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That the language of action is capable of being reduced to system, and advanced to the perfection of spoken language, is a truth self-evident, at least to those, who have been accustomed to its use.

No one can doubt, that, were a whole people of deaf and dumb persons to exist together from generation to generation, they would construct a visible language, equally copious, and equally perfect with the languages now in use; nor that they would add to this a corresponding system of ideographic writing. But this perfection could only exist in a state of high intellectual cultivation. Language being simply the nomenclature of ideas, its copiousness must always be the measure of their multiplication. Supposing the language of action, therefore, to have attained an extent comparable to that of speech; we must suppose also a corresponding development of intellect, and a corresponding accumulation of knowledge in those with whom it originates.

Such a language would, of course, be far from being adapted to the circumstances of the deaf and dumb as they exist. Its signs, to them, would be without meaning; except so far as the limited circle of their ideas extends. It was, nevertheless, the notion of De l'Epée, a notion adopted by his illustrious successor, that to extend the vocabulary of signs, until it is made to correspond with that of spoken language, is all that is wanting, to reduce the labor of instruction to a mere process of translation. He conceived that the deaf and dumb might acquire a first language, by the same process which enables us to acquire a second and a third. But in this view of the subject, plausible as it appears, there is a radical error. We have already seen, that what is peculiar in this art consists, not in the imposition of signs upon ideas, but in conducting the pupil to the formation of the ideas themselves. A language of action may be, indeed, devised and taught, which, in conformity with the views of De l'Epée and Sicard, shall strictly correspond, even in its grammatical forms, with that of speech. This language may be translated into that of speech or writing; yet, after all, the process may prove merely mechanical; and we shall have accomplished nothing toward the removal of the real difficulty. From personal observation, we can, in fact, bear witness to the possibility of dictating to deaf and dumb persons complicated sentences, embracing the most serious grammatical difficulties, and of obtaining from them the corresponding words, properly arranged; while they, themselves, are utterly incapable of comprehending that which they have produced.

Let us look at this subject in the light of reason. The deaf and dumb present themselves before us, with a stock of ideas comprised within narrow limits; and for these they have usually corresponding signs. Our task is to multiply these ideas. It will not suffice merely to extend the vocabulary. Each addition to the list of signs must represent some reality, now, for the first time, made a part of the pupil's knowledge. Let us suppose our efforts successful in extending the circle of that knowledge but a single step. We have communicated one notion, to which the learner was previously a stranger. It remains to impose a sign upon this notion. Whether this sign shall be a word or an action is for us to choose. If an action, then translation must follow. Why this circuitous route? Is any thing gained by it? On the contrary, is there not something lost? We desire to make our own language the medium, to the deaf and dumb, not only of communication but of thought. This is among our fundamental principles. How can we more successfully attain this end, than by giving him but a single sign for each new idea; and that sign, one appertaining to the class which we desire him to adopt?

But, again, the imposition of signs upon words, if the principle of the Abbé de l'Epée be adopted, must take place, in many instances, without a careful determination of the corresponding idea. Otherwise there can be no translation, worthy of the name; but only a double imposition of signs upon the same idea, constituting a load cumbrous to the memory, and dividing the attention between synonymous terms. If signs of action on the other hand be instituted, which are in themselves insignificant, they may be productive of very bad consequences. The deaf and dumb person is accustomed to recognise nothing in his language which has not meaning. He does not, and he cannot, suspect insignificancy in any sign. To that, therefore, which is intended to represent an idea above his capacity, he attaches an idea of his own; an idea in the nature of things erroneous. By giving, then, to his language the degree of development aimed at by De l'Epée, the master is sure to encumber him with a mass, either of useless, or of unintelligible signs, -- useless, in the first instance, when we consider that it is in words, and not in pantomime, that we desire him to think; unintelligible, in the second, when we remember that these signs are imposed upon no real basis. In the one case, we thwart our own principal design; in the other, we, at best, bewilder the learner.