THE KINDERGARTEN.
So much for what Dr. Campbell properly regards as the generation of the motive power of his young people's lives. The steam being ready, along what lines does he make the human engine travel? We start with the Kindergarten class. Half a dozen little girls are sitting at a table interweaving slit paper which presently is to decorate baskets and other things. One is a mite recently from Port Elizabeth, South Africa. She has mastered the theory of her work, and her little fingers only need practice to make them as efficient as those of her older companions. In this room is a glass case containing some clay models of pea-pods, buttercups, and other things that grow—which one would imagine they could never readily grasp in detail—every one executed by the pupils of the College. Even a small dog has not proved beyond the powers of these magic modellers. From the Kindergarten to the Geography class. Embossed maps lie on the table, and the pupils put their fingers on The Wash in England, or on the Andes, or on Tasmania, as quickly almost as one's eyes can travel from point to point. They answer questions as to what grows in a certain place, or who discovered it, accurately and readily. Other classes are learning geometry, the rudiments of agriculture, French and arithmetic. The reading class is one of the most interesting. Books in the Braille system lie before the pupils, who are running their fingers deftly over the mass of dots, and delivering passages from "Hamlet," with sufficient hesitation to prove the genuineness of the reading, and yet with an intelligence not always displayed by those with eyes who read Shakespeare aloud. Now and again the pupil comes to a word such as "Fortinbras," and it gives her just a moment's pause, creating an impression on one's mind of difficulties overcome, which only naïveté or the highest art could convey. Some idea of the extraordinary pains necessary to teach the Braille system—and it is unquestionably the best invented—may be gleaned from the fact that it has to be written backwards. For instance, the paper is placed between two strips of brass, the under strip being impressed with a succession of holes, and the upper divided into small squares through which the stylus or punch is passed.
CARPENTERING AND PIANO-MENDING.
As the writing has to be done from the back of the paper, it is easy to understand that the reading runs in the opposite direction—a circumstance adding immensely to the labour of the learner. All sorts of contractions have of course been adopted, and the blind write from dictation certainly as fluently as the ordinary school-boy, and they can read what they have written more fluently, for the average school-boy reads things better than his caligraphy. In the same way the most difficult sums are done by means of a type board, and it simply astounding how rapidly the pupils write down figures delivered as units and read them off as billions, millions, or hundreds of thousands. The angle of a cypher, which might play the part of a hyphen in ordinary type, alone tells them what numeral is intended. As one watches this one realises the force of Mr. W. W. Fenn's words:—"Give the blind man in his fingers an equivalent for his eyes, and the darkness in which he lives is dispelled." On this condition the Normal School at Norwood is a veritable creator of light.
Let us now take a glance at the workshop, where the boys are using plane and chisel, pointing and dovetailing pieces of wood which not only answer ends in themselves, but the treatment of which serves to make the blind useful with their hands. They seldom cut their fingers, extra care no doubt giving greater immunity. Another workshop near at hand is occupied by young men perfecting themselves in all the branches of pianoforte making and tuning. They learn to do everything, from tightening a wire to putting a new one in, and hundreds of testimonials from those who have employed blind tuners speak for the thoroughness with which they do their work. To enable the learners to familiarise themselves with the parts of an instrument, Messrs. Broadwood made specially for them a model which can be taken to pieces and put together again till they know all about it. The interest which Messrs. Broadwood have shown in the College has assumed very practical shape, and it is noteworthy that among the employés of the firm is an old pupil of Dr. Campbell's.
Musica: Lux in Tenebris.
Music of course is the principal means of gaining a livelihood with the blind. An organ recital and some glees fittingly bring this succession of wonders to a close so far as the visit to the College is concerned, but really only lands us on the verge of the great question of life after the College training is ended. Throughout the world blind musicians, who owe their education and their skill to Dr. Campbell and his wife, are earning their own livelihoods. In 1886 the aggregate earnings of ex-pupils amounted to nearly £10,000. Last year the sum was £15,000. This great result, however, has been accomplished in the teeth of a mountain of prejudice, ignorance, and I must add injustice, to surmount which has cost Dr. Campbell a mightier effort than the ascent of Mont Blanc. All he asks on behalf of his pupils is a fair field: he wants no favour. Two instances of the difficulty of securing even this may be given. An organist was wanted for a large church; Dr. Campbell was anxious that one of his pupils should compete. From the first the authorities declared it was impossible a blind man could hold the position, and to make it impossible the candidates were to be called on to play any two tunes from the hymn-book which any two people in the congregation might select. Here was a test which it was believed would defeat the blind man's chances. It reached Dr. Campbell's ears, and he forthwith obtained a list of the 250 tunes which had been most sung in that particular church during the last few years, set his man to translate their score into his own Braille, and to master them by heart. The day of trial came, and the first hymn called for was played by the blind candidate not merely as it was written, but with variations. The authorities marvelled, but said it was chance. The second was called, and still the blind man was ready. "It's a miracle!" was the exclamation, but the blind man won, and holds to-day, the position competed for against not only the world but the world's uncharitableness.