We are not without plain indications of the existence in ourselves of that intuitive power, which as instinct is amazing to us in the accurate yet constrained lives of the beetles and the wasps. It is amazing chiefly because it is not that which we desire and are aware of desiring or needing to use. There is in every one of us, latent or declared, a true intuition of life, a truly intuitive awareness, a touch within, a perceptual knowledge sympathetic in the pure sense of the word, reaching far beyond the insect's. We may know it for what it is because in us giving rather than gaining is its secret spring, although gain, assuredly, comes by giving. Such, for example, is the knowledge of the artist, won only in his giving of himself to the object of his worship, in his placing himself by an artistic sympathy within it. Thus he obtains by sympathetic intuition an understanding that is like a spiritual touch, that is perceiving not thinking about, that, by immediate contact with the individual thing, is a knowledge of it in its own reality. Such again is the intuition of the true lover, who gives himself to the beloved and in that giving wins a knowledge like the artist's. They are akin, these two, artist and lover. Their kinship is grounded in their use of that intuitive character of life which for humanity as a whole has been cast into the shade by the more practically useful manners of intellect, and which in the insect-tribe is confined to the immediate needs of a fixed and narrow mode of existence.