It is without doubt true that the deaf are closer to subconscious thought than those who have perfect hearing. It seems to be easier for us to go back to childhood or to raise into the mind memories of other days. It often becomes a wonder to me that old friends forget so many of the scenes and sayings of youth. I presume they have more to distract their attention. It seems to me that the useless or trivial conversation which most people indulge in must in time dilute or distort memory and drive away the pictures of youth. With the deaf these pictures seem to grow clearer with each year, and this, I take it, is one of the compensations which accompany the trouble. For as we march along the road and reach a hill from which we begin to see the end, I think it must be a lonely road which those must travel who have forgotten the pictures and companions of their youth. It is practically impossible for the deaf to weep as others do. They are for the most part denied what I may call the healing balm of tears, unless there can occur some great shock, some volcanic eruption of emotion which breaks down the dam and lets in the flood upon a dry desert of lonely years. But the deaf man who has kept his mind cleanly occupied and his spirit bright may find in happy memories a joy of life which others rarely know.
“Sometimes when night pulls down the shade after a weary day,
I sit beside my open fire and watch the shadows play.
Then memory takes me by the hand, and happily we go
Back to the kindly days of youth—when I was Mary’s beau.
Oh! Mary! In those golden years, when you and I were young,
When all the symphonies of youth by hopeful lips were sung,
When every avenue of life led out to rosy skies,
And fortune’s fingers dangled there the gifts that all men prize!
Old Time is kind. He hides the years which bear the loss and stain,