blunder, after
all, and my reader has learned something about the homo caudatus as
spoken of by Linnxus, and as shown me in photograph by Dr. Priestley.
This child is a candidate for the vacant place of Missing Link.

In accounting for the blunders, and even gross blunders, which, sooner or
later, one who writes much is pretty sure to commit, I must not forget
the part played by the blind spot or idiotic area in the brain, which I
have already described.

The most knowing persons we meet with are sometimes at fault. Nova
onania possumus omnes is not a new nor profound axiom, but it is well to
remember it as a counterpoise to that other truly American saying of the
late Mr. Samuel Patch, "Some things can be done as well as others." Yes,
some things, but not all things. We all know men and women who hate to
admit their ignorance of anything. Like Talkative in "Pilgrim's
Progress," they are ready to converse of "things heavenly or things
earthly; things moral or things evangelical; things sacred or things
profane; things past or things to come; things foreign or things at home;
things more essential or things circumstantial."

Talkative is apt to be a shallow fellow, and to say foolish things about
matters he only half understands, and yet he has his place in society.
The specialists would grow to be intolerable, were they not counterpoised
to some degree by the people of general intelligence. The man who knows
too much about one particular subject is liable to become a terrible
social infliction. Some of the worst bores (to use plain language) we
ever meet with are recognized as experts of high grade in their
respective departments. Beware of making so much as a pinhole in the dam
that holds back their knowledge. They ride their hobbies without bit or
bridle. A poet on Pegasus, reciting his own verses, is hardly more to be
dreaded than a mounted specialist.

One of the best offices which women perform for men is that of tasting
books for them. They may or may not be profound students,--some of them
are; but we do not expect to meet women like Mrs. Somerville, or Caroline
Herschel, or Maria Mitchell at every dinner-table or afternoon tea. But
give your elect lady a pile of books to look over for you, and she will
tell you what they have for her and for you in less time than you would
have wasted in stupefying yourself over a single volume.

One of the encouraging signs of the times is the condensed and
abbreviated for