But my thought is rather of the _transmission_ to the new generation, as a whole, of what--to paraphrase George Edward Woodberry--has been built out of the mystery of thought and passion of the past, as generation after generation has knelt, fought, faded, and given the best "that anywhere comes to be" to the souls of Enochian urge to carry on, "letting all else fall into oblivion." As the most primitive and picturesque visualization of the curriculum of this bequest of the race mind of one generation to the next, the pillars of Enoch stood on the verge of history against the Eastern sky of our civilization's dawn. They have crumbled, or they lie buried in sands that have hidden their wisdoms. The excavator's spade could uncover no more interesting record than that which would tell us what this great teacher thought should be saved from flood and fire out of the experience of the race. I have tried to imagine what was written there. It must have been a very meagre list to have all been written in the large letters or symbols of primitive speech on a single column. But the earth was then young to human eyes. (It has since grown so aged as to have its years counted by the thousands of millions.) And man was but come upon it, or so he then thought. When I was a college student, I supposed that he came in the year 4004 B.C., but now we are informed that he has been here hundreds of thousands of years. Even so, in those days he was still living in what I have called the perinikian age; that is, in the age when he had conquered only the near, an age when the angels even were very near the earth and walked with man. The ideal being in that period was a creature with wings. I once turned to my Greek lexicon to discover how many _far_ words there were in that perinikian period, whose world the Greeks had somewhat extended, and I found sixty-seven columns of "peri" (near) words and only about five, as I recall, of the "tele" (far) words, for the earth was only that which was within reach of the naked eye, the unaided voice. It was without the far-travelling printed word. Out upon the shores of Phoenicia, in the days of the war, I imagined Cadmus, the legendary father of letters, who is reputed to have borne the alphabet to the Western world out of the Orient, as not entirely certain that he had blessed humanity with this last means of far conquest, in this our day of higher mobility and greater transmissibility of ideas. I seemed to hear him say: