Lonely, solitary, followed by his dam and brood, he creeps through
the tall grass, ever with watchful, terror-haunted eyes; satisfies
his few desires; communicates, by means of a few grunts and signs,
his tiny store of knowledge to his offspring; then, crawling beneath
a stone, or into some tangled corner of the jungle, dies and
disappears. We look again. A thousand centuries have flashed and
faded. The surface of the earth is flecked with strange quivering
patches: here, where the sun shines on the wood and sea, close
together, almost touching one another; there, among the shadows, far
apart. The Tribe has formed itself. The whole tiny mass moves
forward, halts, runs backwards, stirred always by one common
impulse. Man has learnt the secret of combination, of mutual help.
The City rises. From its stone centre spreads its power; the Nation
leaps to life; civilisation springs from leisure; no longer is each
man's life devoted to his mere animal necessities. The artificer,
the thinker--his fellows shall protect him. Socrates dreams,
Phidias carves the marble, while Pericles maintains the law and
Leonidas holds the Barbarian at bay.
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