this fountain to the explosion of subterranean vapours, or the precipitation of the rains of heaven. So is it with the literary traveller in quest of the origin of language and education. He sees all around him these phenomena now existing in a state of great perfection, and diffusing a flood of intelligence over the earth; he can track their course far up the stream of time even to their rudest beginnings in the communicating and perpetuating of the simplest ideas, but, like the origin of the river, he can with no certainty determine whether they have not originated as an invention of man himself or descended upon him as a bright gift from heaven.

According to Dr. Blair, this inquiry naturally resolves itself into two branches-"First, whether man, being originally endowed with the faculty of speech, or having bestowed upon him that peculiar organisation by which he is enabled to articulate sounds, stimulated by a desire for increased social enjoyments and guided by his mental powers, gradually formed language; or whether, in addition to this power, the germs or elements of language were also conferred upon him: these are questions, however, that cannot be answered with any certainty.” In support of the former opinion, it is urged that the history of all languages shows a gradual advancement to perfection from the rudest beginnings, and that at no point of their history are traces wanting of their having existed in a still ruder state-that, in short, the progress of a language in all cases keeps pace with the civilisation of a people, and that as there was a period when the civilisation of every people began, or that they emerged out of a state of entire barbarism; so also must have been the course of their language. "This opinion must, therefore, in a great measure, stand or fall according to the truth or error of the latter supposition, namely, that man being

at first a solitary savage, gradually emerged out of barbarism, and formed the social union simply from his own perception of its superior advantages, which opinion is not only unsupported by any evidence, but contrary to Scripture, so that the idea of man originally inventing and constructing language seems somewhat difficult of entertaining."

Nor can one see, if this be the case, why some of the inferior tribes should not also have acquired a degree of artificial language, for it is certain that many of them possess the power of uttering, both in number and variety, a sufficiency of vocal sounds to form a tolerably copious language; while their mental capacity, in many cases, is anything but inferior to that of the barbarians. What cement or mortar is to the consolidation of the natural building, language is to the moral structure of society. In the former, the materials are prepared previously to their combination by the hands of the mechanic; and the Great Architect of human society appears to have prepared for man not only the faculty but the elements of speech, and, having implanted in his nature the desire. and necessity of social union, insured the ultimate erection of the social fabric in the diffusion of these selfeducating elements among mankind.

The origin of language, however, is scarcely more obscure than the commencement of an artificial education, for the former being an art, the communicating of it to others by speech or writing, even in its rudest form, must have been necessary to its perpetuity, and, therefore, contemporaneous with its origin. In like manner, whatever other art or science became afterwards known to man would evolve, at the same time, certain modes of communicating it to others. Yet the latter of these could find no channel to flow in, until prepared by the instrumentality of language. Many

branches of art may be taught without the aid of language, but no science can. Hence many rude arts may have flourished long before many families of the human race had acquired even a spoken language; just as we see certain inferior animals imitate others in the construction of their dwellings and modes of procuring their prey; but science, and even theoretical morality, are the pure offspring of language.

Among the lower tribes, however, there can be no art properly so called, that is, an art originating in reflection and perpetuated by speech. Their feelings and wants suggest their contrivances aided by that mysterious principle called instinct, always leading them to act aright whether from the impulse of imitation or necessity. It may, indeed, be difficult to define that wonderful ingenuity manifested by so many of them in their social and physical arrangements. Yet it cannot be called art, or skill, as these terms are applied to human actions, because there is no progressive improvement in their education, similar to that of man. And if they have none of this artificial skill, much less have they any scientific ingenuity, which entirely depends upon abstractions communicable by speech or writing. Their instinct would almost seem to be the operation of some organic law of the brain, producing in certain animals as invariable a routine of actions as the chemical law that perpetuates the same disposition of colours in certain species of birds. Like the coral insects of the Pacific, capable only of raising their submarine islands to the surface of the ocean, this animal intellectuality can only rise to one uniform level, since beyond this the scaffolding of an artificial education can find no foundation to rest upon, affording the means of elevating it into the regions of abstraction.

Yet, after all, man is only a more rational animal than an elephant, or a dog, a bee, an ant, or a beaver; these, again, only a little superior to others of the lower tribes; and it is impossible to say, whether it may not actually be the very same principles that combine, in giving intellectuality to a brute, that, operating under different circumstances, produce the genius of a Newton, or the fancy of a Milton. The instinct of the inferior animals, and the reasoning powers of man, are merely different names for what seems to be essentially the same thing, only varying in its degrees of perfection and capability of enlargement. The reason that a beast arrives at a certain stage of perfection which it cannot pass, is, because it receives its full complement of ideas from nature alone. The intellect of a brute may be said to be composed of materials less expansive than those which constitute the mind of man, but that they are of the same inherent nature, there can be little doubt. The grand difference seems to be in man's capabilities of availing himself of external resources in the development of his mind. The faculty of speech, and of exchanging ideas with those of his own species, and the other material means which he has at command in preserving alive the coinage of his brain, have formed a world of thought and feeling around him, into which the inferior creation can never penetrate. But, when we consider the superiority that one man has over another, and one nation over another, when possessed of the means of acquiring and transmitting knowledge, we have the key to the mystery of his superiority over the lower animals. And, upon the whole, the difference is much greater between an artificially educated person and a savage, than between that savage and one of the irrational tribes.

And even without the aid of artificial language, to

what a high pitch of sagacity do many of them attain. displaying a perception of cause and effect, anticipating consequences, and acting upon fixed purposes, that plainly evince their possession of many faculties strictly akin to those of man; so that with no more certainty may we conclude that the mechanism of a watch implies the existence of an intelligent contriver, or the works of nature prove the being of a God, than the mathematical precision of a honey-comb, or the architecture of an ant's hill, demonstrates the existence of that identical designing principle which is denominated mind.

And no less plainly do they manifest the signs of the most acute and sensitive feelings. The patient dromedary, smarting under a sense of his injuries, from his overtasked powers, sinks, and dies of a broken heart! The melancholy look, and big round tears of the hunted stag, or fawn-rifled doe, portray the agony of feeling within! The indication of their loves, their hopes, their fears, their sorrows, their gratitude, their social dispositions, and their resentful propensities, all tends to show, that in the amount of their innate endowments, they are not so immeasurably behind man. Indeed, in many cases, could we imagine them gifted with the single additional faculty of speech, there would be little perceptible mental difference.

This faculty of articulating sounds, to represent the flow of ideas in the mind, is therefore one of the mightiest importance in the whole moral economy of nature. Although it seems to be the only disconnecting link be tween man and the subordinate creatures, it has placed him infinitely above them in the scale of moral and mental excellence. By the interchange of thought and sentiment effected by this means, and the other mechanical contrivances for immortalising the existence of his ideas,

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