oroughly and critically in a number of
literary works representing the various periods of its growth.
Nevertheless, short lists of vocables, and imperfect sketches of a
grammar, are in many instances all that the student can expect to obtain,
or can hope to master and to use for the purposes he has in view. He must
learn to make the best of this fragmentary information, like the
comparative anatomist, who frequently learns his lessons from the smallest
fragments of fossil bones, or the vague pictures of animals brought home
by unscientific travellers. If it were necessary for the comparative
philologist to acquire a critical or practical acquaintance with all the
languages which form the subject of his inquiries, the science of language
would simply be an impossibility. But we do not expect the botanist to be
an experienced gardener, or the geologist a miner, or the ichthyologist a
practical fisherman. Nor would it be reasonable to object in the science
of language to the same division of labor which is necessary for the
successful cultivation of subjects much less comprehensive. Though much of
what we might call the realm of language is lost to us forever, though
whole periods in the history of language are by necessity withdrawn from
our observation, yet the mass of human speech that lies before us, whether
in the petrified strata of ancient literature or in the countless variety
of living languages and dialects, offers a field as large, if not larger,
than any other branch of physical research. It is impossible to fix the
exact number of known languages, but their number can hardly be less than
nine hundred. That this vast field should never have excited the curiosity
of the natural philosopher before the beginning of our century may seem
surprising, more surprising even than the indifference with which former
generations treated the lessons which even the stones seemed to teach of
the life still throbbing in the veins and on the very surface of the
earth. The saying that "familiarity breeds contempt" would seem applicable
to the subjects of both these sciences. The gravel of our walks hardly
seemed to deserve a scientific treatment, and the language which every
plough-boy can speak could not be raised without an effort to the dignity
of a scientific problem. Man had studied every part of nature, the mineral
treasures in the bowels of the earth, the flowers of each season, the
animals of every continent, the laws of sto