Olive Leaves; Or, Sketches of Character

by L. H. Sigourney

It was supposed in ancient times, that those who were deprived of hearing and speech, were shut out from knowledge. The ear was considered as the only avenue to the mind. One of the early classic poets has said.

"To instruct the deaf, no art could ever reach,
No care improve them, and no wisdom teach."

But the benevolence of our own days has achieved this difficult work. Asylums for the education of mute children are multiplying among us, and men of talents and learning labour to discover the best modes of adding to their dialect of pantomime the power of written language. The neighbourhood of one of these Institutions has furnished the opportunity of knowing the progress of many interesting pupils of that class. Their ideas, especially on religious subjects, are generally very confused at their arrival there, even when much care has been bestowed upon them at home.

A little deaf and dumb boy, who had the misfortune early to lose his father, received tender care and love from his mother and a younger sister, with whom it was his chief delight to play, from morning till night. After a few years, the village where they resided was visited with a dangerous fever, and this family all lay sick at the same time. The mother and daughter died, but the poor little deaf and dumb orphan recovered. He had an aged grandmother who took him to her home, and seemed to love him better for his infirmities. She fed him carefully, and laid him in his bed with tenderness; and in her lonely situation, he was all the world to her. Every day she laboured to understand his signs, and to communicate some new idea to his imprisoned mind. She endeavoured to instruct him that there was a Great Being, who caused the sun to shine, and the grass to grow; who sent forth the lightning and the rain, and was the Maker of man and beast. She taught him the three letters G O and D; and when he saw in a book this name of the Almighty, he was accustomed to bow down his head with the deepest reverence. But when she sought to inform him that he had a soul, accountable, and immortal when the body died, she was grieved that he seemed not to comprehend her. The little silent boy loved his kind grandmother, and would sit for hours looking earnestly in her wrinkled face, smiling, and endeavouring to sustain the conversation. He was anxious to perform any service for her that might testify his affection; he would fly to pick up her knitting-bag or her snuff-box when they fell, and traverse the neighbouring meadows and woods, to gather such flowers and plants as pleased her. Yet he was sometimes pensive and wept; she knew not why. She supposed he might be grieving for the relatives he had lost, and redoubled her marks of tenderness. She often perused with great interest, accounts of the intelligence and happiness of the deaf and dumb, who enjoy a system of education, adapted to their necessities, and thought if any thing could separate her from her beloved charge, it would be that he might share such an inestimable privilege.

At length, the eyes of this benevolent lady grew dim through age, and when the little suppliant, by his dialect of gestures, besought her attention, she was unable to distinguish the movements of his hands, or scarcely the form of his features. It was then her earnest request that he might be placed at the American Asylum in Hartford, for the education of the deaf and dumb. There, when his first regrets at separation had subsided, he began to make rapid improvement. He became attached to his companions and teachers, and both in his studies and sports, was happy. When he had nearly completed the period allotted for a full course of instruction, a conversation like the following took place one evening, between him and a preceptor whom he loved:

"I have frequently desired to ask what were some of your opinions, before you became a pupil in this Institution. What, for instance, were your ideas of the sun and moon?"

"I supposed that the sun was a king and a warrior, who ruled over, and slew the people, as he pleased. When I saw brightness in the west, at closing day, I thought it was the flame and smoke of cities which he had destroyed in his wrath. The moon, I much disliked. I considered her prying and officious, because she looked into my chamber when I wished to sleep. One evening, I walked in the garden, and the half-moon seemed to follow me. I sought the shade of some large trees, but found she was there before me. I turned to go into the house, and advised her not to come, because I hated her. But when I lay down in my bed, she was there. I arose and closed the blinds. Still there were crevices through which she peeped. I bade her go away, and wept with passion, because she disregarded my wishes. I suspected that she gazed at me, more than at others, because I was deaf and dumb, and that she would tell strangers of it, for I felt ashamed of being different from other children."

"What did you think of the stars?"

"They were more agreeable to me. I imagined that they were fair and well-dressed ladies, who gave brilliant parties in the sky; and that they sometimes rode for amusement, on beautiful horses, carrying large candles in their hands."

"Had you any conception of death?"