Olive Leaves; Or, Sketches of Character

by L. H. Sigourney

"When my little sister died, I wondered why she lay still so long. I thought she was lazy to be sleeping when the sun had arisen. I gathered violets, and threw them in her face, and said in my dialect of signs, "Wake up; wake up!" And I was displeased at her, and went so far as to say, "What a fool you are!" when she permitted them to put her in a box, and carry her away, instead of getting up to play with me.

"Afterwards, when my mother died, they told me repeatedly, that she was dead, dead; and tried to explain to me what death meant. But I was distressed when I asked her for bread, that she did not give it to me; and when she was buried, I went every day where they had laid her, waiting, and expecting that she would rise. Sometimes I grew impatient, and rolled upon the turf that covered her, striking my forehead against it, weeping and saying, "Mother, get up! get up! why do you sleep there so long with the child? I am sick, and hungry, and alone. Oh, Mother! mother! get up!" When I was taken to my grandmother's house, I could no longer visit the grave, and it grieved me; for I believed if I continued to go and cry there, she would at length hear me and come up."

"I know that more pains were taken to instil religious principles into your mind, than are commonly bestowed upon the deaf and dumb. Will you tell me what was your opinion of the Supreme Being?"

"My kind grandmother laboured without ceasing, to impress me with reverence for the Almighty. Through her efforts I obtained some idea of the power and goodness which are visible in creation; but of Him, who wrought in the storm and in the sunshine, I was doubtful whether it were a strong man, a huge animal, or a vast machine. I was in all the ignorance of heathen sin, until by patient attendance on your judicious course of instruction, knowledge entered into my soul."

He then expressed to his teacher, the gratitude he felt for the blessings of education, and affectionately wishing him a good night, retired to repose.

Instances of the development of kind affections and religious hopes, are often touchingly displayed among the children who share in the privation of hearing and speech. This was peculiarly the case with two little silent sisters, beautiful in person and of gentle dispositions. Their names were Phebe and Frances Hammond. The eldest was a very fair, interesting child. She was deaf and dumb from her birth, but from infancy showed quick perceptions and a lively attention to every object that passed before the eye. She seemed perfectly happy, when the little sister, two and a half years younger, and like herself mute, was old enough to play with her. She would lead her with the greatest gentleness, keeping watch lest she should get hurt, with a tender, continual care. When they were permitted to amuse themselves out of doors, if she saw any thing approaching which she feared, she thought not of herself, but encircled the little one in her arms, and by cries sought for her relief and protection. If they wished to climb a fence, she would proceed at first, alone, trying every part, to be sure of its safety, ere she returned to aid her darling sister, keeping a firm hold on her as she ascended, and jumping over on the other side, to extend her little arm and lift her tenderly down. It was a touching sight, to view these silent children, at their healthful sports upon the smooth green lawn, or beneath the shade of spreading trees, supplying as it were, the deficiency of Nature, by an increased exercise of the sweetest, most sustaining affections.

Ere long, they expressed their desire to attend school, that they might "learn to do, like other children." Here they were very diligent, and by great attention from the instructress were taught to sew, to write, and to spell many words. Visitants of the school expressed surprise at the neatness of their needle-work, and chirography.

When they were brought by their father, from their home in Massachusetts, to the Asylum for the deaf and dumb, in Hartford, Phebe was ten, and Frances seven and a half years old. There was at that time a regulation in force, that no pupil under the age of ten years, could be received, being supposed unable to derive full benefit from their system of instruction.

Yet these little silent sisters, who had been together night and day, whose features and garb were the same, the smile or the sadness of one face being suddenly reflected on the other, as if but one soul animated two bodies, how could they be parted? The idea of a separate existence, a divided pleasure, had never entered their minds. Now, they gazed on each other with an expression of the deepest anguish. They folded each other in their arms. No power of speech was so eloquent as their imploring looks. The law relaxed its prohibition in their case. They were permitted to remain together.

Phebe took her seat immediately among the one hundred and forty pupils, forgetting in her desire to learn, the embarrassment of a stranger. Little Frances was more diffident, and clung to her as to a mother, never for a moment disappointed in finding the tenderest sympathy and love. Soon they became cheerful and happy. Their affectionate hearts were open to every innocent pleasure. Though the youngest in school, they were so docile and industrious as to obtain a rank among the best scholars; and when the lessons of each day were over, they comforted themselves with their sweet, sisterly love. If one received the simplest gift, it was instantly shared; if it could not be divided it was considered as the property of both.