cation but—sufficient to communicate individuality of character, and to make the actions of one animal to differ, in some degree, from those of another of the same species, under similar circumstances. We commonly think of the features of one Deer, or Sparrow, or Crab, as exact counterparts of those of every other Deer, or Sparrow, or Crab; yet a shepherd is able to distinguish every Sheep of his flock by its face; those who are conversant with Horses can readily detect diversities in the expression of their eye or mouth, scarcely less marked than in their human acquaintances; and I have myself noticed the same distinctness in birds. When I was in Jamaica, I could tell one from another of the wild Doves in my cages, by their expression of countenance alone, though perfectly alike in colouring. Doubtless this individuality would be much more generally perceived, if our observations on animals were not so loose and cursory as they usually are. And if it exists in the features, we might reasonably infer a parallel diversity in mind (by which I mean a faculty distinct from, but co-existent with, instinct) in them, even if direct observation did not detect it.
But, bearing in mind that records thus obtained of the manners of animals are properly biographical, belonging to the individual more strictly than to the species, it is manifest that these must be the foundation of all our correct generalization. Nor are they in themselves unworthy of careful regard, as those will allow who know the value of human Biography. Shakspeare and Scott, who treat of man as an individual, are not inferior in their walk of science, to Reid and Stewart, who describe him as a species.
The inhabitants of the deep sea have hitherto been almost inaccessible to such observation as this; and hence exceedingly little has been accumulated of their Biography. A paragraph went the round of the papers some months
