Waterbury evening Democrat. [volume] (Waterbury, Conn.) 1887-1895, 1891-06-15

the end of the present century will SEQ
the end of a number of things which we
have been wont to consider everlasting.
And the book stands are full of new ro-
mances, the scenes Of which are placed
hundred or more years ahead of the
present era, portraying social and eco
nomical conditions of more or less ex-
traordinary character.
But, after all, the interesting thing in
the world is man. What changes are
going to take place in him2 We will
conclude that his circumstances are
bound to improves; but will he himself ex-
pand and improve correspondingly? Our
own present circumstances, for exam
pie, are certainly superior to those of
the Elizabethan era, and yet none of
our authors (save, perhaps, in the Sc
cret conviction of his or her own hearty
is equal or superior to Shakespeare. Of
course, we may become more moral,
with the lapse of temptation to immor-
ality; but that is negative virtue. Are
we to become, in any respect, different?
Are qualities or powers to be added to
us whereof we know nothing?
This aspect of the matter has been
but little attended to. It is not easy to
imagine variations in humanity as in
things; and yet the latter, alone, would
be of comparatively small account. But
the author of story now publishing
has entered this neglected field, and the
idea he is developing promises well.
1.-THE Master Of Silence" is the title of
his tale, and it seems to be engaged
with the question of the manner in
which the men Of the future are to COM
municate with one another. It is not
possible, of course, to foretell at this
stage what solution the author has in
mind. But the casual critic may for
that very reason the more freely indulge
his own conjectures.
And certainly, when one comes to
think Of it, audible speech seems a
somewhat clumsy device for making
known ones thoughts. It is laborious,
redundant and artificial There is no
vital correspondence between the enun-
Citations of speech and the thoughts of
the mind. Vowel sounds may, indeed,
be regarded in measure as spontane-
GUS and natural; animals use them and
they express emotion. Properly gradu-
ated, they are the substance of vocal
music, and they are doubtless capable
| OF indefinitely finer gradations than we
have as yet found it worth while to
give them. But the introduction of
consonants renders speech, as such, in
corTigibly superficial and mechanical.
It is q violent and arbitrary expedient
and opens the way to hypocrisy and
falsehood. For, words being definite
and invariable signs, which are retained
by the memory and are available at
| will, any man can say anything he
chooses, without the least relation to
what may be actually in his mind. His
nearer, on the other hand, being by
tradition and habit accustomed to asso-
ciate these word sounds with certain
ideas and figures, receives impressions
which are not only as likely as not to
be alien to what is in the speakers
mind, but are even certain to be an in
complete and inaccurate version there
of; since 1t is actually impossible for
anybody with the best will in the
WORLDLY, to convey by word or utterance
an exact picture of his mental concep-
ton. Words, to whatever extent null
tiplied and refined, inevitably lead
around the point rather than to It;
when all has been said that can be
said, the vital essence has to be sur
mised-it has not been expressed. And,
l as matter Of fact, If we examine
closely what happens in conversation,
we shall find that we form our impress
sions of what people are, not from what
they say, but rather from their manner
of saying it-from their expression,
their information, their rate and rhythm
OF utterance, their gestures, the aspect
OF their countenance, and most of all,
perhaps, from what they do not say.
The conventional forms and compli-
ments Of greeting and talk which two
people go through with on first meet
ing, in order to avoid the awkwardness
OF silence, are for the most part
uttered .unconsciously and are not
listened to; nevertheless, something is
going on between the interlocutors;