his consciousness is constantly crystallizing itself into instinctive acts. But if one consider the different instincts of animal species one will scarcely find any which are not also human. The great human activities are instinctive. Doubtless man may refrain from building a palace, but he can not dispense with a cabin, a nest in a cave, or in the fork of a tree, like the great apes, many mammals, birds, and most insects. His food depends very little on choice, it must contain certain indispensable elements: a necessity identical with that which rules the animals, and even the plants whose roots reach down toward the desired juice, and whose branches reach toward the light. Song, dance, strife, and, for the group, war; human instincts are not unknown to all animals. The taste for brilliant things, another human instinct is frequent enough in birds; it is true that birds have not yet made anything of it, and that man has evolved the sumptuary arts. There remains love, but I think this supreme instinct is the consecrated limit of the objections.