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THE UNIVERSAL LANGUAGE. 153 how or other, when he sang everybody felt their own hearts touched; and if that is not a proof he spoke the universal language, there can be no such thing as a universal language in the world. Accordingly, when our Nightingale came out of the copse, near a magnificent kitchen-garden, one still midnight, and perched on an apple-tree bough and sang, everything that was alive and growing roused up to listen and converse. Now it was a very choice kitchen-garden, and there were a great many foreigners in it. Tomatas; Portugal Onions, French Marrows and Beans, for instance; American Cress, New Zealand Spinach, and ever so many more besides whose names I can't remember. And as plants are liable to be home-sick, like men, these occasionally bewailed themselves, wished themselves back at home, and treated with silent contempt the common cabbages, turnips, and even celery, who, as well as the weeds, called the garden their native land. Some of the foreigners had become naturalized, it is true, by long residence, and these took the matter easier; among them the Jerusalem Artichoke and