Next, the mother begins to learn her offspring the distinction and qualities of things.  When the little sister comes to it in innocent playfulness the mother says, “good sister,” and with the descriptive word good it soon begins to associate the quality expressed by the affectionate regard, of its sister.  But when that sister strikes the child, or pesters it in any way, the mother says “naughty sister,” “bad sister.”  It soon comprehends the descriptive words, good and bad, and along with them carries the association of ideas which such conduct produces.  In the same way it learns to distinguish the difference between great and small, cold and hot, hard and soft.

In this manner the child becomes acquainted with the use of language.  It first becomes acquainted with things, the idea of which is left upon the mind, or, more properly, the impression of which, left on the mind, constitutes the idea; and a vocabulary of words are learned, which represent these ideas, from which it may select those best calculated to express its meaning whenever a conversation is had with another.

You will readily perceive the correctness of our first proposition, that all language depends on the fixed and unerring laws of nature.  Things exist.  A knowledge of them produces ideas in the mind, and sounds or signs are adopted as vehicles to convey these ideas from one to another.

It would be absurd and ridiculous to suppose that any person, however great, or learned, or wise, could employ language correctly without a knowledge of the things expressed by that language.  No matter how chaste his words, how lofty his phrases, how sweet the intonations, or mellow the accents.  It would avail him nothing if ideas were not represented thereby.  It would all be an unknown tongue to the hearer or reader.  It would not be like the loud rolling thunder, for that tells the wondrous power of God.  It would not be like the soft zephyrs of evening, the radiance of the sun, the twinkling of the stars; for they speak the intelligible language of sublimity itself, and tell of the kindness and protection of our Father who is in heaven.  It would not be like the sweet notes of the choral songsters of the grove, for they warble hymns of gratitude to God; not like the boding of the distant owl, for that tells the profound solemnity of night; not like the hungry lion roaring for his prey, for that tells of death and plunder; not like the distant notes of the clarion, for that tells of blood and carnage, of tears and anguish, of widowhood and orphanage.  It can be compared to nothing but a Babel of confusion in which their own folly is worse confounded.  And yet, I am sorry to say it, the languages of all ages and nations have been too frequently perverted, and compiled into a heterogeneous mass of abstruse, metaphysical volumes, whose only recommendation is the elegant bindings in which they are enclosed.