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A part of the poem which I recited in honor of Mar-shal Bertrand contained a reference to the death of Napoleon at Saint Helena,

"When by those he loved deserted,
Thine was still a faithful heart;
Thou wert proud to share the exile
Of the hapless Bonaparte.

"Like an angel, whispering comfort,
Still in sickness thou wert nigh;
And when life's last scenes were over,
Tears of anguish dimmed thine eye."

"Oh," he exclaimed, "how did you know that I sat with my head in my hands and wept as the life of the great general slowly ebbed away?"

"I did not know it," I replied, "but described the circumstance from imagination." Then he gave me a box containing a piece of the willow that grew above Napoleon's grave. "God bless you," he said in a husky voice, "how I wish you could have known the Emperor!"

I always admired the courage of Napoleon, though I could not love him as a man; and so the devotion of his faithful marshal touched my heart. Personally the visit of Ole Bull was more pleasing to me, for I love music better than the red deeds of war. For an hour the noted Norwegian violinist played from the great masters, and held everyone of us spellbound while he rendered with marvellous sympathy and power all of the selections he loved so dearly.

The general instruction of the blind was a new idea to most persons previous to 1850, and, on this account, we had many curious visitors, but we were always glad to show everyone who came what we could do. As it was one of my duties to conduct them through the build-ings, a good many peculiar questions were asked me. Once a lady said,

"There is one place I would like so much to see."

"What is that?" I asked, for we had been the round of all that I thought of interest to strangers.

"Why I am very anxious to see your children eat; how do they find the way to their mouths?"

"O well," I replied quickly, "if that is all, you shall see; send out and get me a piece of cake and I will show you." The same question was put to one of our boys; and he answered it as follows:

"We take a string, tie one end of it to the table leg; the other to our tongue; and then we take the food in our left hand, and feel up the string with our right until we come to our mouth."

Mr. Anthony Reiff, our music teacher, could see perfectly; but, on a certain occasion, while a party of us from the Institution were staying at a hotel, the clerk of the place asked how long he had been "that way." For a joke, the teacher answered, "All my life"; and the mistaken clerk carefully led him up to his room.

But we were also favored with scores of delightful visitors whom we loved to recall in later years. One afternoon the superintendent said to me, "There is a gentleman waiting below, and will you be so kind as to show him through the Institution?" I was only too glad to do so; and we went the rounds of the buildings, until finally the stranger picked up a copy of my book, "The Blind Girl and Other Poems." Not knowing me, he said,

"Oh, here is Miss Crosby's book. You know her well, I suppose." I admitted that I was acquainted with such a person and decided to have a little sport.

"And is she not very amiable?" was the next question.

"Oh, no; far from it," was my reply.

"Well, I am very sorry to hear that," he said. "but I will take one of her books; and will you please tell her?"

When he was leaving, he handed me his card, and I learned to my utter astonishment that the visitor was the celebrated Professor Tellcamp of Columbia Col-lege. The incident immediately brought to mind the scriptural advice, "Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares."

I never saw Professor Tellcamp again, and I suppose he did not learn of the joke that I played on him. Not long after his visit I entertained a young student of Columbia College under similar circumstances. The superintendent came up to the room, where several of us were enjoying a delightful book, in no mood to be disturbed; and when he called for volunteers to conduct a stranger through the building there was a silence. Finally I said carelessly, "I will take him through, if I like him." When we were introduced I did indeed like him; and we conversed for more than three hours unconscious of the flight of time. He had bright hopes for future usefulness, and I also had my own dreams, so we compared notes together. We did not meet again until sixty years afterward, but both of us were able to recall the minute details of our conversation on that day. He was Dr. Israel Parsons and became a successful physician in one of the beautiful towns of central New York. After our second meeting, we saw each other yearly for several summers at Assembly Park, until the white-robed angel summoned him to the Celestial City.

CHAPTER VIII
SUMMER VACATIONS

IN the summer of 1842 it was decided that about twenty of our pupils, accompanied by a few of the Board of Managers, should make a tour into the central part of the state, with the pur-pose of showing the public to what extent the blind could be educated; and also to induce parents to send their children to our school. This journey took us by way of the "raging canal"; and travel by water before 1850 was very popular. The Erie suited our purpose very well; for we could charter a boat, and tie it up at any town along the way until we were ready to proceed on the following morning, after the exhibition the night before in the town-hall. So we had a veritable moving "hotel" at our service.