I was afterward called to account by our worthy Superintendent to whom the person in question preferred a complaint of rude treatment. Begging permission to explain the situation, I respectfully enquired of our official in case this same gentleman were thrown for the first time in the presence of an equal number of society ladies, who could see if it would be possible for him to address a similar remark to them, without being charged with rudeness and presumption, or if it were not even questionable whether he would dare to address them in such a way at all--and we, although blind, felt that we had the right to demand the same deference and respect. It is almost needless to say that I was fully exonerated from all blame, and honorably discharged from the presence of my interrogator.

In the course of my travels I am ofttimes asked if I desire my meals sent to my room, presupposing, as would be naturally inferred, the possibility of great awkwardness in my manner of eating; hence I invariably decline this offer of privacy, as there need be nothing in our manner of eating at all _outre_ or disagreeable.

It is of course necessary to have a graceful attendant, and my first great care is to instruct my guide in all the phases of table ministration, which are more varied and important than is discernible to those who can see.

I also take great pains to instruct them in the art of walking with me properly; never allowing them to _tell_ me how to proceed, but to give me a tacit understanding _of_ their movements in order to direct my own, and this system in my own experience has been reduced to a science.

Many persons feel that it is far more sad and terrible to have once possessed sight, and afterward to become blind, than never to have seen at all, but I cannot agree with them, and will never cease to be grateful that until I was twelve years old, I could grasp, through sight, the unfolding beauties of nature and art, which are now so often reproduced that I can see all the manifold loveliness spread out before me, and for a season forget that I am blind. Those who are born in blindness, are, to a great extent, denied this pleasure, for it is almost impossible through the imagination to form any adequate conception of "things seen."

One of the most deplorable results of blindness is the fact that so many of its victims condescend to the degradation of beggary, thus bringing disgrace upon those who try to make an honorable living. I once had occasion to go into a prominent Express Office of Chicago upon important business of my own. The agent discovering that I was blind, and in evident antic.i.p.ation of a draught upon his pocket, resorted to it and drew out fifty cents. After learning my business he manifested considerable embarra.s.sment, and as slyly as possible deposited his money in its original place, and no doubt hoped the movement was not observed. Thus it so often becomes as apparent to us as to others, that the majority of people jump at the conclusion, that if one is blind, they must of necessity resort to begging, and I deeply regret that so many establish this belief by their conduct.

It has been to me a serious source of annoyance that so large a number of persons endeavor to impress upon my mind the idea that it is an act of charity to patronize me to the extent of the purchase of a single book, while just after me a strong man, with faculties unimpaired, a man amply able to do other work, may enter, and they buy from him anything he may have to sell without ever dreaming that it is a charity to do so.

But I am truly grateful to the majority of those with whom I come in business contact for their appreciation of my energy and enterprise, as they almost invariably consider mine a laudable way of making a living.

A great many blind persons offer as an excuse for inactivity that they have no capital to do with, but even this obstacle may be removed, as is so often the case with impediments in the paths of those who see.

In Marysville, California, I became acquainted with a gentleman who lost his sight in middle life, and exhausted all his means upon oculists and other measures intended to restore his eyes. Finding the case hopeless, and having a family dependent upon him for support, instead of sitting down in despair or resorting to begging, he went to a friend and borrowed two dollars and a half. With this he bought a basket, filled it with fruit and went out to sell it. This basket became the nucleus of an extensive business for some years after, and, at the time I met him, he was a highly respected citizen, possessing a comfortable home and a considerable bank account, though still holding a large fruit-stand as a permanent resource.

Another instance could be cited in the case of a young man of the same State who became suddenly blind, when some friend told him he had better go to San Francisco and hold out his hat, "for he would certainly do well." Wounded to the quick at such advice, he replied that, in case he accepted such a suggestion, he would solicit enough to buy a dose of strychnine and close out his business. Soon after an artist made him a proposition to travel for the sale of chromos in the interest of a gallery. He accepted it, and by that means soon became successful and independent.

We do not feel it necessary to work for the sympathy of the public, for we are already conscious of having that; but we do sincerely desire their respect, and, if freely extended, their patronage, as do any other cla.s.s of people plying a legitimate vocation.

Among the throng with whom. I have come in contact in the course of canva.s.sing, the vexed question, paramount in the minds of the majority, and one frequently addressed to me in person. It is: why I do not avail myself of an Inst.i.tution for the Blind, or--as they almost universally dub it--an Asylum in which I will be taken care of for life, almost invariably adding that they are taxed for this purpose.

I desire here to correct an impression which, in the main, is utterly false. These inst.i.tutions are (together with others) supported by the States in which they are located, and in so far as every property holder has a larger or smaller amount of State tax, they help to sustain the Inst.i.tutions for the Blind among others. These State inst.i.tutions are intended only for the education of the blind, and not for their support.

For the purpose of education there are a certain number of years allotted to each pupil, according to their age at the time of admission. At the expiration of this term they have no alternative but to go back to the poor homes of their respective counties, more unfitted to endure their privations than before they were permitted a taste of a better mode of life, and no matter how sad their sacrifices, or how bitter their trials, they are never looked after by the Inst.i.tutions in which they graduate.

In their new life, however high may be their excellence in music or any other accomplishment, or how great their effort to make them available, their surroundings are all against them, consequently they lapse into a condition even worse than before their education, because their enlightenment renders them more keenly sensitive to their affliction.

But I am thankful there are so many who have courage to rise above all these obstacles, and, with a heroism known only to those who have pa.s.sed through the crucible, to become n.o.ble men and women.

Another question so often arising is, can the blind distinguish colors by the sense of feeling? To this my invariable answer has been, "I believe it to be an impossibility." Many insist upon the point that it is not only possible, but that they can substantiate it as a fact--having seen it with their own eyes.

This I have, of course, no right to dispute, but in ill.u.s.tration of the point in question, and in proof that one can be mistaken therein, I will cite an incident that occurred in the Baltimore Inst.i.tution.

Three gentlemen visitors to that place having completed their inspection, were about taking leave, when they were attracted by "little Joe," a bright, intelligent boy pupil, and immediately asked him if he could distinguish colors in the above-mentioned way. The quick-witted little fellow a.s.sumed the serene dignity of a sage and calmly answered, "Of course I can," whereupon the gentlemen stood in a row and offered Joe the tempting bait of one dollar if he would tell each one the color of his pants. Two of them were dressed in broad cloth, and the other in a coa.r.s.e, grey suit. The boy naturally inferred that the smooth, textured fabric was broad cloth, and would most probably be black, and being aware of the then prevailing style of grey business-suits, he, with great ease, hit the truth exactly.

They freely gave the promised dollar, and left fully satisfied that he did it by the sense of touch. As soon as the door was closed, the mischievous urchin exclaimed, "Golly, boys, suppose I hadn't guessed right?"

Upon this matter I can only say in conclusion, that I have met during my life many blind persons, and have made this question an especial study, while not one instance has come under my observation in which the blind could distinguish colors by touch. By a systematic method of arrangement, a.s.sociation, etc, as well as through a remarkable recollection of certain distinguishing characteristics in objects around us, we attain to that which serves us much the same purpose as distinction of color. Indeed, in this, as in all things, the blind must, of necessity, be very methodical in everything they undertake to do.

I sincerely hope that in my heterogeneous and apparently random remarks, I may have uttered some word of comfort to the blind, some hint which may truly aid them, some sentiment which may sustain, for my heart goes out to them in the sympathy of a common affliction.

"SIGHT OF THE BLIND."

Since closing my preceding article I have received from the author, who is one of the most distinguished blind writers, an essay Which I take great pleasure in introducing below, not only because of its eminent source, but from its confirmation of some of the points I have attempted to ill.u.s.trate, and which, together with many original and suggestive thoughts, are given with the plenitude and the power of eloquent rendition.

"HOW DO THE BLIND SEE?"

BY L.V. HALL.

This may be regarded by some as a paradoxical question; and yet it is not, if we accept the word see, in its fullest and broadest sense. Webster defines the verb see, as follows: "To perceive by mental vision; to form an adequate conception of; to discern; to distinguish; to understand; to comprehend." True, we do not see through the same medium that you do, who have perfect organs of sight, but we certainly perceive and comprehend the relation and condition of things about us. The Creator has so wisely made, and beautifully adjusted the external organs of sense, one to another, and each to all, that when one is lacking the others are made able, by greater exercise, to perform the functions of the missing one. For example, if one loses his hearing, sight is rendered keener, and the nerves acquire a sensitiveness almost painful. Dr. Kitto, who was deaf from twelve years of age, speaks of this peculiar sensitiveness as follows: "The drawing of furniture, as tables or chairs, over the floor, above or below me, the shutting of doors, and the feet of children at play, distress me far more than the same cause would do if I were in actual possession of my hearing.

"By being unattended by any circ.u.mstances or preliminaries, they startle dreadfully; and by the vibration being diffused from the feet over the whole body, they shake the whole nervous system in a way which even long use has not enabled me to bear."

In the same interesting article on percussion, he says: "A few days since, when I was seated with the back of my chair facing a chiffonier, the door of this receptacle was opened by some one, and swung back so as to touch my hair. The touch could not but have been slight, but to me the concussion was dreadful, and almost made me scream with the surprise and pain; the sensation being very similar to that which a heavy person feels on touching the ground, when he has jumped from a higher place than he ought. Even this concussion, to me so violent and distressing, had not been noticed by any one in the room but myself."

This physiological phenomenon is a.n.a.lagous to the sensation experienced by the blind on approaching any tall or broad object. We feel their presence when we are several yards from them. I have sometimes been startled by the sudden impression produced by a lamp-post, or tree when in fact it was a yard or more from me. The sensation is somewhat like receiving a smart blow in the face. I am frequently aware of pa.s.sing a building while riding along a country road, and the proximity of trees, fences and other objects is quite perceptible.

This is not a latent sense, developed by circ.u.mstances, as some have supposed, but a wonderful acuteness of the nerves of the face, and more particularly of the nerves of the eye-lids. These phenomena may, I think, be explained in this way. When one of the superior senses is absent, the perceptive force that has watched at the eye, or listened at the ear, is now transferred to other nerves of sensation. In other words, a deaf person is all eyes, and extremely alive to tangible percussions, as will be seen in the case of Dr. Kitto and others. The blind are all ears and fingers, and certain of the inferior animals are all ears and heels; I am not sure but there is some neck in both cases. Since it has been shown that new perceptions and conditions have been developed in the absence of one or more of the superior senses, that the deaf are so keenly cognizant of vibration or jar, which is the father of sound; that the blind can feel the presence of objects at short distances, which is a.n.a.logous to sight, it should not be thought strange that we make such frequent use of the word _see_, or that the deaf should make use of the word _hear_, and that these words are not without significance or import. Besides this there is a mental perception (doubtless through a magnetic medium,) of the presence or nearness of other minds. This accords with the experience of many persons. I have frequently entered rooms that I supposed to be unoccupied, judging from the silence that reigned, but on taking an inventory of my feelings I found a consciousness of some one's presence, and this I have done when not the slightest sound aroused my suspicions.

A little incident that occurred while I was a teacher in the New York Inst.i.tution for the Blind will, perhaps, better ill.u.s.trate this point.

I called one evening at the matron's room to ask her to read a letter which had just been handed me. Supposing it to be a confidential one, and wishing to make sure that no one else was in the room, I enquired of the matron if she was alone. On receiving an affirmative answer, I handed her the letter, requesting her to read it. But, feeling a consciousness that some other mind was present--a strange mind, with which I had no sympathy--I walked round to the other end of the table and placed my hand on a lady's shoulder, remarking to the matron that I felt sure there was some one in the room beside herself, and asked that the letter might be returned to me unopened.

From the long experience of this perception, or intuition, has grown the old adage, "The devil is always near at hand when you are talking about him." I am not sure that this magnetic condition is more largely developed in us than in those who see, but I am led to think it is for this reason, eyes are of paramount importance to those who have them, and we who have them not search for other media of communication. Mental presence is either inspiring and a.s.suring, or depressing and embarra.s.sing. I have observed that when in the presence of some people I have felt comfortable and a.s.sured, while in the presence of others I have felt diffident and uneasy, I allude here to persons with whom I had no previous acquaintance.

Minds are felt in a ratio proportionate to their will-power. Shallow, conceited minds are not magnetic. I have been told by blind preachers, public lecturers and concert singers, that they always feel the difference between an intelligent and appreciative audience and one made up of coa.r.s.e and uncultured people, and this consciousness they have felt before any demonstrations of applause or disapprobation were made. I have had many opportunities to experiment on my own feelings in relation to this magnetic influence or mental recognition. I was a concert singer in my younger days and could always tell whether I was singing to a large or small house, and whether my audience was in sympathy with me or not.

If it is argued that I gained this knowledge through the ear, and not through the magnetic medium that I suppose to exist, I will add other experiences that will be more convincing to the reader.

In pursuing my business as itinerant book-seller for many years, I have frequently called at offices when their occupants were out, and on entering have often said to my guide, "Oh, there is no one here, let us go, and call again." On the other hand I have often been conscious when entering a room that there was not only one mind but several minds present. If I should be asked to describe this consciousness, or mental recognition, I should not know what language to employ. These are some of the compensations which the blind receive for the great loss they have sustained. The sense of smell is ranked as the least important of all the senses, yet it is of great value to the blind. Through this avenue to the mind come many pleasurable sensations. By it we are aided in the selection of our food, in choosing ripe and healthful fruits, in detecting decomposition, dirt and filth, and in ascertaining much that eyes discover to those who have them. Without it flowers would have no attraction for us, and life would lack many of its pleasures. At the risk of being cla.s.sed among dogs and vultures. I acknowledge that I am often guided by my olfactories in doing things that seem so very unaccountable to my friends.

In pa.s.sing along the business streets my attention is continually attracted by the odors that issue from stores, shops, saloons, etc., and these peculiar smells often direct me to the very place I wish to find.

From groceries come the odors of spices, fish, soaps, etc. From clothing and dry goods stores the smell of dye-stuffs. From drugs and medicines, the combined odor of many thousand volatile substances, such as perfumes, paints, and oils, asafaoetida, etc. From shoe stores comes the smell of leather; and from books and stationery the smell of printer's ink. Hotels, saloons and liquor stores, emit that unmistakable odor of alcohol, the prince of poisons. To me the smell of alcohol, wines, etc., has always, since my earliest recollection, been grateful and fascinating; and had I cultivated an appet.i.te for strong drink, it would be as difficult for me to pa.s.s a liquor saloon as for a man whose eyes are tempted by a magnificent display of mirrors and bottles. I have often been made aware of open cellar doors by a damp, musty smell that commonly proceeds from underground rooms, and have, I think, been saved from falling by this odd warning. I should have fallen, however, only a few days ago, into one of these yawning horrors had it not been for my ever watchful wife who was providentially near and called to me in time to save me from injury. Some workmen were laying a patch of side-walk on Main street, in the town in which I reside, and had opened a cellar-way near which some of them were at work, but did not warn me, doubtless because they did not see me, for workmen are always very kind to me.

I am guided and governed more by the ear, however, than by either of the other organs of sense. If I wish to cross the street it tells me when teams are coming, how far they are away, at what rate of speed they are traveling, and when it will be safe to cross. If I find a group of men conversing, it tells me who they are. If I wish to enter a store, or any place, it tells me where the door is, if open, by the sounds that issue therefrom, but in this I have sometimes been misled by going to an open window, which always makes me feel awkward. Sound to me is as important as light is to the seeing, and brings to the mind a great many facts that are gathered through the eyes when sight is made the prime sense.

Much of my information, however, is received through the fingers. They are properly the organs of touch. Although this sense is distributed over the whole body, even to the mucous membrane that lines the mouth and covers the tongue. When the finger's ends have been hardened by labor, or from any cause, the lips and tongue are the most sensitive, and are often used in threading needles, stringing beads, etc, very innocent uses surely to put the tongue to. This sense of touch is of _necessity_ cultivated by the blind until it often reaches a state of perfection seldom, if ever, found in the seeing. Of course its development is gradual, as is the growth of all the faculties. When I was quite a little child, and my fingers were soft, I could readily distinguish all the variety of flowers that grew in my sister's flower garden, and could call them by name. From touch I knew all the common fruits, from the peach with its velvet skin, to the strawberry in the meadow, for which I used to search diligently with my fingers, and sometimes find, as I remember, thistles, which were never quite to my taste. One thing among my childish sports and amus.e.m.e.nts, for they were limited, always gave great pleasure; and does even now. I loved to play along the brook or lake sh.o.r.e, to feel for smooth and odd shaped stones, for pretty sh.e.l.ls, etc. Their beauty to me existed only in the great variety of shapes they presented, and in their smooth, pearly surfaces, as they never suggested to my mind any idea of color. Winter afforded me few opportunities for cultivating my love for the beautiful.

Summer was my heaven, with its singing birds, its tinkling brooks and its fresh and delicious fruits.

I took great pleasure in examining, with my fingers, flowers, leaves and gra.s.ses, because their great variety of shape and texture fed an innate longing after something that I could not then comprehend.

When but an infant, I am told nothing amused me so well as a branch of green leaves.

My early boyhood was spent in rambling through the woods, hunting nuts, squirrels, chipmunks, etc., with other boys of my own age, in climbing trees, digging for wood-chucks, skating, coasting, and in performing all the feats common to boyhood, such as standing on my head, hopping, jumping, whistling, shouting, &c. I shall regret to have this page come under the eyes of my boys, for in noisy mischief they already exceed my most sanguine expectations, and need not a record of their father's boisterous childhood to encourage them.

This kind of life, however, has fitted me to enter upon a systematic course of study, which I did at the age of sixteen. I was received as a pupil of the New York Inst.i.tution for the Blind in 1844. I entered in a good, healthy condition of body and mind. Found there boys and girls like myself, without sight, yet earnestly engaged in pursuing the various branches of English education. Many of them were like myself, full of life, fond of fun and mischief. Many laughable incidents and anecdotes characteristic of such an inst.i.tution are fresh in my memory, which, I should be pleased to relate, did they ill.u.s.trate the subject in hand. Here I found sight, which I had always supposed so necessary, somewhat at a discount. I discovered that books, slates, maps, globes, diagrams, &c., could be seen through the fingers, and that children could learn quite as rapidly in this way as with sight. I was not long, either, in discovering that the older pupils and graduates were intelligent, accomplished and refined; that they were treated more as equals by the officers, and that they were trotted out to show off the merits of the inst.i.tution, while we young blockheads were kept in the background. This, I think, did much toward inspiring me with ambition. My progress at first was slow, having to learn how to use the appliances. My fingers must be trained, my memory disciplined and my habits of inattention corrected.

No effort was made, however, to take the mirthfulness out of me, and I doubt if anything could have succeeded in this. My first introduction to tangible literature was in placing my hand on a page of the Old Testament in embossed print. At first I could feel nothing like letters or any regular characters, only a roughness as though the paper had been badly wrinkled. A card was then placed in my hand on which the alphabet was printed in very large type, and my attention called to each letter. My fingers, then soft and supple, were not long in tracing the outlines of each character, and, my memory being naturally retentive, I was soon able to distinguish each letter, and give its name as my finger was placed on it. Another card was then given me in smaller type, which I mastered in the same way, and so on till I could read our smallest print.

I have been thus minute in describing the rudimentary process of finger training, that my readers may understand how it is possible for the fingers to be made useful to the blind. To show how quick is the perception through this avenue to the mind, it should be known that we cannot feel a whole word at once, but a single letter. And yet some of us are able to read more than a hundred words per minute, and to trace on raised maps boundary lines, rivers, mountain chains, lakes, straits, gulfs, bays, to find the location of towns, islands, &c.

It would seem that the fingers are capable of grasping almost everything that the eye embraces, though of course more slowly, and from the wonderful acuteness of which they are susceptible has grown the popular impression that the blind can feel colors. I have been asked this question many thousand times, and have invariably replied that we can no more feel colors than the deaf can see sounds or the dumb sing psalms. I am aware that it is stated by some eminent writers that the sense of touch in some persons has reached this perfection, but I have many reasons to doubt it.

I have no personal object in contradicting this statement, other than to correct a popular error. Should be glad if it were true. It has been accounted for by scientific men upon this hypothesis: that colors differ in temperature, that red is warmer than yellow, and yellow warmer than green, and so on through the spectrum. That violet is a cold color as its rays are less refracted, that these differences are appreciable to delicate fingers. I have tried many experiments both with my own fingers and with persons at our several inst.i.tutions, who, like myself, were born without sight, and, have never yet found one who could form the faintest idea of colors from impressions received through the fingers. Indeed there is nothing in tangible qualities that suggests color, except differences in texture. We may feel that a piece of broad-cloth has a harsh texture, and call it black, or a soft texture, and call it drab or brown. In this we may guess right, for it is only a guess after all. Wool buyers and dealers in cloth judge frequently of their quality by touch; and it is true that we who are without sight come to be very expert in judging of the quality of cloths, furs, &c. But, to one who has never seen light, there is no suggestion of color through finger perception.