Last week we gave a concert to upwards of a hundred poor people, eighty of whom were blind. It was a very pathetic sight; but their great delight in the music, and the beautiful expressions of many of their faces, redeemed it. Some of the faces were continually turned upwards, and seemed as if they were drinking in every sound. One of the blind people, in speaking of music, said: “Why you know it is like meat and drink to us blind.” Some of them had never had such an evening; and did not even know what the word concert meant. We admitted a great number of guides this time, which we had not done before. The blind people seemed to care so much about having them, that we thought it better to let them come, even tho’ it excluded more of the blind. One man spoke so nicely about it; and said, “You see we feel so grateful to our guides; they are like eyes to us, and we don’t half enjoy it if they are shut out.”
One of the blind men we know is teaching a poor crippled boy chair-mending; and, when we asked how the boy was getting on, the man answered “Why he ought to learn to do it by feeling; for it stands to reason his sight don’t help him much. I don’t think much of sight.” The boy enjoys his work so much, and he says he dreams of it; and if he had a chair at home he would practise all day.
The Crag, Maenporth,
July 29th, 1866.
Florence to Emily.
There are great signs of cholera coming to London. I have been administering Battey right and left with great efficiency. I was very sorry to leave at such a time, for one really was of use. I compiled a beautiful thing for Ruth, with Gertrude, from the cholera reports, and sent her the lecture on epidemics. What a good thing it is that they have the house to house visitation!... Mama, A. and O. all seem to me gloomy; they declare they are not. Ockey is rather like a man taking a holiday; she thinks it her duty to be idle, and does not quite know what to do with herself; but I am going to worry her down to the rocks to hunt for zoophites; and she has promised to read “Modern Painters.”
The Crag.[[55]]
August 2nd, 1866.
Mrs. Hill to Emily.
... We are all very happy here. A. and Octa bathe every day, and read Virgil together after breakfast.... After early dinner we all sit out of doors, and the others work while I read Spenser.... Octa paints the sunset every night from the field above the house.... at 9.30 we sing a hymn and read prayers and then separate, some to bed. F. and I perhaps walk by starlight;—some read in their own room till bedtime. They all go out at low tide to find things which have “suffered a sea change into something rich and strange” on the rocks; and have been very successful, to F.’s great delight.... We are very merry. O. thinks she has laughed more this week than in a year at home; but I don’t think she knows what a frequent occurrence that is.... A. has written such a beautiful essay on contentment for the Essay Meeting, and Octa a very good one on tact.... Did you know Hugh[[56]] had fought at Waterloo and in four battles in the Peninsular War. He has medals for them.... Mr. Maurice took away twenty-four photographs of him, so I suppose he liked him—but Kattern[[57]] is my favourite. Hugh told us “there was a very pretty chapter—Titus—it gave advice to old men and young people—and was very solemn at the end.” He groans at prayers—but poor fellow, I suppose he feels, and does not know how to express that feeling.