Travellers' Stories

by Eliza Lee Cabot Follen

A friend, whom I had never seen, did me the honor to invite me to her hospitable mansion in Manchester. It was indeed a great privilege to be allowed to make a part of the family circle, and sit with them by their fireside, and be made to feel at home so far from one's native land; and this I experienced all the time I was in England.

I was prepared for the appearance of Manchester. So I was not astonished at the number of tall chimneys, nor at the quantity of smoke that issued from them. And I could quite enter into the feelings of the friend who told me that nothing was more melancholy than to see a clear atmosphere over the town; the blacker it looked the more prosperity was indicated, and the more cause for rejoicing.

My kind friend took me to one of the great print factories. My principal wish for going was to see how the factory people looked, whether they seemed well and happy. I observed them; they were well dressed, and were cheerful in their appearance. There were a few children employed, who looked healthy and happy. There was at this factory a reading room, nicely warmed and perfectly comfortable, where the workman, by subscribing a penny or two a week, could obtain the right to spend his leisure hours and see the periodicals and newspapers. Each one had a vote in deciding what these papers should be, as they were paid for by the subscription money of the laborers. The proprietors paid a certain sum towards the support of the reading room.

Of course, seeing one prosperous factory and the fortunate workmen in it, in Manchester, cannot enable one to form any adequate judgment of the condition of the working people.

I visited the Asylum for the Deaf and Dumb, which appeared to me to have an admirable teacher. One of his best aids is a young man who was his pupil. The teacher desired me to ask of this young man the meaning of some word that had an abstract meaning. I asked him what he understood by intelligence. He put his hand to his head, and thought for some time, before he attempted to reply; then he nearly covered the slate with his definition. He evidently saw the difference between intelligence and learning or knowledge, but had to use many words to express his idea; but I thought he had as clear a thought as any of us. After he had given the best definition he could, he added, "There is another meaning to the word: it means news, sometimes."

There was, at this Asylum, a little girl, about twelve years old, who was blind, as well as deaf and dumb. She was a very interesting child from her countenance and manner, apart from her infirmity. Her face was far more beautiful than Laura Bridgman's; her head good, but not so fine at present, not so well developed. Her eyes were closed, and her long, dark lashes rested on her cheeks with a mournful expression. The teacher was just getting into communication with her, but had to make many efforts, such as pressing her head, her heart, and shoulders, as well as her hands. When he tried to tell her that Laura Bridgman, in America, was in the same state that she was, and that she had learned a great deal, and had sent her love to all the deaf and dumb, by a lady who had come to see her, she raised her head, and looked as if trying to see or hear, and then put out her hand. I took it, and then told the teacher how Dr. Howe and others communicated with Laura Bridgman by moving their fingers, and making certain impressions on the palm of her hand. As I told him, I imitated the motions with my fingers on the palm of her hand. She gave one of those peculiar screams which Laura Bridgman does, at times, when she is excited, and her white face glowed with pleasure and strong emotion.

Her teacher told me I had put myself into communication with her; but my heart ached to think I could do no more.

In a few moments we left her. She told her teacher to tell me to give her love to Laura Bridgman, and sat down again upon her little bench, in the solitude of her perpetual silence and blindness.

When I had been over the institution, and seen the admirable work of the inmates, and was about leaving, I had to pass near this lovely child again. When I was within three or four feet of her, she put out her hand and took hold of me. It seemed as if she knew me from the rest of the party, after I had thus by chance spoken to her imprisoned soul. No one will wonder that I could not keep the tears out of my eyes.

I visited another collection of children, who might have been still more unfortunate than these but for the wise charity of the people of Manchester. The Swinton Union School is a large, noble building, in the outskirts of Manchester. The school is a fine looking place, surrounded by nice gardens and grounds. It can contain one thousand children; there were then in it six hundred and fifty. They have a fine, large, well-ventilated school room. They have a large place to wash themselves, with a sufficient number of separate, fixed basins, arranged to admit and let off water, a towel and piece of soap for each child; and they are obliged to wash their faces and hands three times a day. There are great tanks where they are all bathed twice a week.