have a printed text they will wish to read it, and will learn to read. This has already happened in the case of many savage races . . . not that I wish to apply such a term to the people of this country. . . . Furthermore," I went on, "is it not a deplorable thing that a language should disappear, leaving no trace behind? Prussian became a dead language thirty years ago, and the last person who knew Cornic died the other day."
"Sad," interrupted the Count. "Alexander Humboldt told my father he had met with a parrot in America that was the only living thing which knew several words of the language of a tribe now entirely wiped out by small-pox. Will you allow me to order our tea here?"
While we drank tea the conversation turned upon the Jmoudic tongue. The Count found fault with the way Germans print Lithuanian, and he was right.
"Your alphabet," he said, "does not lend itself to our language. You have neither our J, nor our L, Y, or Ë. I have a collection of daïnos published last year at Koenigsberg, and I had immense trouble to understand the words, they are so queerly formed."
"Your Excellency probably speaks of Lessner's daïnos?"
