Language is naturally divided into two distinct and widely separated portions, having no necessary connection, though at certain points or stages uniting and combining together. First, is that universal capacity of expressing itself—its wants, its sufferings, and its enjoyments—which God has given to all His creatures, from the insect at our feet to the Caucasian man standing at the head of this vast and innumerable host of living beings. In the second place, in its structure and arrangement into parts or portions of speech; in short, its grammatical construction. With the former it is alone or mainly proposed to deal in this place, though it will be necessary occasionally to refer to the latter. As has been said, all living or rather all animal beings have the faculty of expressing their wants, and they have a vocal organism in exact correspondence with these wants and the purposes for which they are designed by the common Creator of all. Except to a few laborious and enthusiastic students of natural history, the vast world of insect life is a _terra incognita_, but each one of these myriad of beings is adapted to some specific purpose and beneficently designed by the Almighty Master of Life for the same universal enjoyment which is so distinctly revealed as the end of their existence in the more elaborately organized and higher endowed classes of animal being. And millions of these minute and often unseen creatures are daily and hourly singing praises to the Almighty Creator for His infinite goodness, rendering the fields and forests vocal with the music of their gratitude and the exuberance of their enjoyment. As we ascend in the scale of animated existence, the vocal faculty or language becomes still more distinctly revealed, with a vocal apparatus or organism in exact correspondence with the function or faculty that God has given to the being in question. The pigeon, of course, cannot give us the notes of the canary bird, nor the owl sing the songs of the nightingale. The serpent cannot exchange his hiss for the growl of the tiger, nor the ass abandon its uncouth utterances for the mighty roar or the majestic voice of the lion. Each is permitted to express its wants, its sufferings, and its joys, and each is provided with a vocal organism specific and peculiar to itself and to its kind, and in accord with the universal law of adaptation which inseparably unites organism with function. This, then, in its elementary form, is language—a faculty common to the animal world, and a necessity of animal existence. It differs in no essential respect in regard to human beings, or it varies no more from that of the animal world than other functions or faculties of the human being. There is, it is true, a point of departure or divergence where the analogies of the animal world are no longer applicable to human beings, or where animal beings cannot furnish parallels for those endowed with a moral