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APPENDIX A.

DIRECTOR'S REPORT ON LAURA BRIDGMAN.

TO THE TRUSTEES.

GENTLEMEN,

This interesting child has continued through the past year to make rapid progress in the acquisition of knowledge. She seems, indeed, to advance, in a geometrical ratio, for every step which she takes aids her in that which is to follow. She has now become so well acquainted with language that she can comprehend and use all the parts of speech; and, although her vocabulary is still very small, it is so perfectly familiar as to be to her exactly what speech is to others, -- the vehicle for thought. She labored, for a long time, under a difficulty like that experienced by persons learning a foreign language; she had to make an effort to recall the sign with which she was to associate an idea; but now, the association is not only spontaneous and immediate, but, as with others, apparently necessary. As, when we see an object, -- a house, or a dog, -- we invariably think of the words house, dog -- so every thing with which Laura comes in contact is instantly suggestive of its name in her finger language.

Moreover, every thought that flashes through our minds is so intimately associated with language as to seem inseparable from it; for, although it is true that we do not always embody the thought in language, yet we think of the words; and when we are intently engaged or interested, then we are apt to express the emotion by an audible sign, -- by words. A person looking earnestly for any thing that is lost, on suddenly finding it, will think of the words, "I've found it," or, "Here it is," or, "How glad I am!" and perhaps he will utter them aloud. So with Laura, I doubt not that every thought instantly and spontaneously suggests the finger language, -- the signs with which it is associated; for if she be intently engaged by herself, her fingers are moving, and, as it were, mechanically forming the letters, though so swift and fleeting are the motions that no eye can trace them. I have often arrested her when thus soliloquizing, and asked her to tell me distinctly what she had been saying to herself; and she has laughed, and sometimes said, "I cannot remember;" at other times, by a strong mental effort, she has recalled the fleeting thoughts, and repeat them slowly. Visiters -sic- are sometimes amazed that her teachers can read the words as she forms them on her fingers; for so swift and varied are the motions, that they can see them only as they see indistinctly the spokes of a wheel in rapid motion; but, as by increase of motion, these separate spokes disappear, or are seen but as one, so do the motions of Laura's fingers, when she is talking rapidly to herself, become confused and illegible even to those most conversant with them.

Another proof of the spontaneous connection between her thoughts and these arbitrary signs is the fact that, when asleep, and disturbed by dreams, her fingers are at work, and doubtless uttering her thoughts irregularly, as we murmur them indistinctly in broken slumbers.

Some philosophers have supposed that speech, or the utterance of thought by vocal signs, was a human invention, -- a selection by man's wisdom of this particular form of communicating thought, in preference to any other form, as that of motions of the hand, fingers, &c.; and they suppose that a community might be formed with a valuable language, and yet without an audible sound. The phenomena presented by deaf mutes, however, contradict this supposition, if I rightly understand them. So strong seems the tendency to utter vocal sounds, that Laura uses them for different persons of her acquaintance whom she meets, having a distinct sound for each one. When, after a short absence, she goes into the sitting-room, where there are a dozen blind girls, she embraces them by turns, uttering rapidly, and in a high key, the peculiar sound which designates each one; and so different are they, that any of the blind girls can tell whom she is with. Now, if she were talking about these very girls to a third person, she would make the sign for them on her fingers without hesitation; yet I am inclined to believe that the thought of their vocal sign occurs first, and is translated, as it were, into the finger language, because, when she is alone, she sometimes utters these sounds or names of persons. She said to me, in answer to a question, why she uttered a certain sound rather than spelled the name, "I think of Jennette's noise, -- many times, when I think how she give me good things ; I do not think to spell her name." At another time, hearing her, in the next room, make the peculiar sound for Jennette, I hastened to her, and asked her why she made it; she said, "Because I think how she do love me much, and I love her very much."

This is not inconsistent with the opinion which I advanced at first, that she associates her thought immediately with finger language; it only shows that the natural tendency of the human mind is to express thought by some kind of symbol; that audible signs by the vocal organs are the first which suggest themselves; but that, where this avenue is blocked up, the natural tendency or inclination will be gratified in some other way.

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I do not doubt that I could have trained Laura to express her thoughts, to a considerable extent, by vocal signs; but it would have been a most rude and imperfect language; it would have been indeed a foolish attempt to do, in a few years, what it took the human race generations and ages to effect.

Some persons, who are familiar with teaching the deaf mutes, have expressed their opinion that Laura already uses language with greater ease and precision than children who have about the same degree of knowledge, but who are merely deaf and dumb. I believe this is true; and it confirms what I think might be inferred a priori, viz., that the finger language should be used as much as possible, in teaching the mutes, rather than the natural signs, or pantomime. I am aware that I am treading on delicate ground; that the subject involves very nice metaphysical considerations, and has an important bearing upon the whole subject of deaf-mute instruction, of which I by no means pretend to be a competent judge; nevertheless, I trust I shall not be deemed presumptuous, if I throw out such thoughts as Laura's case has suggested, in the hope that they may be of some service to others.

The language of natural signs is swift in the conveyance of meaning; a glance or a gesture will transmit thought with lightning-like speed, that leaves spoken language a laggard behind. It is susceptible, too, of great improvement, and, when highly cultivated, can express almost every variety of the actor's thought, and call up every emotion in the beholder's mind; it is like man in his wild state, simple, active, strong, and wielding a club; but spoken language, subtle, flexible, minute, precise, is a thousand times more efficient and perfect instrument for thought; it is like civilized man, adroit, accomplished, well-trained, and armed with a rapier.

But it is too late to discuss the comparative merit of vocal language, and the language of natural signs, or pantomime; all the world, except the deaf mutes, use the first; the mutes are clearly in the minority, and must yield ; the majority will not talk to them in the language of natural signs; they must, therefore, make themselves as familiar as possible with arbitrary language, in order to commune with other minds; and to enable them to have this familiar communion, is, I believe, the principal object aimed at in all good schools for the deaf and dumb. But I understand that the educated deaf mutes, generally, are little disposed to talk in alphabetic language; that there are very few of them who, after they leave school, make much use of it; and that, moreover, they are not fond of reading, although they have learned to read, and understand what they read, pretty well; they prefer to use the natural signs as a medium for the reception and communication of thought, because they are most intimately associated with, and suggested by the thought. If a deaf mute wishes to say to you, He is my friend, he hooks his two fingers together; the thought of his friend instantly and spontaneously connects itself with this sign; and if he is obliged to express it to you, he can do so only by translating this sign into the finger language, and spelling the words, He is my friend. Now, it seems to me both feasible and desirable to make the finger language so familiar to him, so perfectly vernacular, that his thoughts will spontaneously clothe themselves in it. Why are words in the finger language so familiarly connected with thought by Laura Bridgman? because she could use but few natural signs, or but little pantomime, and she has been prevented, by her teachers, from using even that little, so that the current of her thoughts, forced in a different direction, has worn for itself a channel, in which it flows naturally and smoothly.

Common children learn a spoken language from their mothers, brothers and sisters, and companions; and it becomes their vernacular. They go to school, and learn to substitute for these audible signs certain printed characters, so that, when they see them, they shall suggest the audible signs; that is, they learn to read; but they never read with pleasure until the sight of the printed words suggests easily, and without effort, the audible signs. Persons who have learned to read late in life, or who are little accustomed to read, pronounce every word aloud as they go along; if they are a little familiar with reading, they merely move the lips without uttering the audible signs; and it is only when very familiar with the mechanical process, that the eye glances along the page, and the mind takes in the sense rapidly; but even then it is doubtful if the sight of a word, for instance, horse, does not immediately suggest the audible sound, rather than the picture of the animal. At any rate, it is very important that a familiar use of the written signs of audible sounds should be had early in life, in order that reading may be pleasant or profitable afterwards.

Deaf-mute children, of their own accord, make a few natural signs; they learn some others from imitation, and thus form a rude language, which, on going to school, is amplified and systematized, and which is used with their companions and teachers, until it becomes their vernacular. They learn, at the same time, to use common language in their classes; that is, they learn to read, to write, and to make sentences by spelling words with their fingers; but this does not become to them vernacular; they are like seeing children learning a foreign language; they read, write, and speak in it to their teacher, but the moment they are out of school, they resort to the language of natural signs, -- of pantomime. When they go away from school, they will not speak in the arbitrary language of signs any more than common children will speak in French, when they can make themselves understood by others; they will not read common books any more than other children, imperfectly acquainted with French, will read in French books. Now, as, to oblige a common child to learn French, I would place him in circumstances where he would be required to use it continually, so I would place the dumb child in such circumstances that he would be obliged to use the finger alphabet, writing and reading, until the language should become to him vernacular; -- until the thought of a horse, for instance, should instantly be associated in his mind, not with the motion of his two forefingers imitating the ears of the animal, but with the word horse. Laura has been thus placed by nature; were she only deaf and dumb, she would acquire by imitation the natural signs used by others, and use them herself; but, being blind she cannot see them, and her teachers carefully abstain from giving her any.

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Doubtless, had she not come so early under instruction, she would have formed a number of natural signs; and probably these would have been an obstacle to her progress in learning arbitrary signs. Her little companion in misfortune, Oliver Caswell, was twelve years old when he came under instruction; he had begun to use natural signs; and it is pretty clear that the possession of them, by enabling him to express a few of his wants, lessens his eagerness to acquire the arbitrary signs by which Laura expresses so clearly her thoughts. He, however, begins to perceive the usefulness of the arbitrary signs, and is every day asking of Laura, and of others, the names of things.

I shall first give my account of what could be called her physical condition, and its attendant phenomena. She has had almost uninterrupted health, and has grown in stature and strength. She is now feet tall, well-proportioned, and very strong and active. The acuteness of her touch and of the sense of feeling generally, has increased sensibly during the last year. She can perceive when any one touches a piano in the same room with her; she says, "Sound comes through the floor to my feet, and up to my head." She recognizes her friends by the slightest touch of their hands, or of their dress. For instance, she never fails to notice when I have changed my coat, though it be for one of the same cut, color, and cloth; -- if it is only a little more or less worn than the usual one, she perceives it, and asks, "Why?" It would appear that in these perceptions she employs not only the sense of touch, but derives great assistance from what Brown would call a sixth sense, viz., the sense of muscular resistance. Aided by both of these, she has acquired surprising facility in ascertaining the situation and relation of things around her. Especially is it curious to see how accurate is her perception of the direction or bearing of objects from her; for by much practice and observation she has attained, to some extent, what the bee and some other insects have in such perfection by instinct, -- the power of going straight towards a given point, without any guide or landmark. For instance, when she is told to go from any part of the room to a particular door or window, she goes directly and confidently on, not groping, or feeling the walls, she stops at the right instant, raises her hand in the right direction, and places it upon the door-knob, or whatever point she may have aimed at. Of course, it is not supposed that she can exercise this power when she is in a new place, but that she has attained great facility in ascertaining her actual position in regard to external things.

I am inclined to think that this power is much more common than is usually supposed, and that man has the desire and the capacity of knowing all the relations of outness, (to use a word of Berkeley,) so strongly marked as almost to deserve the name of a primitive faculty. The first impulse on waking in the morning, is to ascertain where we are; and, although the effort to ascertain it may not be apparent in common cases, yet, let a person be turned round when he is asleep, and see how instantaneously on waking he looks about to ascertain his position; or, if he is lying awake in the dark, and his bed should be turned around, see how difficult it would be for him to go to sleep without stretching out his hand to feel the wall, or something by which the desire in question may be gratified. Swing a boy round till he is dizzy; look at a girl stopping giddy from the waltz; or a person who has been playing blind man's buff, and has just raised the handkerchief, and mark how, by holding the head, as if to steady it, and eagerly looking around, the first and voluntary effort of each one is to ascertain the relations of outness. If it has ever occurred to the reader to fall asleep lying on his back, with his arms crossed under his head, and to have them get asleep, or become benumbed, he will recollect his consternation on waking, at the thought that his arms were cut off; and his strange sensation, when by a violent effort he has raised himself, and the two limbs fall dead and lead-like upon his thighs; that sensation, then, confined to the arms, if extended all over the body, would be the one we should have if the nerves upon the surface of the body gave us no impression in regard to external things, even of the atmosphere. Who could be easy a moment if he had no notion of what he was sitting or standing upon, or any perception or idea of being supported and surrounded by material objects?

Laura, (or any blind child,) if taken up in a person's arms, carried into a strange room, and placed in a chair, could not resist the inclination to stretch out her hands, and ascertain, by feeling, the relations of space and objects about her. In walking in the street, she endeavors to learn all she can of the nature of the ground she is treading on; but she gives herself up generally to her leader, clinging very closely to her. I have sometimes, in play, or to note the effect, suddenly dropped her hand, when she was in a strange place, and started out of her reach, at which she manifested, not fear, but bewilderment and perplexity.

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I have said she measures distances very accurately; and this she seems to do principally by the aid of what Brown calls the sixth sense, or muscular contraction, and perhaps by that faculty to which I have alluded above, by which we attend to the relations of outness. When we ascend a flight of steps, for instance, we measure several steps with the eye; but, once having got the gauge of them, we go up without looking, measure the distance which we are to raise the foot, even to the sixteenth of an inch, by the sense of contraction of the muscles; and that we measure accurately, is proved when we come to a step that is but a trifle higher or lower than the rest, in which case we stumble.

I have tried to ascertain her mode of estimating distance, length, &c., by drawing smooth, hard substances through her hand. When a cane, for instance, is thus drawn through her hand, she says it is long or short, somewhat according as it is moved with more or less rapidity, that is, according to the duration of the impression (1) ,but I am inclined to think she gets some idea of the rapidity of the motion even of the smoothest substances, and modifies her judgment thereby.

I have tried to excite the dormant senses, or to create impressions upon the brain, which resemble sensations, by electricity and galvanism, but with only partial success. When a galvanic circuit is made by pressing one piece of metal against the mucus membrane of the nose, and another against the tongue, the nerves of taste are affected, and she says it is like medicine.

The subject of dreaming has been attended to, with a view of ascertaining whether there is any spontaneous activity of the brain, or any part of it, which would give her sensations resembling those arising from the action of light, sound, &c., upon other persons; but, as yet, without obtaining positive evidence that there is any. Further inquiry, when she is more capable of talking on intellectual subjects, may change this opinion, but now it seems to me that her dreams are only the spontaneous production of sensations, similar in kind to those which she experiences while awake, (whether preceded or accompanied by any cerebral action, cannot be known.) She often relates her dreams, and says, "I dreamed to talk" with a person, "to walk with one," &c.; if asked whether she talked with her mouth, she says, "No," very emphatically, "I do not dream to talk with mouth; I dream to talk with fingers." Neither does she ever dream of seeing persons, but only of meeting them in her usual way. She came to me, the other morning, with a disturbed look, and said, "I cried much in the night because I did dream you said good bye to go away over the water." In a word, her dreams seen, as ours do, to be the result of the spontaneous activity of the different mental faculties producing sensations similar in kind to our waking ones, but without order or congruity, because uncontrolled by the will.

Experiments have been tried, so far as they were deemed perfectly innocent and unobjectionable, to ascertain whether strong magnets, magnetic tractors, or animal magnetism, have any effect upon her, but without an apparent result. These are all the physical phenomena which now occur to me as worthy of note.

In the development of her intellectual powers, and in the acquisition of knowledge, not only of language, but of external things, and their relations, I think she has made great progress. The principal labor has, of course, been upon the mere vehicle for thought, -- language; and if, as has been remarked, it is well for children that they do not know what a task is before them when they begin to learn language, (for their hearts would sink within them at the thought of forty thousand unknown signs of unknown things which they are to learn,) how much more strongly does the remark apply to Laura! They hear these words on every side, at every moment, and learn them without effort; they see them in books, and every day, scores of them are recorded in their minds: The mountain of their difficulty vanishes fast, and they finish their labor, thinking, in the innocence of their hearts, that it is only play; but she, poor thing! in darkness and silence must attack her mountain, and weigh and measure every grain of which it is composed; and it is a rebuke to those who find so many lions in the path of knowledge, to see how incessantly and devotedly she labors on from morn till night of every day, and laughs as if her task were the pleasantest thing in the world.

But I shall best show to what extent she is acquainted with language, by giving some of her conversations which have been recorded during the last year. She can now converse with any person who knows how to make the letters of the manual alphabet for mutes. Most of the members of our large household, and many of our friends, can do this, so that she has a pretty wide circle of acquaintances. She came read understandingly in very simple introductory books for the blind; and she takes delight in doing so, provided some one is near her to explain the new words, for she will never, as children are often allowed to do, pass over a new word, and guess the meaning from the others, but she is very uneasy, and runs round, shaking her hands until she finds some one to explain it. Discoursing one day with her teacher about animals, she asked, "Why do dog not live with pig?" Being told pigs lived in a sty, and were dirty, while dogs loved to be clean, she asked, "What do make dog clean? When he has washed him, where do he wipe? -- on grass?" She is very curious to know all about animals, and it is necessary to satisfy her upon every point. A hundred conversations like the following might be recorded. After hearing some account of warms, she said, "Has your mother got some worms?" No, worms do not live in the house. "Why?" They live out of doors that they may get things to eat. "And to play? Did you see worm?" Yes. "Had he eyes?" Yes, "Had he ears? " I did not see any. "Had he think? " (touching her forehead.) No. "Does he breathe?" Yes. "Much?" (at the same time putting her hand on her chest, and breathing hard.) No. "(Not) (2) when he is tired?" Not very hard. "Do worm know you? is he afraid when hens eat him?"

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After a visit to a barn, she asked many questions, as, "Can cow push horse with horns? do horse and cow sleep in barn? do horse sit up late?" Told her that horses did not sit up. She laughed, and said, "Do horses stand up late?"

One day her lesson was upon the materials of which knives are made; being told that the handles were of horn, she became very much interested in learning all about horns, their dimensions, use, &c., &c. "Why do cows have horns?" said she; answer, To keep bad cows off when they trouble them. "Do bad cows know to go away when good cow pushes them?" After sitting some time in thought, she asked, "Why do cows have two horns? to push two cows?" moving her hands in the direction in which she supposed the cows would go when pushed.

Her curiosity is insatiable, and by the cheerful toil and patient labor with which she gleans her scanty harvest of knowledge, she reproves those who having eyes see not, and having ears hear not.

She one day found a blank notice printed in raised letters, running thus: -- "Sir, there will be a meeting of trustees, &c. Yrs., respectfully," &c. She ran eagerly to her teacher, saying, "What is SIR, what is TRUSTEEES, what is RESPECTFULLY, what is YRS? The journal says, "I defined sir and yours; she received my explanation of sir without comment; and when I told her yrs. meant yours, she remarked, "Like thine." I could not decide how to explain respectfully, but told her she must wait till after dinner. After more thought, I decided it was not best for me to attempt it, and said, I would teach her when she was tall, or she might ask the doctor. (3) She seemed very sad, and said, 'I will ask doctor, for I must know.'"

When I had been absent from home a month, she was told I should be back in a month more; she said, "Doctor will not come for four weeks ; four weeks and four weeks make eight weeks; he is going to make many schools." She then asked, "Will there be deaf boys and girls too in the schools?" "Will doctor be very tired; does he stay to take care of many little blind girls?"

Laura is interested in conversation of a general nature; talking of vacation, she made an unusually long sentence, -- "I must go to Hanover to see my mother; but no, I shall be very weak to go so far; I will go to Halifax if I can go with you. If doctor is gone, I think I will go with Jennette; (4) if doctor is at home, I cannot go, because he does not like to be left alone; and if J-- is gone, he cannot mend his clothes and fix all things alone. "

I commend this sentence, involving as it does, assertion, negation, time, condition, number, &c., to the attention of those who doubt whether Laura can have a correct notion of language; and especially to the director of a Western State School for the Deaf Mutes, who took pains in a public lecture to say, that it was impossible for her to conceive the force of the word IF in a complicated sentence. He considers much of what is told about her as savoring of "humbug," and says of it, to use his own tasteful phrase, "Tell this to the marines; the sailors won't believe it."

Let him read the above sentence, and if he still thinks Laura talks like a parrot, let him come and see her, and watch her beaming and changing countenance as the sentences fall from her fingers, (5) and he will be as glad to retract his uncharitable sentiment, as I shall be to forget the discourteous form in which he uttered it.

If this dear child's life should be spared, not only will she be able to comprehend sentences such as he has selected, but to do what is more important, -- she will furnish argument stronger than cold philosophy can bring to refute materialism, and to assert the native power of the human soul which can struggle up against such obstacles, and from such utter darkness, until it sports joyously in the light of knowledge.

She has kept a little diary during the last year, and writes down an account of what she has done, learned, or said, during the day. She writes a legible hand, and some of her remarks are very interesting. She is fond of writing letters; and the following, which is entirely of her own composition, will give an idea of her style: --

"Dear Mrs. Morton, -- I was glad to have letter from you. You were very good to write to me. I want you to write to me soon. Miss Rogers sends her love to you very much. I send love and kiss to you. I am well now. Miss Rogers and Swift are very well. Oliver can talk fast than me do. Laurena is very much better now; she will have standing stool to walk in if she can learn good. Dr. Howe went away and came again. Miss Pilly is sick in her head bad. I do not forget to think of you many times. I walk in street all day to make me well and strong. Miss J-- sends her love to you. I told Caroline to come and see you; she would come with me soon in vacation to see you long. All girls and dolls are well. I will write to you again soon. I want to see you very much. I came to Halifax to see you with Miss J. and Swift. I was very glad to know in new words. I do read in books. Miss Rogers teach me about it. Oliver knows all things good. J-- bought new two handkerchiefs for me, and she was good. Good bye. LAURA BRIDGMAN."

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The following extracts will show her idea about the seat of sensation. "During the lesson to-day, Laura stopped suddenly, and holding her forehead, said, 'I think very hard; was I baby did I think?' meaning, when I was a baby did I think, &c.

"Again, Laura came to me to-day, saying, 'Doctor will come in fourteen days, I think in my head?.' Asked her if she did not think in her side and heart. 'No,' said she, 'I cannot think in heart; I think in head.' Why? 'I cannot know; all little girls cannot know about heart.'" When she is disappointed, or a friend is sick, and she is at all sad, she says, "My heart aches; when heart aches, does blood run?" She had been told about the blood circulating, but supposed that it did so only when she could feel it. "Does blood run in my eyes; I cannot feel eyes-blood run." One day, when probably her brain was fatigued, she said, "Why cannot I stop (6) to think? I cannot help to think all days; do you stop to think? does Harrison stop to think now he is dead?" This was just after the President's death, an event about which the blind children had talked much among themselves and to Laura.

And here, upon giving what seem to me the child's notions about death, it will be proper to remark that they are less curious and valuable to the psychologist than they would have been had she been more completely isolated. Within the last year, she has acquired great facility of conversing with other persons, and of course may have received notions from them. It would have been perfectly easy to isolate her by adopting an arbitrary system of signs, and not teaching it to others; but this would have been great injustice to the child, because the only possible way to make her familiar with language, was constant opportunity of exercising it as fast as she learned it. Now, no teacher could be with her always; and if she could, a teacher cannot be a child, and Laura craved at times the society of children.

Strong, therefore, as was the temptation to improve this rare opportunity of watching the development of mind, (for it seemed like looking at mind with a microscope,) it was not to be listened to a moment, even though a revelation of the whole arcana of thought were to have been the reward.

Great caution, however, has been used with regard to the manner of her intercourse with others, and to the persons also. Latterly she has shown much less desire to be with children than when she could use only a few words, and when she delighted to frolic and romp with them. She will now sit quietly alone by the hour, writing or sewing, and occasionally indulging in a soliloquy, or an imaginary dialogue.

But to return to her notion of death, which leads us rather from the intellectual to the moral part of her nature. The attachment to life is such a strong and universal feeling, that if any thing deserves the name of an innate sense, this certainly does. It acts, however, instinctively and blindly, and, I doubt not, influences Laura's feelings, and causes her to shrink from any thing which may alarm her love of existence by suggesting that it may cease. It appears she had been carried to a funeral, before she came here, though I could never obtain any satisfactory account from any one of the impression it made upon her; indeed, it was impossible then to do any thing more than guess, from her appearance, what was passing in her mind. She can now herself describe the feeling that then agitated her on touching for the first time a corpse. She was acquainted with two little girls, sisters, in Cambridge, Adeline and Elizabeth. Adeline died during the year before last. Not long since, in giving her a lesson in geography, her teacher began to describe Cambridge; the mention of Cambridge called up a new subject, and she asked, "Did you see Adeline in box? " I answered, Yes. "She was very cold, and not smooth; ground made her rough." I tried to change the subject here, but it was in vain; she wished to know how long the box was, &c.; she said, "Drew told me about Adeline; did she feel? Did Elizabeth cry and feel sick? I did not cry because I did not think much about it." She then drew in her hands shudderingly, as if cold. I asked her what was the matter. She said, "I thought about (how) I was afraid to feel of dead man before I came here, when I was very little girl with my mother; I felt of dead head's eyes and nose; I thought it was man's; I did not know." Now, it is impossible that any one could have said any thing to her on the subject; she could not know whether the state the man was in, was temporary or lasting; she knew only that there was a human being, once moving and breathing like herself, but now confined in a coffin, cold, and still, and stiff, -- in a state which she could not comprehend, but which nature made her recoil from.

During the past year, she all at once refused to eat meat, and, being asked why, she said, "Because it is dead." I pushed the inquiry, and found she had been in the kitchen, and felt of a dead turkey, from which she suddenly recoiled. She continued disinclined to eat flesh for some weeks, but gradually she came to her appetite again; and now, although she understands that fowls, sheep, calves, &c., are killed to furnish meat, she eats it with relish.

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Thus it appears that, like other human beings, she has that instinctive attachment to life which is necessary to its preservation, and which makes her shrink from any thing that reminds her of its possible extinction, without, nevertheless, its being so strong as seriously to mar her enjoyment of existence.

I mentioned some circumstances in my last report which made me infer her native modesty; and although such a supposition seems to some unphilosophical, I can only say that careful observation during the past year corroborates the opinion then advanced. Nor have I any difficulty in supposing that there is this innate tendency to purity; but on the contrary, I think it forms an important and beautiful element of humanity, the natural course of which is towards that state of refinement, in which, while the animal appetites shall work out their own ends, they shall all of them be stripped of their grossness, and, clad in garments of purity, contribute to the perfection of a race made in God's own image.

Laura is still so young, and her physical development is yet so imperfect, -- she is so childlike in appearance and action, that it is impossible to suppose she has as yet any idea of sex; nevertheless, no young lady can be more modest and proper in dress and demeanor than she is. It has been suggested, that as her father was obliged, when she was young, to coerce her to many things which she was disinclined to do, she may have conceived a fear of every one in man's dress. But on that other hand, she was much accustomed, from childhood, to the society of a simple, kind-hearted man, who loved her tenderly, and with whom she was perfectly familiar; it was not, therefore, the dress which affected her.

I may add, moreover, that from the time she came here, she has never been accustomed to be in company with any man but myself; and that I have, in view of the future, very carefully refrained from even those endearing caresses which are naturally bestowed upon a child of eight years old, to whom one is tenderly attached. But this will not account for such facts as the following. During the last year, she received from a lady a present of a beautifully-dressed doll, with a bed, bed-clothes, and chamber furniture of all kinds. Never was a child happier than she was; and a long time passed in examining and admiring the wardrobe and furniture. The washstand was arranged, towels were folded, the bureau was put in place, the linen was deposited in the tiny drawers; at last the bed was nicely made, the pillows smoothed, the top sheet turned trimly over, and the bed half opened, as if coquettishly inviting Miss Dolly to come in; but here Laura began to hesitate, and kept coming to my chair to see if I was still in the room, and going away again, laughing, when she found me. At last I went out, and as soon as she perceived the jar of the shutting door, she commenced undressing the doll, and putting it to bed, eagerly desiring her teacher, (a lady,) to admire the operation.

She, as I said, is not familiarly acquainted with any man but myself. When she meets with one, she shrinks back coyly; though if it be a lady, she is familiar, and will receive and return caresses; nevertheless, she has no manner of fear or awe of me. She plays with me as she would with a girl. Hardly a day passes without a game at romps between us; yet never, even by inadvertence, does she transgress the most scrupulous propriety and would as instinctively and promptly correct any derangement of her dress, as a girl of fourteen, trained to the strictest decorum. Perceiving, one day, that I kissed a little girl much younger than herself, she noticed it and stood thinking a moment, and then asked me gravely, "Why did you kiss Rebecca? " and some hours after, she asked the same question again.

She had heard much about little Oliver Caswell, the deaf and blind boy, before he came, and was very desirous to know him. During their first interview, after she became a little familiar and playful, she suddenly snatched a kiss, -- but drew back as quick as lightning, and by the expression of her countenance, and a little confusion of manner, showed that by a hasty impulse she had done something of the propriety of which she was doubtful. This is the only instance in which I have known her to show the sense of shame, or to have any occasion to show it, even if this can be considered as one.

The development of her moral nature during the past year has been such as her previous sweetness of temper, and truthfulness, led me to expect. The different traits of character have unfolded themselves successively, as pure and spotless as the petals of a rose; and in every action unbiassed by extraneous influence, she "gravitates towards the right" as naturally as a stone falls to the ground. Two or three instances are recorded in her teacher's journal of apparent unkindness on Laura's part to other children, and one instance of some ill temper to a grown person; but so contradictory are they to the whole tenor of her character and conduct, that I must infer either a misunderstanding of her motives by others, or ill-judged conduct on their part, For instance, her teacher says, July 2d, "A complaint was entered against Laura that she pinched Lucy and made her cry. I talked with Laura about it. I told her "Lurena told Doctor, you pinched Lucy's nose and made her cry:" before I had finished the sentence she smiled, and seemed by the expression of her face, to think that it was ridiculous to pinch her nose, but when she was told that Lucy cried, she changed countenance, and was immediately sad. She said "when did I pinch Lucy's nose?" I said, "Lurena said yesterday." "After how many schools? " I told her I did not know. She thought a moment, and then said eagerly, "I pinched Lucy's nose after one (7) school, to play. I did not mean to make her cry, because I played. Did Lucy know I was wrong?" I told her Lucy did not know when she played, and she must play softly. I asked her if she loved Lucy, she replied "Yes, but Lucy does not hug me." Why does she not? -- "because she is very deaf and blind and does not know how to love me, she is very weak to hug."

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I will give some extracts from my diary showing her conscientiousness.

"Sept. 17. I tested Laura's conscientiousness by relating a simple story. A little boy went to see a lady, and the lady gave him two birds, one for himself, and one for his sister; she put them in a basket for him to carry home, and told him not to open the basket until he got home; the boy went into the street, and met another little boy, who said, 'Open the basket, and let me feel the birds;' and the boy said, 'No, no;' but the other boy said, 'Yes, yes;' and then the boy opened the basket, and they felt of the birds. Did he do right? She paused, and said, 'Yes.' I said, Why? She replied, 'He did not remember.' I said, If he did remember, did he do right? She replied, 'Little wrong to forget.' I then went on to say, When the boys did feel of the birds, one bird was killed. Here she became very much excited, and manifested the greatest anxiety and distress, saying, 'Why did boy feel hard? why did bird not fly?' I went on: He carried the basket and birds home, and gave the dead bird to his sister; did he do right or wrong? She said, 'wrong.' Why? 'to kill bird.' I said, but who must have the live bird, the boy or the girl? She said, 'girl.' Why? 'Because boy was careless, and girl was not careless.' She was at first a little confused about the persons, but decided promptly the question of right or wrong, both in respect to opening the basket, and about who ought to possess the bird.

She supposed it was all reality, and I could not well make her conceive the object of the fable, much less give her an idea of the ingenius author of it.

Her mind was for some time entirely occupied with this story, and she afterwards asked, "Did man knock -strike- boy because he killed bird? I said no, the boy's heart did knock him; does your heart knock you when you do wrong? She inquired about the beating of the heart, and said, My heart did knock little when I did do wrong.

She asked why blood came in face? I said, "when wrong is done:" she paused, and said blood did come in Olive's face when she did tell lie; do blood come in your face when you do wrong?

I reflected much upon whether I ought yet to give her any general rules of right, benevolence, duty, &c., or trust to example, action, and habit, and decided upon the last; example and practice must precede, and generalization will easily follow.

It is most pleasing to observe that beautiful spirit of charity which prompts her to extenuate the faults of others, and which, when any story of the kind just referred to is related to her, leads her to apologize for the person who appears to be in the wrong, and to say, He did forget, or, He did not mean to do wrong. The same may be said of that spirit of truthfulness which makes all children believe implicitly what is told them, how extravagant soever it may be, but which Laura has preserved long after the age at which others have thrown it aside.

I have already made this Report so long that I must leave unnoticed many subjects which I would gladly touch upon; and even upon that which will interest so many, -- her ideas of God, I must be brief.

During the past year she has shown very great inquisitiveness in relation to the origin of things. She knows that men made houses, furniture, &c., but of her own accord seemed to infer that they did not make themselves, or natural objects. She therefore asks "who made dogs, horses, and sheep." She has got from books, and perhaps from other children the word, God, but has formed no definite idea on the subject. Not long since, when her teacher was explaining the structure of a house, she was puzzled to know "how the masons piled up bricks before floor was made to stand on." When this was explained she asked, When did masons make Jennette's parlor; before all Gods made all folks?

I am now occupied in devising various ways of giving her an idea of immaterial power by means of the attraction of magnets, the pushing of vegetation, &c., and intend attempting to convey to her some adequate idea of the great Creator and Ruler of all things.

I am fully aware of the immeasurable importance of the subject, and of my own inadequacy; I am aware, too, that pursue what course I may, I shall incur more of human censure than of approbation; but, incited by the warmest affection for the child, and guided by the best exercise of the humble abilities which God has given me, I shall go on in the attempt to give her a faint idea of the power and love of that Being, whose praise she is every day so clearly proclaiming, by her glad enjoyment of the existence which he has given to her.

S.G. Howe.

APPENDIX B.

OLIVER CASWELL.

This lad was born November 1, 1829. He continued in health and in the possession of his senses until he was three years and four months old. He was considered a bright boy, and could prattle as freely as any child of his age.

He was then attacked by scarlet fever and canker-rash; at the end of four weeks it was perceived that he could not hear, in a few weeks more his sight began to fail, and he soon became entirely blind.

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He continued to articulate for some time, but with less and less distinctness, until at the end of six months he lost all power of articulation. He used then to feel of his own lips, and those of others, when talking, probably to ascertain whether he had them in the right position.

As soon as he recovered his health he recommenced the process of examining every thing about him, with which all children begin their acquaintance with the world. He first examined and became familiar with his chamber, then the rest of the rooms in the house, then ventured out into the yard, and in the course of a few years explored the way to the neighboring houses. He felt and smelt of every thing that he could lay his hands upon. His father is a ferryman, and he often took the boy with him in his boat, which greatly pleased him. He seemed to be a bold child, and would caress dogs and cats. He has been known to call fowls around him with crumbs of bread, and suddenly to grab one of them, to feel of it, smell of it, and then let it go.

He had never seen a dead person. A horse which he had known, died, and he recognized it, and seemed much agitated; for several days he made signs about it, and lost his appetite, as his mother thinks, in consequence of his agitation.

He was present at the killing of a hog, and was made to understand the operation; also that the pork was part of the animal, but he did not object to eating it.

He was fond of teasing cats, and generally inclined to fun. He could make many of his wants understood by signs.

He was, however, ungovernable and when thwarted in any way he became very violent, braying, striking and kicking furiously.

Such was the account which I gathered from his parents. I first saw the boy three years ago, but could not then persuade his parents to part with him.

They finally brought him and committed him to my charge on the 30th September last. He was then a stout, thick-set boy, rather short of stature, with light hair, fair complexion, and a most pleasant expression of countenance. He seemed perfectly docile and confiding, and his intelligent look and eager gestures proclaimed that there was intellect enough within, could one but establish the means of communication with it.

His thirst for knowledge proclaimed itself as soon as he entered the house, by his eager examination of every thing he could feel or smell in his new location. For instance, treading upon the register of a furnace, he instantly stooped down, and began to feel of it, and soon discovered the way in which the upper plate moved upon the lower one; but this was not enough for him, so laying down upon his face, he applied his tongue first to one then to the other, and seemed to discover that they were of different kinds of metal.

His signs were expressive, and the strictly natural language, laughing, crying, sighing, kissing, embracing, &c., was perfect.

Some of the analogical signs which (guided by his faculty of imitation) he had contrived, were comprehensible, such as the waving motion of his hand for the motion of a boat, the circular one for a wheel, &c.

The first object was to break up the use of these signs, and to substitute therefor the use of purely arbitrary ones. Profiting by the experience I had gained in the other cases, I omitted several steps of the process before employed, and commenced at once with the finger language. Taking therefore, several articles having short names, such as key, cup, mug, &c., and with Laura for an auxiliary, I sat down, and taking his hand, placed it upon one of them, and then with my own, made the letters k e y. He felt eagerly of my hands with both of his, and on my repeating the process, he evidently tried to imitate the motions of my fingers. In a few minutes he contrived to feel the motions of my fingers with one hand, and holding out the other he tried to imitate them, laughing most heartily when he succeeded. Laura was by, interested even to agitation, and the two presented a singular sight; her face was flushed and anxious, and her fingers twined in among ours so closely as to follow every motion, but so lightly as not to embarrass them; while Oliver stood attentive, his head a little aside, his face turned up, his left hand grasping mine, and his right held out; at every motion of my fingers his countenance betokened keen attention -- there was an expression of anxiety as he tried to imitate the motions -- then a smile came stealing out as he thought he could do so, and spread into a joyous laugh the moment he succeeded, and felt me pat his head, and Laura clap him heartily upon the back, and jump up and down in her joy.

He learned more than a half dozen letters in half an hour, and seemed delighted with his success, at least in gaining approbation. His attention then began to flag, and I commenced playing with him. It was evident that in all this he had merely been imitating the motions of my fingers, and placing his hand upon the key, cup, &c., as part of the process, without any perception of the relation between the sign and the object.

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When he was tired with play I took him back to the table, and he was quite ready to begin again his process of imitation. He soon learned to make the letters for key, pen, pin; and by having the object repeatedly placed in his hand, he at last perceived the relation I wished to establish between them. This was evident because, when I made the letters p i n, or p e n, or c u p, he would select the article.

The perception of this relation was not accompanied by that radiant flush of intelligence, and that glow of joy which marked the delightful moment when Laura first perceived it. I then placed all the articles on the table, and going away a little distance with the children placed Oliver's fingers in the positions to spell key, on which Laura went and brought the article: the little fellow seemed to be much amused by this, and looked very attentive and smiling. I then caused him to make the letters b r e a d, and in an instant Laura went and brought him a piece; he smelled at it -- put it to his lips -- cocked up his head with a most knowing look -- seemed to reflect a moment -- and then laughed outright, as much as to say, "aha! I understand now how something may be made out of this."

It was now clear that he had the capacity and inclination to learn, that he was a proper subject for instruction, and needed only persevering attention. I therefore put him in the hands of an intelligent teacher, nothing doubting of his rapid progress.

I will not now go much into detail of the process of teaching him words, as it is similar to that given in the case of Laura; suffice it to say, he has learned about a hundred nouns, and some adjectives, which he uses with the nouns, making a sort of compound substantive. Sometimes he uses a noun in a verbal sense, in short, uses language much as a child who is just beginning to talk.

One or two examples will show his manner of using the few words which he has learned. Coming up to his teacher he spelled upon his fingers, F r e d, meaning that he wanted Frederick; she went with him to the room where Frederick usually sits, but he was not to be found, when Oliver spelt Fr e d -- S m i t h, meaning that Fred was in Smith's room, and went there to find him. Having no explicative terms, he of course must turn his few words to every possible use, and make a down serve for adjective, verb, adverb, preposition and conjunction.

At another time, wishing to say that he had cut his finger with a plane he said, cut -- plane. Of course this often causes great ambiguity, as in the following case: the carpenter had been to repair the boat, and Oliver accompanied him; returning, he said Bradford -- break -- boat; doubtless, meaning Bradford mended a break in the boat, but he did not know the word mend. On another occasion, learning that Frederick had broken a pane of glass, he said, Fred -- window -- break -- glass.

A little reflection will show any one that he can eke out his meaning just as other children do, by signs. When it was attempted to give him a name expressive of the quality of objects, a difficulty occurred immediately: he knew the names of key, door, watch, and when his teacher spelled either word, he would go to the table and select it; he knew too the nature of each, showing by signs that a door-key was to lock a door, a watch-key to wind a watch, yet the compound word, watch-key, gave hint no idea of the thing. Nonetheless, as I said, he uses verbs and adjectives, that is, he uses signs significative of actions and qualities, he holds up a key and makes the letters k-e-y, that is the noun; he then makes a sign for turning the key, which sign is the verb.

We see the same process in little children, they first learn the name of an object, and for a long time use the name to express whatever idea they may have of the thing: a child will say Mamma! Mamma! to express the perception or knowledge of its mother, using only a noun; but if it wants its mother it says, Mamma, (a noun,) and stretches out its arms, which motion is a verb, or a sign significative of its desire. When its vocabulary is increased, it substitutes a vocal for the natural sign, and it says, want Mamma, still stretching out its arms, because the original sign is still suggested by the thought; until by long use the word want becomes the most familiar sign of the idea, and then it says, I want Mamma, and drops the original sign of stretching out its arms. Still it is curious to observe how long the original sign will linger in the memory. On all ordinary occasions, the child uses the word want as a substitute for the original sign of stretching out the hands, but when it is frightened or much agitated, when its little soul yearns strongly for instant contact with its mother, it resorts immediately and spontaneously to its first sign, it stretches out its arms, and without saying I want, cries Mamma!

Now it will not be until Oliver has become accustomed to use words freely as substitutes for his signs of things, that he can be expected to resort to adjectives, verbs, &c.; in this respect, I fear he will never equal Laura, because he has not her quickness of thought, and delicacy of organization. Nevertheless, I consider his progress to the acquisition of a considerable familiarity with arbitrary language as certain, provided he can have patient and long continued instruction.

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I will give an instance of his temper, as a specimen of what would have been his conduct, had he gone on without any training. Soon after the lesson which I have described above, at which I left him, so interested and so joyous, I returned and found the scene sadly changed. Master Oliver was in the sulks; his countenance so lately bright with joy, was now dark and lowering; his head was drawn in between his shoulders in the attitude of caution and defiance; and his whole appearance denoted wrath and dogged obstinacy. He had in play thrown something on the floor, and his teacher took his hand to place it on the object, and make him pick it up; he refused, perhaps in play; and though his hand was on the object, would not grasp it. The teacher, thinking it necessary to conquer him, continue to hold his hand on the object, at which he seemed displeased, and at this juncture his mother joining to urge him, he flew into a passion. He had never been controlled, and his animal nature was now aroused: a colt could not start away more restive, when the saddle is first placed on his back, than did Oliver when I placed my hand on his head; and when I repeated it, he flew at me, hands and feet, as furiously as a madman. I saw at once that without a cruel scene I could not conquer him, but resolved to accomplish what he must have perceived I intended to do, that is, caress him, and sit beside him. He resisted furiously when I attempted this, striking, kicking and scratching; but when he saw I warded off his blows or did not mind them when they hit, and that his nails had been cut too short to pierce my skin, he quickly curled down his head and bit at my hands. He was strong and active as a young savage, but I continued to grasp and hold his wrists, and after a few convulsive efforts he desisted at a lucky moment for me, and roared out lustily; not crying, he was too much enraged for that, but sprawling his jaws wide open, and emitting a hideous noise, partaking of a bray, a roar, and a yell. I then relaxed my grasp, and although he did not fly at me, he pushed off my hands when I attempted to pat him on the head, nor would he suffer any endearment for half an hour. I still persevered, however, and at last succeeded in kissing him; and though he was sullen, the storm was dispelled by the odor of some cologne water with which I seduced his senses. I was very much afraid that he was not conquered and that a painful scene would have to be enacted the first time I could be sure that he understood my meaning and will, and refused obedience; because he must be taught to obey, or else every time his passions should be roused he would be mischievous; and when grown up, might run a muck, which would be dangerous. I have been, however, most agreeably disappointed, for from that time to this he has been perfectly docile, and very affectionate, never in one instance meeting me without a smile and a caress.

Once, indeed, he was teased by a boy beyond his endurance, and attacked him furiously; the boy got away, and Oliver groped around till he found some one to whom he eagerly expressed his wrath, by pointing for the boy, and drawing his hand across his own windpipe, as if to say, "I'll cut his throat," putting on at the same time, a very ferocious look. He evidently had not forgotten the lesson he had learned at the pig-slaying exhibition, which had so unwisely been explained to him.

I regret that the length to which this Report is already swelled, will not permit me to dwell longer upon this interesting boy, who has a manly, courageous temper, an amiable and affectionate heart, and a good intellect; and who will, I doubt not, become an intelligent and useful man.

APPENDIX C.

LUCY REED.

Lucy Reed was born in Danby, Vt., Oct. 1827. Her eyes were weak from birth; but her hearing was good, and nothing peculiar was remarked until in her third year. She was then troubled with scrofula, and had abscesses in her ears, which soon destroyed her hearing. She could talk as much as children usually do at her age, but soon lost the use of words. Her eyes became very much diseased at three years old, and continued more or less so, although she was not considered totally blind, until she was eight years old, when she injured them by a rose bush, the consequence of which was total extinction of vision. She was supposed to be deranged at times, and was often ungovernable, no one but a younger sister having any control of her. (8)

She was brought to us on the 18th of Feb. 1841, being at that time fourteen years of age. She was in a lower stage of humanity than any human being I ever saw, excepting idiots. That she was blind and deaf, was not the worst: she seemed unmanageable, nor was there any apparent mode of communication with her, for she had but very few of the natural signs common to deaf mutes, and even to blind deaf mutes. I hardly know how to express her appearance better than by saying she seemed astonished at herself -- at her own situation; she was not at ease -- she did not understand herself, as Laura, Oliver, Julia Brace, and other blind mutes. She wore over her head a large handkerchief, with the folds of which she covered her face, as with a veil; it hung down as far as her mouth, and completely concealed her features. She had worn this several years, and for the last two years so continually, that her father had seen her face but once during all that time, and then he only caught a glimpse of it. Her parents humoring her whim, provided for her a number of large handkerchiefs which she changes, as fast as they become soiled, but always in the night, or in a closet by herself. As this whim was first manifested at about the age when girls begin to be mindful of their appearance in the eyes of others, and anxious to conform to whatever may be their standard of beauty, it was, perhaps, the indistinct working of the same amiable feeling in her, which told her, that as her blindness made her differ from others, she could conceal the peculiarity, and perhaps increase her comeliness by covering her head and face.

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Whether she had any natural sense of modesty, could only be judged by the negative evidence of her not violating its dictates in regard to dress, attitude or action, while she transgressed most of the other laws of decorum continually. At table, for instance, she stretched out her hands and laid hold of every thing within reach. She was less inclined to allow any one in man's dress to touch her than in woman's; she repelled the one, but shrank from the other as from strangers, and was not at all disposed to receive any endearments from them. She was slender, but apparently very active and strong; and at home moved about very freely, both in the house and in its immediate neighborhood, and could climb trees with great agility. She had learned to sew, and was very handy with her needle, as well as ingenious in cutting and constructing various little articles.

She was accompanied by her father, a very respectable farmer, from Danby, Vt., and a younger sister to whom she clung very closely; not, however, as I should think so much from affection, as for protection among strangers. She would not, indeed, allow her sister to leave her an instant; and when she perceived that she was inclined to do so, either grasped her dress with one hand, or if she was obliged to use both her hands for any thing she would pin her gown to her own. I directed the sister to unpin the dress softly and to slip away a moment, so that Lucy might begin to be accustomed to her absence, and to learn that she would return again; but when she did return, Lucy held fast to her, and would not trust the pin any more, but whenever she had occasion to use both hands, she held some part of the dress in her teeth. As there was no way of separating them without violence, and, perhaps, without dangerous agitation to Lucy's feelings; and as I was desirous that the anxious parents should feel every assurance of their unfortunate child's proper treatment, I requested the sister to remain, which she did, during several weeks.

After waiting a few days until she should become a little familiar with her new locality, and learn that she was among friends, I commenced the attempt to make her take her seat at a desk with the other girls, but found that the teachers could not induce her to remain in it. As soon as I felt assured that she understood what was required of her, and that caressing would not induce her to obey, I came to the resolution, painful as it was, to coerce her to obedience. I am not now sure that I was right, perhaps it would have been better to lose whole months in the attempt to coax her to obedience, and to manifest the kind feeling by which I was actuated, in a manner more comprehensible to her. But having no precedent to guide me, and not foreseeing how great would be her resistance, I acted according to my best judgment and proceeded to enforce obedience. Having, therefore, her sister by her side to assure her that a friend was near, I endeavored gently to detain her in the seat to which her teacher had led her; she resisted, and I held her more firmly, upon which she sprang up suddenly with so much agility and force, as to drag herself across the room in spite of all I could do. I now took more firm hold of her, when, finding, after a short struggle, that she could not get away from me, she suddenly darted her nails into my hands, and brought blood with every scratch; still I carried her along, upon which, as if perceiving there was a more sensible spot, she clawed at my face so ferociously, that I was forced to put up my hands to save my eyes. Taking advantage of this, and exerting a degree of strength and activity altogether surprising in one of her age, she defied all my efforts to hold her, or to put her in her seat.

I then put a wire fencing mask upon my face, and thick gloves on my hands, and after trying gently to coax her to her place, I took firm hold of her, upon which she instantly clutched again at my face, but seemed amazed at the reception which her talons met with; nothing daunted, however, she clawed at my hands, and not being able to penetrate the gloves, she curled her fingers under my coat-sleeves, and scratched at the flesh between the cuff and the glove. This satisfied me she vas perfectly conscious of what she was about, and could exercise discretion as to the points of attack; especially as finding that I did not now mind her nails, she quickly bent her head down, and began to bite; I, therefore, no longer hesitated to exert all my strength, and force her to her seat. Still she would not yield, but renewed the contest repeatedly for two hours, until I was almost completely exhausted, when she finally yielded. She however in her resistance twice within the twenty-four hours, and then submitted entirely.

For some time after this, she would mind no one else, and several times she made violent resistance to my will; but I procured a a -sic- pair of leather hand-cuffs, and fastened her hands behind her back once or twice, and she so dreaded them, that their touch was enough to make her yield.

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In a few weeks she became perfectly obedient and docile, and a change came over her whole manner; she would submit to have her sister leave her for hours together, moaning, however, sometimes most piteously; until at last she came to desire the society of others, and not only permitted them to caress her, but seemed to grow fond of them. She would sit quietly at her desk, and submit to what was to her the incomprehensible efforts of her teacher: she began also to partake in the sports of the children, and to grow happy, showing but rarely any signs of discontent. She would not, however, remove the mysterious covering from her head, nor could we divine what manner of face she had, for a month; at the end of which time she made a pair of shades, such as the blind children wear over their eyes, and at bed time, made signs to one of the girls, that if she would sleep with her she would remove the bag: the girl did so, and Lucy having first stuffed cotton into the sockets of her eyes, and put on the shades, removed the bag. There had been much curiosity to see her face, and her teacher went up, and found her apparently pleased, but still anxious, and inclined to cover up her head in the bed-clothes.

The next morning she came down with her face exposed, but was evidently uneasy, and if any one approached her she instantly covered it with her hands, or her apron. Judging from her looks and actions, her feelings were those of pleasure at having carried her point, mixed with anxiety and bashfulness about her appearance. She sat much of the time in a corner, with her face turned to the wall; but soon all shyness went off, and in a few days she smiled, and looked happy. Her face presented a singular appearance, being perfectly etiolated, as white and as inexpressive as the unexposed part of a person's arm or chest; but her features were very good, and when she smiled her countenance became very expressive and pleasing.

For the first two months, the daily and patient efforts of her teachers were of no avail whatever. She sat passive and obedient as far as she knew how to be so; but gave no sign of intellectual activity, or the slightest indication that she comprehended the strange movements which she was obliged to make with her fingers. Still I hoped that by some fortuitous combination of thought -- by some chance effort, she might seize hold of the helping hand which was held out to her in the dark.

The first indication of success is thus noticed, April 14, by her teacher. "I tried to teach Lucy to spell the word fig with her fingers, and succeeded in doing so after much trouble; she would not do it however a second time, although she seemed very desirous of having the fig."

Nothing more of note until April 26th, when the following gratifying record was made. "I took a fork and gave her the letters. She was very indifferent, and manifested unwillingness to do what I wished her to, but she made the letters once, and as she was ill I did not urge. Presently Laura came in with some figs. I told her she must give Lucy one. She said, Lucy must spell fig before I give it to her: she went to her, therefore, and showed her the fig, and then spelled it very slowly on her own hand, then signed to her to make the letters: this Lucy would not do at first, but Laura persevered and motioned to her that she might have the fig if she would spell it, and made the letters again on her own hand, and signed again to her to make them herself: at last Lucy found that Laura was in earnest, and she spelled the word f- i - g. Laura then patted her on the head and cheek, and seemed to be perfectly delighted that she had accomplished so much.

I had determined to persevere for six months at least, even if she should not manifest any improvement at all; but before that time the principal difficulty was vanquished, and it became perfectly clear to me that she had hold of the clue which was to guide her mind out of its dark labyrinth. The following extracts from the journals of two different teachers will show that I was not alone in this opinion. The first says,

"June 11th. Took Lucy and Laura as usual in the morning -- made the letters k - e - y, and Lucy set them up correctly without assistance twice; I then began again upon ring, and gave her a copy in the types. She selected the proper ones, but arranged them without order. I then gave her to understand that they must be as the copy, r first, &c., -- this she finally followed, and selected the types a second time, arranging them herself. After she had done this, I motioned for her to go, but she took a nut out of her pocket, and showed by signs that she wished to know what types she must set up for that. Gave her a copy, and she followed it correctly, noticing the order also. Her lesson was nearly an hour long, and she was not inattentive a moment."

"June 21st. Lucy did better than ever before; she set up three words alone, and the fourth with very little assistance."

"July 3d. Tried to find if Lucy really knew the letters in each word, or if it was all by imitation that she succeeded in spelling them; made the letter k with my hand, and a sign that she should find it on the board and give it to me. She tried three other letters before she came to k but afterwards handed it out. I then took another letter, e, and met with the same success.''

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"July 13th. Lucy did unusually well in her lesson this morning. She spelled three words correctly and succeeded better in finding the letters separately. When I asked her for k, she found it without hesitation and also e. She has learned the places of most of her types, and can put them away very quickly."

"For several days I have been trying to teach Lucy to call for what she wants at table -- commenced with cake and have tried three successive evenings, but without entire success until tonight: the first time she wanted it, she only passed her plate as usual, but upon my touching her hand she spelled it alone; the second time she touched my hand, and waited till she perceived I was attending to her, and then, without any sign front me, pointed to her plate and spelled CAKE!"

This was indeed a most gratifying triumph; and should I describe the joy with which in common with her teachers I hailed it, many would deem me extravagant: they might say -- "what! do you think it a great thing, that this girl should be removed far from her home, that she should submit to restraint and contradiction, that five months of tedious labor should be bestowed upon the attempt to teach her so simple a thing as to ask for a piece of cake, by using the letters c - a - k - e, and instead of using a natural sign, or of feeling around tile table until she found it?" Such, I fear, were the reflections of her parents, for at this very time they concluded to take her home. But I am sure I was right: and happy indeed should I be, if all the hours of my life could be devoted to so useful a task, as were those in which I was trying to forge the first link in the chain of communication with a human being, so thrown without the pale of humanity as was poor Lucy Reed.

I am not without hope that her parents will conclude to forego for a season the natural desire of having their unfortunate child near them, in consideration of her future life.

They may be assured, that although she may not have all the luxuries and delicacies, by which alone they can manifest their love for her, yet she will be receiving that food which nourisheth the soul, and which may be a source of enjoyment to her long after they are in their graves.

I could relate many circumstances respecting Lucy, which would interest the psychologist, and from which the educator, comparing her case with Laura, would not fail to draw valuable inferences respecting the importance of early training; but this would swell my Report to a volume: they shall not be lost however; and I will now close with one or two extracts from the journals which show the state of her affections.

"June 18. Lucy's mother came to see her. She was sitting in Lurena's room, very busily occupied in working upon her twine bag. I went in, took her hand, and motioned to her to come with me into the parlor; she came; her mother rose, went to her, put her arms around her neck and kissed her; Lucy touched her hand, and then her cap, and dress, as if she was trying to find out who it was: -- presently she recognized her; her face grew red, then pale again. She sat down upon the sofa. Her mother gave her several articles that she brought from home, which Lucy had seen before. Lucy recollected them and seemed pleased, but she did not give way to such strong expressions of joy as I had thought she would. She seemed gratified however, particularly with the eatables she brought her. She did not cling to her mother, but frequently left her to go to her chest to deposite some of the good things. I thought that she several times made signs to her mother as if she would talk with her fingers; and after tea, when her twine bag was brought to her, she seemed pleased, and wanted her mother to see her work upon it. Her mother seemed evidently pleased that Lucy had been able to learn so much, but was surprised and grieved, she said, to find her looking so thin and pale. She says, however, that she has known her to go with scarcely any nourishment, except tea and coffee, for eighteen days."

"June 20. This morning, at half past five, Mrs. Reed left Lucy for home. Lucy noticed that she had packed her trunk, and had on her cloak and bonnet; she went to her drawer, took from it three little phials, and motioned to her mother to give them to her two little brothers and one sister. But Mrs. Reed declined taking them, she went to Lucy, shook her hand, kissed her, and told her by signs that she was going away. Lucy then left her, went into her own room, took from her drawers some of the eatables her mother gave her, and sat down composedly to eat them. After breakfast she took me to the room her mother occupied, and told me by signs she was gone, but did not express any sorrow. After dinner, however, I heard her voice, and found her crying a little. I went to her, and brought her to Laura, and said, Lucy is sorry because her mother has gone home, she replied, "I will make her glad;" and immediately took her to her drawers, and to walk, and tried in every possible way to amuse her; and I think she succeeded better than any one else would have done, for before night she was as cheerful, and happy in appearance as Laura herself."

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"July l2. Mr. Reed and daughter arrived, Lucy recognised them, but did not express much at seeing them. She staid with her sister about ten minutes, then left her, and did not return to her again for more than an hour; she was not at all excited, and perfectly indifferent to them. They came to take her home: this was a severe trial to all of us, particularly to Laura, who loves her very dearly."

"This evening while packing Lucy's trunk, I carried her to it, and made signs to her that she would carry it away, and she seemed distressed. It was very evident to me that she did not want to go, although her friends interpreted her signs to the contrary. She made the same distressed noise that she always has made when in trouble, and ran away from me and went to her room. After a little while she became quiet and went to bed, but it was evident she was very much excited, and the excitement did not appear to her teachers and friends here to be joy at the idea of going away, but sorrow."

"July 13. This morning, at half past five, Lucy left us. I went to her and put on her shawl and bonnet, carried her to Laura, and told her she was going. Laura put her arm around her neck and kissed her affectionately while Lucy who seemed unmoved, remained passive. Laura said, 'Lucy do not hug me, sorry.' I then motioned to Lucy to put her arms around Laura, she did so, and Laura was very much affected. Lucy, however, did not show any outward marks of grief or sorrow this morning, that I could observe, although I watched her very closely. After she was ready to go she went down into Lurena's room and insisted on being galvanized, she clung to the tins and it was with great difficulty I could force her away. She went into the parlor, found Lurena and shook hands with her, then turned and came down stairs with me very quietly, and left me and went to her father. She manifested but very little emotion all this time.''

"Gave Laura a lesson in writing; at twelve gave her a lesson in arithmetic for the first time this term. She asked me, 'Why do you teach me to cypher?' I told her Lucy was gone and I had more time. She replied, 'Will you teach me to cypher all days?' Yes, if I have time. 'I am very alone, because Lucy is all gone.' I asked her what is 'all gone,' she said, 'Lucy will not come back more.'"

I may add, that Laura was not the only one to sorrow for Lucy's departure, and she is not the only one who would hail her return with joy.

S. G. HOWE.

APPENDIX D.

JULIA BRACE.

JULIA BRACE is the well known blind, deaf mute, who for seventeen years has attracted the attention of numerous visiters -sic- of the American Asylum at Hartford. She was born June 13th, 1807, with all the senses. She was rather a bright but quick tempered child; she went to school and learned to spell and read words of two syllables; she was taught to say her prayers, but also to swear. When four years and five months old, she was attacked violently by typhus fever, which in the course of a few weeks destroyed entirely the organs of sight and hearing; and left her such a total wreck, that it was for a long time doubtful whether she could survive.

As is usual in such cases of sudden deafness, she continued to use speech so long as she could recollect the position of the different parts of the mouth and throat; but this could not have been very long, and she gradually relapsed into total silence.

She was received into the Asylum for the mutes at the age of eighteen years, and continued an inmate until she came here.

An attempt was made to teach her arbitrary language, but it was not successful. She learned, however, some of the conversational signs of the deaf and dumb, and these added to the more strictly natural language, which she herself could use, enabled her to make many of her wants understood; and must have been of great service and comfort to her.

The following extracts from an account of her, published by the Rev. Mr. Woodbridge, and from the remarks of Doct. Spurzheim, are interesting.

"She has a strong feeling of propriety. After her illness she was unwilling to wear clothes, and would pull them off violently. At length her mother took one of her frocks and tried it on her sister with a view of altering it for her. Julia took the frock and put it on herself. Later she cried for new clothes and became fond of dress. She would take care of her sisters, and hold and attend them while they were infants, but when young she refused to take care of either of her twin brothers. Later she was kind to her brothers and sisters, and when she received a present, was alwasy -sic- fond of sharing it with them. If it was an orange, it was divided very exactly into equal portions; if a apple, which she knew to be more common, she used less care."

"When any mischief was done, she would often administer immediate punishment. At one time, while giving the children their bread and milk, the bowl was broken: in imitation of what she supposed would have been done by her mother, she whipped the little offender. But feeling of her eyes immediately, and finding that she was crying, she took her into her arms and endeavored to soothe her with kindness and caresses.

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"Her ideas of the rights of property were very strong. When any thing is presented to her, she will not retain it until she has given it back, and by its being returned, or by some sign of property, she is convinced that it is given to her. Her countenance then exhibits marks of pleasure; she remembers it for months, and will bring forth the present whenever the giver comes. It has been remarked, that notwithstanding the state of poverty in which she passed her childhood, when she was subsequently brought into houses where tempting articles of food and dress were constantly thrown in her way, she has never been known to take the most trifling object without leave. She was equally tenacious of her own property, and felt deeply any invasion of her rights.

"From a child she entertained the idea that the tallest ought to rule; and when shorter persons than herself in the houses where she has lived, bade her to do, or not to do any thing, she would respectfully let them know that she was the tallest. This idea, it is supposed, she entertained till she was grown taller than her mother the; but she has now given up this childish notion."

Dr. Spurzheim, who saw her, says: "From the above-mentioned facts we perceive her love and care of children, her combativeness in punishing her brothers and sisters; her love of approbation, her cautiousness, her acquisitiveness, conscientiousness, reverence, benevolence, order, time, and reflection. She knows the inmates of the institution, and has chosen one girl for her particular friend. She was always fond of childish sports, and of playing tricks on others, in concealing things, or in shutting them up in rooms. When fatigued of being exhibited to strangers, she endeavors to get out of the way. She delights in order, cleanliness, and dress. At the day of my visit, her head-dress was most carefully arranged, and it was her own doing. She examines with her hands the hair dress of other ladies she meets with, and imitates the fashion. Since she has been in the American Institution, only once she was disobedient to the Superintendent, the Rev. Mr. Weld; but being put into a narrow room, she was completely corrected."

She arrived here the 9th of April, 1842, being nearly thirty-five years old. She seemed to understand perfectly the object of her coming, and to the desirous of learning something in the school with the blind girls. The intelligent matron of the Hartford school accompanied her, and was able to make her comprehend many things by using natural signs. She had a sign for yesterday, to-morrow, for approbation and disapprobation, for a friend, for the low numbers, and perhaps as high as ten, but about this I am not quite satisfied; at any rate, she was possessed of the means of intercourse with deaf and dumb persons, to an extent which must be highly advantageous to her, living, as she does, in a community of them. There is, however, about her inexpressive face, and her attitude and demeanor, a certain passivity denoting habitual inattention to external objects, which is a very unfavorable symptom, and which contrasts strongly with the appearance of Laura Bridgman, and Oliver Caswell; they are always on the alert; their spirits seem to be striving to get abroad, -- to go out and examine the relations of external things; while Julia's is content to sit within, and receive impressions made upon the surface of her body. When left alone she loses consciousness, and lies flat upon her face, sleeping or dozing for hours together. This makes her case very unfavorable; for long inactivity of the perceptive faculties not only prevents their attaining an vigor, but disinclines to mental activity, and incapacitates for its long continuance.

Besides, she is past the age which nature destines for acquiring and storing up knowledge; few people learn much after they are thirty-five; they continue to grow wiser, but it is mainly by reflecting upon, and digesting what they have learned, by "chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy:" not only must people reap in age as they have sown in youth, but if they have not sown at all, neither can they reap. I fear that the time has gone by for the active operation of Julia's mental faculties; nor is this the worst; for the social and moral affections are subject to the same law of exercise as the intellectual powers; and as they were neglected in youth, they cannot yield their harvest of love in age.

She has begun the work of learning the arbitrary names of things as a substitute for the vague signs, by which she now expresses herself so imperfectly. She has already overcome the main difficulty, and conceived the relation between objects and their names; she has even learned the letters composing the names of half a dozen objects. What I fear is, that the present interest which she manifests arises from the novelty of the subject, and will not continue long enough to secure permanent good effects. Numerous, however, as are the odds against a successful issue, the stake is so precious and important a one, that a hearty and persevering attempt should be made, and will be made to win it.

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S. G. HOWE.

APPENDIX E

I have received an account of a deaf, dumb, and blind boy, resident in Ohio, but have not ascertained any interesting details of his case.

In Governor Winthrop's Journal for 1637, is found the following: -- "There was an old woman in Ipswich who came out of England, blind and deaf, yet her son could make her understand any thing, and know any man's name by her sense of feeling. He would write upon her hand some letters of the name, and by other such motions would inform her. This the Governor himself had told of when he was at Ipswich." This woman had probably lost her hearing and sight after she had learned to read and write.

At a late meeting of the British Association at Plymouth, "Dr. Fowler gave an account of a young woman, now in Rotherhith workhouse, who has the threefold infirmities of being deaf, dumb, and blind. The unfortunate individual, who is about twenty years of age, was born deaf and dumb, and blinded by small pox, when three years old. She does not hear the loudest efforts of the voice, but starts on a poker, hung by a string against her ear, being struck against a grate; touch is the only sense by which others can communicate with her, or which she employs in examining objects and persons, and though she possesses both taste and smell, never appears to have used them. Until within two or three years since, her existence appeared to be merely animal; but then a marked difference took place in her habits, and she became as attentive to her dress and personal decorum, as other girls of her age. She feels her way without a guide to every part of the workers; recognizes all its inmates by the feel of their hands; makes her bed; and sews not only plain work, but even the more intricate parts of dress. She is very tenacious of what she deems her own, and was much pleased with a shilling which was put into her hand, smiling, courtesying, and feeling it eagerly for some time after."