酷兔英语

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hands only the quasimorphologic stage; that is, it consists of

catalogues concocted according to the ingenuity of the individual



and resembles the real thing about as much as a haphazard

arrangement of human bones might be expected to resemble a man.



Not only is the spirit of the subject left out altogether, but the

mere outwardsemblance is misleading. For pseudo-scientific



collections of facts which never rise to be classifications of

phenomena forms to his idea the acme of erudition. His mathematics,



for example, consists of a set of empiric rules, of which no

explanation is ever vouchsafed the taught for the simple reason that



it is quite unknown to the teacher. It is not even easy to decide

how much of what there is is Jesuitical. Of more recent sciences he



has still less notion, particularly of the natural ones. Physics,

chemistry, geology, and the like are matters that have never entered



his head. Even in studies more immediately connected with obvious

everyday life, such as language, history, customs, it is truly



remarkable how little he possesses the power of generalization and

inference. His elaborate lists of facts are imposing typographically,



but are not even formally important, while his reasoning about them

is as exquisite a bit of scientificsatire as could well be



imagined.

But with the arts it is quite another matter. While you will search



in vain, in his civilization, for explanations of even the most

simple of nature's laws, you will meet at every turn with devices



for the beautifying of life, which may stand not unworthily beside

the products of nature's own skill. Whatever these people fashion,



from the toy of an hour to the triumphs of all time, is touched by a

taste unknown elsewhere. To stroll down the Broadway of Tokio of an



evening is a liberal education in everyday art. As you enter it

there opens out in front of you a fairy-like vista of illumination.



Two long lines of gayly lighted shops, stretching off into the

distance, look out across two equally endless rows of torch-lit



booths, the decorous yellow gleam of the one contrasting strangely

with the demoniacal red flare of the other. This perspective of



pleasure fulfils its promise. As your feet follow your eyes you

find yourself in a veritable shoppers' paradise, the galaxy of



twinkle resolving into worlds of delight. Nor do you long remain a

mere spectator; for the shops open their arms to you. No cold glass



reveals their charms only to shut you off. Their wares lie

invitingly exposed to the public, seeming to you already half your



own. At the very first you come to you stop involuntarily, lost in

admiration over what you take to be bric-a-brac. It is only



afterwards you learn that the object of your ecstasy was the

commonest of kitchen crockery. Next door you halt again, this time



in front of some leathern pocket-books, stamped with designs in

color to tempt you instantly to empty your wallet for more new ones



than you will ever have the means to fill. If you do succeed in

tearing yourself away purse-whole, it is only to fall a victim to



some painted fans of so exquisite a make and decoration that escape

short of possession is impossible. Opposed as stubbornly as you may



be to idle purchase at home, here you will find yourself the prey of

an acute case of shopping fever before you know it. Nor will it be



much consolationsubsequently to discover that you have squandered

your patrimony upon the most ordinary articles of every-day use.



If in despair you turn for refuge to the booths, you will but have

delivered yourself into the embrace of still more irresistible



fascinations. For the nocturnal squatters are there for the express




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