LONG ago, it was ascertained by naturalists, that worms and insects are without a brain, and yet they pursue a course of activity, which bears much upon the domain of reason; so we are accustomed to say that they act from instinct, which is no explanation at all of the phenomena in the higher orders of organic life which have their origin in the brain. If that organ is severely injured, so that its normal functions are no longer performed, consciousness, and orderly manifestations of its influence are interrupted or suspended. But the insect world swarms with beings of the most delicate construction, without hearts and without brains, whose movements and habits, independently of thousands of contingencies to which they are exposed, prove in the most satisfactory manner that their acts are a near approach to the elements of a reasoning faculty, if they do not indicate reason itself. When, by accident, a thread of a spider’s web is broken, the little weaver examines the misfortune with extreme care, and by taking different positions, surveys the damage, and then proceeds artistically to repair it by splicing or inserting an entire new cord. Again, when a wandering fly becomes entangled in the net, the cautious approach of the owner of the trap, lying patiently near by for game, indicates calculation in regard to the character and strength of the victim. Does it not strangely resemble reason when all its movements, under such an aspect of affairs, show beyond a doubt the spider considers the matter in all its relations before venturing to seize the prey? And yet spiders are without a brain. The above we clip from the Standard, Baptist paper of Chicago. Now the merest tyro in “philosophy” can tell you that the power to plan and execute is not a “property of matter;” therefore the spider has an immortal soul—of course!