One impression would be made on all minds in reference to the single tangible object before them; no matter how learned or ignorant.  There stands an animal obvious to all.  Let him be removed out of sight, and a very exact picture of him suspended in his place.  All again agree.  Here then is the proof of our first general principle, viz. all language depends on the fixed and unvarying laws of nature.

Let the picture be removed and a man step forth and pronounce the word, ippos.  The Greek starts up and says, “Yes, it is so.”  The rest do not comprehend him.  He then writes out distinctly, [Greek:  IPPOS].  They are in the dark as to the meaning.  They know not whether a horse, a man, or a goose is named.  All the Greeks, however, understand the meaning the same as when the horse or picture was before them, for they had agreed that ippos should represent the idea of that animal.

Forth steps another, and pronounces the word cheval.  Every Frenchman is aroused:  Oui, monsieur?  Yes, sir.  Comprenez vous?  Do you understand? he says to the rest.  But they are dumb.  He then writes C-H-E-V-A-L.  All are as ignorant as before, save the Frenchmen who had agreed that cheval should be the name for horse.

Next go yourself, thinking all will understand you, and say, horse; but, lo! none unacquainted with your language are the wiser for the sound you utter, or the sign you suspended before them; save, perhaps, a little old Saxon, who, at first looks deceived by the similarity of sound, but, seeing the sign, is as demure as ever, for he omits the e, and pronounces it shorter than we do, more like a yorkshire man.  But why are you not understood?  Because others have not entered into an agreement with you that h-o-r-s-e, spoken or written, shall represent that animal.

Take another example.  Place the living animal called man before them.  Less trouble will be found in this case than in the former, for there is a nearer agreement than before in regard to the signs which shall be employed to express the idea.  This word occurs with very little variation in the modern languages, derived undoubtedly from the Teutonic, with a little change in the spelling, as Saxon mann or mon, Gothic manna, German, Danish, Dutch, Swedish and Icelandic like ours.  In the south of Europe, however, this word varies as well as others.

Our language is derived more directly from the old Saxon than from any other, but has a great similarity to the French and Latin, and a kind of cousin-german to all the languages of Europe, ancient and modern.  Ours, indeed, is a compound from most other languages, retaining some of their beauties and many of their defects.  We can boast little distinctive character of our own.  As England was possessed by different nations at different periods, so different dialects were introduced, and we can trace our language to