rt, I'll carry you up; you
and I haven't had a game of play for a long while. How does the ditch
and hedge get on, Mr Seagrave?"

"Pretty well, Ready," replied Mr Seagrave; "I have nearly finished two
sides. I think by the end of next week I shall have pretty well
inclosed it."

"Well, sir, you must not work too hard, there is no great hurry; William
and I can get through a great deal together."

"It is my duty to work, Ready; and I may add, it is a pleasure."

As they were at supper the conversation turned upon the cleverness shown
by the dog Remus.

Mr Seagrave narrated many instances of the sagacity of animals, when
William asked the question of his father: "What is the difference then
between reason and instinct?"

"The difference is very great, William, as I will explain to you; but I
must first observe, that it has been the custom to say that man is
governed by reason, and animals by instinct, alone. This is an error.
Man has instinct as well as reason; and animals, although chiefly
governed by instinct, have reasoning powers."

"In what points does man show that he is led by instinct?"

"When a child is first born, William, it acts by instinct only: the
reasoning powers are not yet developed; as we grow up, our reason
becomes every day more matured, and gains the mastery over our instinct,
which decreases in proportion."

"Then when we have grown to a good old age, I suppose we have no
instinct left in us?"

"Not so, my dear boy; there is one and a most powerful instinct
implanted in man which never deserts him on this side of the grave. It
is the fear, not of death, but of utter annihilation, that of becoming
nothing after death. This instinctive feeling could not have been so
deeply implanted in us, but as an assurance that we shall not be
annihilated after death, but that our souls shall still exist, although
our bodies shall have perished. It may be termed the instinctive
evidence of a future existence."

"That is very true, Mr Seagrave," observed Ready.

"Instinct in animals, William," continued Mr Seagrave, "is a feeling
which compels them to perform certain acts without previous thought or
reflection; this instinct is in full force at the moment of their birth;
it was therefore perfect in the beginning, and has never varied. The
swallow built her nest, the spider its web, the bee formed its comb,
precisely in the same way four thousand years ago, as they do now. I
may here observe,