LANGUAGE need not always be spoken, in the utterance of arbitrary signs and words, or written, or printed, to be read and understood. Nature, throughout all her domains of earth, water, air, and sky, though voiceless, perhaps discourses, nevertheless, in strains of impassioned eloquence, to the heart and comprehension of man. Astronomy gives a mute expression to a thousand grand and sublime and impressive ideas- the brilliant stars all talk. As the poet Addison aptly sings

"What though, in silence, all

Move round this dark terrestial ball!
What though no real voice nor sound
Amid their radiant orbs be found!
In reason's ear they all rejoice,

And utter forth a glorious voice."

In language of the immortal Cowper, too, though trite, yet always appropriate, like eternal truth - always graphic and eloquent

"Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds,
Exhilarate the spirit and restore

The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds

That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood
Of ancient growth, make music not unlike

The dash of ocean on his winding shore,
And lull the spirit, while they fill the mind-
Unnumbered branches waving in the blast,

And all their leaves fast fluttering all at once."

Yes, nature, though she utters no word, speaks intelligibly, and, sometimes, eloquently and impressively to both the mind and the heart; and important and ever-enduring truths are inculcated, without the intervention of any oral sound. The eye drinks in the varied beauties of the landscape- or looks upon the majesty of the ocean, when piled into white-crested mountains by the gale-or gazes awe-struck, yet with admiration, upon the solemn, and imposing, and terriffic grandeur of the thunderstorm, or contemplates the hush, and myriad stars, and partial gloom of midnight, mottled with the diamond fires of the sky-and impressions are made upon the soul, which a spoken or written language would be even utterly impotent to convey or produce.

Art, too, has her voiceless, but yet intelligible language. She talks, and gives a mute expression to glowing ideas, as well as nature; for he, who copies nature, and presents her with truthful accuracy to the gaze of her admirers, in any one of her ten thousand varied attitudes, speaks with equal impressiveness to the mental comprehension and the feelings-yea, even with greater, we imaginefor, to the admiration of the beautiful original, there is superadded, in the mind, an admiration for the towering and masterly genius, which can successfully imitate her, and present such a truthful copy. When the artist almost "makes the marble speak—almost makes the brook to murmur down the painted landscape - almost makes the winds blow, or lightnings flash, or zephyrs breath, or deep silence reign upon the canvass in the moonlight hush of the elements, he certainly conveys, to most minds, impressions more glowing and vivid than the originals themselves could ever have made. And why-what is the philosophical explanation for this? It must be owing to the combined influence of nature and genius. Admiration of the original is mingled with an increased admiration for the masterly ability, which could produce an almost living and breathing copy. And this is the principal reason, we apprehend,