g a sharp pair of scissors from the family work-basket and
a couple of needles stuck into a bit of vine shoot which served as a
makeshift handle, he showed me the anatomy of a snail in a soup plate
filled with water. Gradually he explained and sketched the organs which
he spread before my eyes. This was the only, never-to-be-forgotten
lesson in natural history that I ever received in my life.

It is time to conclude. I was cross-examining myself, being unable to
cross-examine the silent Beetle. As far as it is possible to read within
myself, I answer as follows: 'From early childhood, from the moment
of my first mental awakening, I have felt drawn towards the things of
nature, or, to return to our catchword, I have the gift, the bump of
observation.'

After the details which I have already given about my ancestors, it
would be ridiculous to look to heredity for an explanation of the fact.
Nor would any one venture to suggest the words or example of my masters.
Of scientific education, the fruit of college training, I had none
whatever. I never set foot in a lecture hall except to undergo the
ordeal of examinations. Without masters, without guides, often without
books, in spite of poverty, that terrible extinguisher, I went ahead,
persisted, facing my difficulties, until the indomitable bump ended by
shedding its scanty contents. Yes, they were very scanty, yet possibly
of some value, if circumstances had come to their assistance. I was a
born animalist. Why and how? No reply.

We thus have, all of us, in different directions and in a greater
or lesser degree, characteristics that brand us with a special mark,
characteristics of an unfathomable origin. They exist because they
exist; and that is all that any one can say. The gift is not handed
down: the man of talent has a fool for a son. Nor is it acquired; but it
is improved by practice. He who has not the germ of it in his veins will
never possess it, in spite of all the pains of a hothouse education.

That to which we give the name of instinct when speaking of animals is
something similar to genius. It is, in both cases, a peak that rises
above the ordinary level. But instinct is handed down, unchanged and
undiminished, throughout the sequence of a species; it is permanent
and general and in this it differs greatly from genius, which is not
transmissible and changes in different cases. Instinct is the inviolable
heritage of the family and falls to one and all, with