When, however, the language of Nature is learnt, and her voice is no longer a confused murmur to the ear, but becomes a brilliant series of eloquent words, full of deep and exquisite meaning, then the student will _see_ as well as _hear_; but till then, in his intercourse with Nature, he is both deaf and blind. “Speak,” said Socrates to a youth; “say something, that I may _see_ you.” Socrates saw not a silent man; and those who do not hear and understand Nature’s language, cannot see her wondrous beauty. The mill-like repetition of worldly affairs brings on a torpor of mind, in regard to all without the narrow circle of selfish interests and easily purchased pleasures, which it is very difficult to wake up from. But I would warn the suffering victims of that baneful, though secret, presence; for when the consciousness of its existence is aroused, the first step will have been taken towards its eradication. I would remind all those suffering from inactivity of mind, of the wholesome dread of that kind of mental torpor entertained by the Gymnosophists; who, as Apuleus tells us, when they met at meals, required that each should be able to narrate the particulars of some discovery, or original thought, or good action, or it was deemed that he did not exhibit a sufficient reason for being allowed to consume a share of the viands, and he was consequently excluded from the repast. Were each of our most idle sea-side loungers to impose upon himself the necessity of a discovery, or an original thought, before he considered himself entitled to dine, that torpor, so deadening to the natural capacities of his mind, would soon give way to a state of mental activity, which, were it only from the brightness of the contrast, would be found highly agreeable, to say nothing of its advantages, or of the elevating and refining trains of thought to which it would necessarily give rise.