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The idea is clearly developed from direct preparations by the fire, such as roasting and baking, even in words from which these meanings were subsequently wholly excluded. One more step and we find these very words, which, from denoting the effect of the boiling water, have returned to express that of the fire, used of the sun. Thus the Greek πέσσω, "to cook," still implies in Homer to ripen, and this meaning the Sanskrit pak likewise bears. The Russian petch still signifies the burning, stinging of the sun. A very remarkable adjective from the same root, in its notional relations common to the early period of the Greek and Sanskrit languages, leads us still farther. It is the Greek πέπων, Sanskrit pakra. Πέπων, signifies "ripe;" in Homer and Hesiod, however, it does not occur in this sense, but in another which cannot have sprung from the former. They invariably use it as an address; in two passages it signifies a reproach for indolence or cowardice; in many others, however, it is equivalent to "O dear one." In observing the use of the word pakva in the Veda hymns we shall not be able to find in it a reference to cooking or ripening either; it there obviously means only "sweet or "eatable." The fact is, it is used not only of grain, of a tree, of branches, when it may mean to ripen, but also of milk in the frequently recurring thought "In the living cows, the black, the red, thou hast put the milk, ready and white." "Sweet" may be the meaning of the Greek word too in the insinuating address, and when, e.g., the dazzled Cyclop in the

"Odyssey" says to his favourite ram, îρiè πéπov, we shall have to render it by "sweet or tender ram." As a reproach, however, it would, according to the development of the word, mean effeminate or lazy. Herewith, then, all that refers to the preparation of food has disappeared from the word kochen (to cook), for to this the adjective in question bears close affinity. From something soft and eatable, let us say, from some fruit met with in this condition, the idea merges into that of softening by the sun, by fire, or boiling water. By the way, let me observe here that language shows no period when man did not eat meat; on the contrary, it seems to have been his earliest food. At the same time there is nothing to show that it was from the first prepared in any way; it was, doubtless, for a long time consumed in a raw state only.]

The vestiges of his earliest conceptions still preserved in language proclaim it loudly and distinctly that man has developed from a state in which he had solely to rely on the aid of his organs, differed little in his habits from the brute creation, and with respect to the enjoyment of existence, nay, to his preservation, depended almost entirely on whatever lucky chance presented to him. He became more powerful the more his ability to avail himself of the things around him increased. And how came it to be increased? Simply because his faculty of perceiving the things increased, a faculty which is none other than reason itself. It is the theoretical nature of man

that has made him so great. The present age has opened for the tool a new grand development; it creates in the machine, which is constantly being perfected and becomes more and more powerful, an implement emancipated from the hand of man, and inspiring its own maker with a peculiar admiration. It is not accidental that in this same age mankind should endeavour with so much consciousness to reflect on its past, and a meeting such as yours should make the beginnings of human culture the subject of its scientific investigations and debates. The state of culture of our species and its historical consciousness are quantities that increase simultaneously. We at once, with wistful and searching glances, take a retrospective view of the dark past from which we have started, and with bold hope look forward towards the no less dark goal whither we are being led. Shall we ever wholly penetrate the night of the primeval ages? Shall we ever reach the goal of perfection that so temptingly lures us onward from afar? We do not know. But our inner impulse irresistibly urges us on to pursue our inquiries in either direction and bids us march on !

III.

On Colour-Sense in Primitive Times and

its Development.

[Read before the Meeting of German Naturalists at Frankfort-on-theMaine, September 24, 1867.]

THE subject to which, for a brief space, I would request your attention, will, I hope, not be found unworthy of it. Has human sensation, has perception by the senses, a history? Were the organs of man's senses thousands of years ago in the same condition as now, or can we perhaps prove that at some remote period these organs must have been incapable of some of their present functions? These questions, it is true, fall within the province of physiology, or, if I am permitted to coin the term, of palæo-physiology ; but the means of answering them necessarily differ to some extent from those which in general are at the command of natural science. By means of geological "finds" we may gain a conception of the skeleton, and perhaps the whole external appearance, of an extinct species of animals; we can from remnants of skulls draw general conclusions as to an imperfectly developed human race of early times; but it would

be difficult to form an idea from the sight of the head, the remnants of which have been preserved in the Neander valley as a problem for our days, as to how it may have thought. Fortunately, the history of the mind, too, has its primeval relics, its deposits and petrifactions of another kind, affording more instructive explanations than one should be inclined to believe; and, if carefully pursued, they lead to perhaps unexpected, but, I think, on that account not less trustworthy results.

The history of colour-sense is of paramount importance to the total development of sensation. In the earliest mental productions that are preserved to us of the various peoples of the earth there lies stored up an uncommonly rich material for the study of the impression which colour made in primitive times; and I beg, in the first instance, to direct your attention to a negative result that arises from a search into that rich material. At an early stage, notwithstanding a thousand obvious and often urgently pressing occasions that presented themselves, the colour blue is not mentioned at all. If we consider the nature of the books to which this observation applies, the idea of chance must here be excluded. Let me first mention the wonderful, youthfully fresh hymns of the Rigveda, the discovery of which amidst the mass of Indian literature seems destined to become as important to the present century in awakening a sense of genuine antiquity as the revival of Greek antiquity at the threshold of modern times was to that period in

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