THE BLIND.
The scene is one which awakens mingled feelings of pleasure and pain; of pleasure to see so many afflicted little ones, for most of them are young, led by the hand of kindness in the pleasant and peaceful ways of wisdom; of pain, when you behold them rolling wildly their sightless orbs, and seemingly endeavoring to gather in some few straggling rays of the cheerful sun, or to look out upon the beautifully draped fields of nature, and know that all these things, so attractive to us, are midnight darkness to them.
One of the scholars, a little girl about ten years old, read several passages from various books for me, and then pointed out on a large map of the United States, Pittsburg, and told me at the junction of what rivers it was situated, Richmond, Staunton, and many other places, with an ease and accuracy really astonishing. Two other girls, somewhat older, sung, and played on the piano “Do they miss me at home?” As I listened to the sweet melody of their well-tuned voices, I, for a moment, forgot their blindness, and felt tears dimming my eyes as my mind wandered back to the two near and dear ones at home, and I thought to myself, “Do they miss ME at home?” I then listened to the reading of several passages in French by a young lady of about sixteen. It really was surprising to witness the fluency with which her delicate fingers glided over word after word, and sentence after sentence.
In all these cases the reading is done by passing the fingers over raised letters.
The sweetness of expression, the amiability of character, the flow of spirits which characterized one of the little pupils, Bettie Archibald, engaged my attention, and enlisted my affection. On being asked if she would be blind in heaven, she very sweetly and quickly replied, “No, sir.”
Quite a number of the male pupils are daily instructed in instrumental music, and many of them display more than ordinary talents. It was quite a treat to hear the little fellows play “Yankee Doodle:” their faces were soon lighted up with smiles, and they played with as much life and animation, as if they were leading an American army on to victory.
We now wend our way into the apartments for
THE DEAF AND DUMB.
A large class, consisting of boys and girls, is seated in regular order opposite their instructor, who is also deaf and dumb. At a given signal, they all devoutly rise, and with eyes fixed on the fingers of their teacher, follow him in his devotions, as he leads them to a throne of grace. It is the most touching scene I ever witnessed. There is but one person (he, your correspondent,) in that large assembly can utter a syllable, or distinguish a sound. Not a sound is heard; the stillness becomes painful—deathlike; the devotion seems to grow warmer and warmer; the prayer is concluded; the seats resumed; all of this gone through without the utterance of one word.
What a lesson should it teach us! How true is it that we shall not be heard for our much speaking! Leaving the chapel, we enter the recitation room. Each pupil is standing opposite a black-board, with his eyes turned to the teacher; questions and answers are written by the instructor, and then copied by the pupils. In this room are assembled classes, each under the charge of a separate teacher, studying geography, grammar, history; and in one room is a small class just beginning to read. The chirography of some of the pupils is really beautiful; and we leave the room feeling that though God has deprived them of two senses, yet, in his loving kindness, he has bestowed upon them unusual capacities in the others. It may be a fact worthy of mentioning, that the deaf and dumb do the printing (raised letters) for the Blind: such is the economy of the Institute.