couple of hundred yards off we shouldn't see him at all. As it is, we
can only see the outside of him, and that only on one side at a time;
and yet he is full of important and wonderful things that have taken
millions of years to make--like us! And to see him at all we have to
look straight at him--and then we can't see what's behind us or
around--and if it was dark we couldn't see anything whatever.

Poor eyes! Little bags full of water, with a little magnifying-glass
inside, and a nasturtium leaf behind--to catch the light and feel it!

A celebrated German oculist once told papa that if his instrument-maker
were to send him such an ill-made machine as a human eye, he would send
it back and refuse to pay the bill. I can understand that now; and yet
on earth where should we be without eyes? And afterwards where should we
be if some of us hadn't once had them on earth?

* * * * *

I can hear your dear voice, Gogo, with both ears. Why two ears? Why
only two? What you want, or think, or feel, you try to tell me in sounds
that you have been taught--English, French. If I didn't know English and
French, it would be no good whatever. Language is a poor thing. You fill
your lungs with wind and shake a little slit in your throat, and make
mouths, and that shakes the air; and the air shakes a pair of little
drums in my head--a very complicated arrangement, with lots of bones
behind--and my brain seizes your meaning in the rough. What a roundabout
way, and what a waste of time!

* * * * *