sight, taste, feel, smell, &c. all words must be equally undefinable..

I beg you to remember I am not writing a treatise on definitions, but was compelled to show that language can effect no more than to refer us to known phenomena. Definitions can teach me the verbal signification of a new word; but it can teach me no new phenomenon. Before I dismiss definitions, I will remark, that the meaning of angel, immortality, eternity, and such other words as signify words only, must be incurably unknown to any person who possesses no language: hence the difficulty which is experienced in conveying to deaf mutes any instruction on subjects connected with eternity. To mutes who learn to read, the difficulty is obviated; for they acquire the meaning of definable words in the same way as we.. There is, however, this curious difference-with us, definable words signify oral words, that is, sounds; but with the deaf mute, they signify written words—that is, sights.

If the instructors of the deaf will study attentively the difference that has now been stated between the verbal signification of a word, and the sensible signification, they will find it important in the process of instruction: for instance, suppose they wish to teach a deaf mute the signification of joy, they have to teach him two significations; the verbal signification, and the sensible. The verbal is easily taught, after they determine the form of words into which joy shall be resolvable. The sensible signification no words can teach-it is a feel, and can be disclosed only by making the mute know (by any method you can) the feel to which the word alludes. Every mute should be taught this difference in the character of words, and his knowledge will be more rational and definite, and his progress in learning more rapid and agreeable.

I shall conclude this Lecture with one observation: in every case in which language seems to effect more than a reference to known phenomena, it refers to words only. I will illustrate this doctrine with the most solemn application I can adduce-its application to our knowledge of death. Confessedly we know but little of death; but that little is much beyond what is actually known. Death, say we, is at least a state of rest. If the dead feel no pleasure, they are free from pain. Be they buried or unburied, cast on a funeral pyre, or laid on a bed of roses, is alike to them. These expressions are significant and true; but not to the extent that is generally imagined. They are significant and true, so long as they refer to the phenomena exhibited by death; but the moment we extend, in the least, the signification,

As makes it light or heavy in the substance,

Or the division of the twentieth part

Of one poor scruple; nay, if the scale turn
But in the estimation of a hair,"

our words refer to no archetype in nature, and are insignificant except as they may refer to declarations of holy writ. We cannot increase our knowledge of death by employing language upon it; but by resorting either to revelation or our senses. One sight may be referred to by a thousand words, but the sight will be neither enlarged nor multiplied. Copiousness may increase the bulk of our dictionaries, but not our knowledge of nature.

LECTURE VI.

WHEN Agib, the son of Zorader, desired knowledge, he was commanded by a venerable Lama of Thibet to seek knowledge amid the stones which lie scattered over the peninsula of Guzurat. Agib was discouraged. Behold! said he, the stones are countless; the way is also through the jungle of the tiger, and beset with the ravenous boa. Ascend, then, said the Lama, the heights of Caucasus, and seek knowledge among the birds which periodically pass from the Black sea to the Caspian. Alas! exclaimed Agib, the mountain is infested with hostile tribes, and eternal snows disform its summit. Go, then, said the Lama, to the beautiful valley which lies before us; penetrate the earth in a spot that you will discover, and knowledge shall be disclosed.

Agib departed. The sun burst from a cloud that had just irrigated the earth. The birds filled the air with harmony. Odours refreshed every breeze, and all nature was animation and beauty. Agib approached joyfully the

spot which the Lama had designated. Now, .exclaimed he, knowledge shall be in my possession. Age shall admire my attainments, and youth contend to show me honour. He cast aside a mantle by which his efforts might be impeded, and excavated the earth with activity. Soon, however, the soil became compact, and the strength of Agib less efficient; when the appearance of a mass of stone seemed to preclude all further progress. Agib returned to the Lama, who decided that the stones must be removed. By great labour he removed them, and the cavity was immediately filled with water. In despair Agib again besought the Lama, who commanded that the water should be exhausted. Agib exhausted the water, still nothing was discoverable but a bed of slate. Bruised and dejected, he once more informed the Lama. Sluggard! exclaimed the weary priest, what did you expect to find? You have discovered a ledge of stone that may build temples: you have disclosed a spring which may cherish herds; and more, you have ascertained that though the possession of knowledge may be pleasant and profitable, the pursuit of it is laborious and painful.

We probably need not the experience of Agib to teach us that every thing estimable must be costly. Providence seems to impress this law on all the blessings with which we are surrounded. Even health cannot be retained without labour, nor reputation without a constant warfare against evil inticements. Summon then all your resolution to proceed with our investigations, though they should increase your information but a very little; for remember, if knowledge were attainable without effort, it might possess, like air and water, a theoretical homage; but it would command no practical reverence.

:

In my previous lectures I have stated all the essential qualities of language; and I propose to speak now of the power by which language commands our assent to certain propositions; for instance, why are we forced to admit that a half is less than the whole ?

This property of language, like every other, has been much involved in mystery, though intrinsically it is very simple. We assent to a proposition when we find that the premises affirm the conclusion. This is the whole process of argumentation. The most elaborate reasoning, and the most reconditę, can effect no more than to show us that the conclusion is admitted by the premises. Why, then, is a half less than the whole? Because the term half admits that it is less. There is no other reason.

“The table which we see, seems," says Hume, "to diminish as we remove from it; but the real table, (which exists independently of us) suffers no alteration. What we see is, therefore, nothing," continues Hume, “but the image of the real table."

I would ask, Why? Because the premises include an admission that the table which we see is not the real table. Those who discover that the premises affirm this conclusion, will assent to the deduction; while those who do not, will be unconvinced. In a syllogism, the position may be stated thus: The table which we see diminishes as we remove from it; but the real table suffers no diminution. Therefore the table which we see is not the real table.

"If we are unable to discover truth, the defect," says Plato," must arise from one of two causes; either there is no truth, or man's faculties are inadequate to its discovery."