Homer, Dante, Milton, and Shakespeare
are the lineal descendants of the man who made holes in a leaf, or lines
on a wave-washed sand. Out of the finger-counting have grown up
book-keeping, geometry, mathematical astronomy and a knowledge of the
higher curves. Out of the prehistoric shrugs and sounds and grimaces we
have oral speech--much of it worthless, and not all of it yet wholly
intelligible. We are still continually being understood to say what we
never meant to say: we are forever putting our private interpretation on
the words of other men. Even yet, we are all too stupid. In our
dreariest moments does there not come to us sometimes a voice which
cries: Up, awake! Cease blinking, and begin to see!
Language is electric. Words have a curious power within themselves. They
rain upon the heart with the soft memories of centuries of old
associations, or thoughts of love, vigils, and patience. They have a
power of suggestion which goes beyond all that we may dream. Just as a
man shows in himself traces of a long-dead ancestry, so words have the
power to revive emotions of past generations and the experiences of
former years.
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