I

THE SEEING HAND


I HAVE just touched my dog. He was rolling on the grass, with pleasure
in every muscle and limb. I wanted to catch a picture of him in my
fingers, and I touched him as lightly as I would cobwebs; but lo, his
fat body revolved, stiffened and solidified into an upright position,
and his tongue gave my hand a lick! He pressed close to me, as if he
were fain to crowd himself into my hand. He loved it with his tail, with
his paw, with his tongue. If he could speak, I believe he would say with
me that paradise is attained by touch; for in touch is all love and
intelligence.

This small incident started me on a chat about hands, and if my chat is
fortunate I have to thank my dog-star. In any case, it is pleasant to
have something to talk about that no one else has monopolized; it is
like making a new path in the trackless woods, blazing the trail where
no foot has pressed before. I am glad to take you by the hand and lead
you along an untrodden way into a world where the hand is supreme. But
at the very outset we encounter a difficulty. You are so accustomed to
light, I fear you will stumble when I try to guide you through the land
of darkness and silence. The blind are not supposed to be the best of
guides. Still, though I cannot warrant not to lose you, I promise that
you shall not be led into fire or water, or fall into a deep pit. If
you will follow me patiently, you will find that "there's a sound so
fine, nothing lives 'twixt it and silence," and that there is more meant
in things than meets the eye.