Italy's face glows with
enthusiasm. One can conceive of the one fighting on to avenge her
martyrs, steadfast to the inevitable end when Right triumphs over Might.
One can conceive of the other drawing her sword because of the blood tie
which links them together in a bond that craft and specious lies have
tried in vain to sunder. What do they stand for, these two noble
sisters? Everything which can be included in the word--ART. Everything
which has built up, stone upon stone, the stately temple of
Civilization, everything which has served to humanize mankind and to
differentiate him from the beasts of Prussia.
Looking at these two sisters, one wonders that there are still to be
found in England mothers who allow their children to be taught German.
One hazards the conjecture that it might well be imparted to
exceptionally wicked children, if there be any, because none can
question that the Teutonic tongue will be spoken almost exclusively in
the nethermost deeps of Hades until, and probably after, the Day of
Judgment.
For my sins I studied German in Germany, and I rejoice to think that I
have forgotten nearly every word of that raucous and obscene language.
Had I a child to educate, and the choice between German and Choctaw were
forced upon me, I should not select German. French, Italian, and
Spanish, cognate tongues, easy to learn, delightful to speak, hold out
sweet allurements to English children. Do not these suffice? If any
mother who happens to read these lines is considering the propriety of
teaching German to a daughter, let her weigh well the responsibility
which she is deliberately assuming.
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