Library Collections: Document: Full Text

EXISTING STATE OF THE ART OF INSTRUCTING THE DEAF AND DUMB

By Prof. Frederick A. P. Barnard, of the New-York Institution for the Instruction of the Deaf and Dumb.

1. Institution des sourds et muets par la voie des signes methodiques; outrage qui contient Ie projet d'une langue universelle, par l'entermise des signes naturels, assujettis a une méthode. Par M. I'Abbé de L'Epéee. Paris, 1776.

2. Le sourd-muet entendant par les yeux, ou triple moyen de communication avec ces infortunés, par desprocedis abbreviatifs de l'écriture; suivi d'un projet d'imprimerie syllabique. Par le Père d'un sourd-muet. Paris, 1829.

3. Vocabulary for the instruction of the deaf and dumb, upon the principles established in the Manchester school. By William Vaughan. London and Manchester, 1828.

4. Erster, zweiter, dritter und vierter Berichte des Verwaltungs-Ausschusses der am 28 May 1827, gestifieten Taubstummen-Schule für Hamburg und das Hamburger Gebiet. Hamburg, 1828-1834.

From the comparative frequency with which the periodical press has been made, in the course of the past few years, the instrument of conveying information to the public, relative to the instruction of the deaf and dumb, the principal facts connected with the history of this art, at least in our own country, may be considered as generally known. It will hardly be expected, therefore, that, in treating the subject proposed at the head of this article, the writer should task himself with again repeating incidents, which, if not familiar to all, are probably so to most, and respecting which information may be elsewhere easily obtained.

Every institution erected for the humane purpose of ministering relief to those unhappy beings, whom Providence, in its inscrutable decrees, has condemned to endure the misery of perpetual silence, must be an object both of interest and of admiration to the philanthropist. To his eye every such institution, isolated amid the broad expanse of human selfishness, seems a gentle star, shedding abroad a lustre not of this world, the brightness of that heavenly charity, which breathes itself in the precept, "As ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so unto them, for this is the law and the prophets."

But as all such luminaries, like those which lend to the sky above us its variety and its beauty, possess a common charm, so they have each their peculiar claims to admiration. "There is one glory of the sun, another of the moon and another of the stars; and one star different from another star in glory." In giving an account, therefore, of the art of deaf-mute instruction as it exists, it will be necessary to describe the methods which have characterized different schools, and which have not even yet become blended into one.

We need not take the trouble to inform our readers, that the practicability of instructing the deaf and dumb is a discovery comparatively modern. Within the scope of authentic history, we find no notice of any attempt to remove the obstacles, which nature seems to have interposed between these helpless beings and the knowledge of that world in which, surrounded by darkness and mystery, they live a kind of dreamy and unreal life, till the sixteenth century of the Christian era had more than half passed away. To the philosophers of Greece and Rome, in the brightest days of those republics, the condition of the miserable deaf-mute seemed utterly desperate. The same view of the case has been taken by distinguished men, in times very near to our own; and in all ages, not even our own entirely excepted, this, our wretched fellow-man, has been made more wretched still, by a thousand popular prejudices; some having their origin merely in a sentiment of disgust, like that which we experience in the contemplation of any monstrous existence; and others, yet more injurious, in a creed, which, strange as it may seem, presumed the deaf-mute, on the evidence of his misfortune, to be labouring under the curse of Heaven, and carrying about with him, like Cain, the perpetual witness of God's displeasure. Thus it was for century after century. The wretched, so far from receiving commiseration or relief, were unrelentingly persecuted, or shunned as those who bore upon them the mark of the beast. To them the world was indeed a vale of tears.

The first instructor, so far as we know, Peter Ponce, a Benedictine of Ogna in Spain, died in the year 1584. After him sprang up, in various parts of Europe, including the British islands, isolated individuals labouring in the same cause, and in general believing, each for himself, that the art had originated with him. But the light which thus broke forth front time to time, at points too widely separated to allow the radiance to blend, was a brightness without a nucleus, and was speedily swallowed up in the general darkness. No instructor founded a permanent school, until the year 1760, when the Abbè De l'Epée established at Paris, at his own expense, an institution which he continued to conduct during a period of twenty-nine years, and which, after his death, was adopted and perpetuated by the government of France. Before that event, however, viz: in the year 1778, an institution under the patronage of the Elector of Saxony, had come into existence at Leipzig, with Samuel Heinicke, a kind of universal genius, a man previously of various occupations, and subsequently of considerable celebrity, at its head.

From this period, the history of the art is blended with that of institutions; earlier than this, it is little else than an account of the doings and of the opinions of individual men. Those who desire more particular information on this subject, will find it in the Encyclopedia Americana, Article, Dumb and Deaf, or in the North American Review, for April, 1834. Our present purpose is merely to state, in few words, the views which have been entertained from time to time, regarding methods of instruction, and those which, at the present day, are most extensively approved. In order to do this, it will be convenient to name, and briefly to describe, the principal instruments of communication employed with the deaf, and which constitute the medium through which they receive instruction.

The first of these instruments consists of those signs, by which deaf-mutes, though uneducated, contrive to make themselves understood. It would hardly be possible, on paper, to explain precisely what these signs are; hardly possible, at least without exceeding the limits we propose to ourselves here. Much has been said and written of them, in France especially; and much, that has been said and written, has been in a tone of eulogy so extravagant, and often so contradictory to the plainest teachings of common sense, as to be much better fitted to mystify than to enlighten the mind of the tyro. They have been denominated a natural and universal language, intelligible to all men at sight. And this proposition has been set forth in so strong a light, and in so unqualified a form, as to convey an impression little in accordance with the fact. Very sagacious men have been led to believe in the existence of a natural and universally intelligible language, of which, notwithstanding its natural character, its inherent intelligibility, and the absence of all necessity of learning it, they have grown up in absolute unconsciousness, not to say mere ignorance. No one indeed doubts his own ability to make many gestures, which shall have a meaning for another person: nevertheless, I believe I speak the opinions of common men, when I say, that these are not esteemed to be a language -- or rather the language so highly extolled by writers on the deaf and dumb. Few men are conscious of the power to conduct a connected discourse, without the use of words; and people in general do not recognize as a language, an instrument, which does not confer upon them this ability.

That the writer may not be accused of charging too great extravagance upon the eulogists of the natural language of gestures, let the following sentence from a French writer, be taken as characteristic of the class: "There is not a sentiment of the heart, there is not an idea of the understanding, which is not reflected in this language as in a faithful mirror." The present writer has heard, in conversation, precisely the same assertion, in almost precisely the same words, from more than one instructor of the deaf and dumb. Thus there seems claimed for this language of action, a copiousness and an adaptation to the purposes of communication, equal to those of the comparatively perfect spoken and written languages in use among men. Thus too those who receive their information entirely at second hand, fall naturally into the belief, that through the medium of the sign-language, any idea or combination of ideas, can be expressed, with as much clearness and promptness as by means of words. Allow the sign-language of the schools to be thus potential. It by no means follows that any natural and universally intelligible language is so too; for it is a great mistake to suppose, that the signs which constitute the dialect found in a given institution, are either, as a general rule, natural, or of universal use, or even universally intelligible among the deaf and dumb themselves; much less, then, are they so to others. In proof of this, the writer may appeal to the observation of the great numbers of intelligent persons who have visited our American institutions, and to the testimony of M. Degerando, who says, that having been thirteen years engaged, as a member of the administration of the Royal Institution, during which time he was much in the schools, he had never been able to understand the signs there used at all.

It is well to inquire, therefore, how far the language of gestures is a natural language. Thus far, if it be also universal, it is not, of course, peculiar to the deaf and dumb. It is well, nevertheless, to make the enquiry, because, as will appear in another place, many instructors are disposed rigorously to exclude from their systems, every thing in the form of signs, beyond the first and simplest suggestions of nature.

Not to go into a nice examination of all the successive stages of change, through which the sign-language passes, in proportion as it is cherished and cultivated, it will be sufficient to describe those forms under which it appears interesting to the instructor of the deaf and dumb. These are three in number. The first is the real dialect of nature: the second, that which is the result, to a good degree, of reflection, and is found in its perfection in communities of the deaf and dumb. This is, in great part, an expansion of the former, with an abridgment or reduction of its elements, to a degree in which they cease to be self-explanatory. It is also, to some extent, composed of signs purely conventional.

The third is a still higher expansion of the second methodized and subjected to the laws of artificial syntax. It is not adapted to colloquial use, but is intended, as will hereafter be explained, to serve as a stepping-stone to alphabetic language.

These forms of the sign-language will be best understood by example. Let a deaf-mute desire to call the attention of another person to some object in view; for instance, to a kite floating in the air. He will use such signs precisely, as would be chosen by a person possessed of speech, supposing any obstacle to prevent the use of his tongue. He will touch the individual and point to the kite, following the direction of his finger with his eye. This, then, is a sign natural, and universally intelligible. It is one of the simplest characters, and for convenience is denominated a sign of indication. On the following day, let the same deaf-mute desire to recall the kite to the mind of his companion. He will slowly describe before him the outline of the object, with the index fingers of both hands. He will seem to attach to the extremity of the figure thus delineated, the ornament called the tail, imitating its flexibility, and designating its length. He will next busy himself with the string, which he will seem properly to fasten, and then to pass along through his hands. At length he will launch his imaginary kite into the air, and mimic the action of the boy engaged in managing the play-thing. Should there be paper in sight, he will, in the early part of this process, point it out, and signify, by spreading his hands over the figure of the kite, that the filling-up is of that material. Otherwise, he may dispense with this part of the sign, unless his efforts to make himself understood should be fruitless without it. In this case, he must undertake a separate labour to recall the idea of paper to the mind of his friend. The means of doing this will be determined by circumstances. Reference to some place where paper is known to be deposited; allusion to a book or newspaper by describing its form, and seeming to open or unfold and read; imitating the flexibility of the substance; or, with those who have seen the process of manufacture, calling to mind the paper-mill, and the operations going on within it; these are some of the practicable means of arriving at the desired result. To make the description of the kite more complete, the fingers should be passed along the situation of the wooden part or frame; and the material of which it is composed, should be signified in some manner analogous to the foregoing. Thus we have at length the natural sign for a kite. It belongs to a class called descriptive. But such a mass of gestures to denote a single thing, must, obviously, very much obstruct rapidity of communication. Signs truly natural are, therefore, only occasionally used by deaf-mutes, in their intercourse with each other, and with their friends. Those which do really serve them as the instrument of communication, belong to the second of the classes named above. Out of the whole picture of the kite but a single feature will probably be retained, to stand as the representative of the object. In the institution with which the writer is connected, the attitude and manner of the boy holding the string is that in most common use.

This is no longer a natural sign. It is called by Sicard, a sign of reduction. It has lost the property of universal intelligibility; and if it has not become, to appearance, quite as arbitrary as a word, it is no longer, to say the least, self-explanatory. Of signs similar to this consists, chiefly, the colloquial language found in institutions for the deaf and dumb, so far as it relates to material things.

In the intellectual and moral world, the power of the truly natural language is considerably more limited than we have shown it to be in the material. It is in fact restricted to the designation of the stronger passions and emotions, and of those mental operations, which are usually accompanied by peculiar expressions of the countenance. Such expressions, combined with suitable attitude and gesture, constitute the corresponding natural signs.

But the colloquial language of the institutions is not so feeble in its resources. It resorts to metaphor and allegory, and resting partly upon these helps, and partly upon tacit convention, it accumulates a very copious vocabulary. By metaphor, the straight line is put for rectitude: by allegory, the equal scale is put for justice. By metaphor, physical is put for moral feeling, the speaker pointing to his heart. By allegory, the circle, formed rapidly and repeatedly, represents eternity. These specimens are characteristic of a large class. Any one is competent to judge, how universally such signs are likely to be understood.

But, beside the elements thus far described, the common, colloquial language of the deaf and dumb often admits signs totally arbitrary. Some of these seem to have been adopted unconsciously: indeed it is difficult, to trace their origin. Others, as for instance many proper names, both of persons and places, are the offspring of necessity. Signs of this class usually originate in little individual peculiarities; but, in large communities, such peculiarities are not sufficiently numerous or striking, to furnish a strongly distinctive sign for every individual. The sign by which the writer is known among the deaf and dumb, is purely arbitrary. It is formed by closing the hand, so as to represent the letter A of the manual alphabet, and placing the thumb-nail of the hand thus closed, against the chin.

It was probably owing, originally, to the existence of a class of rational beings without an audible language, that the discovery was made, of a means of communication to a certain extent copious, universally intelligible among men. Otherwise, we might look with surprise upon the chaos of gestures, (for so it seems to a stranger,) employed by deaf-mutes, when we recollect how often this has been named to us, as that very language which all mankind are to understand at sight.

The extent to which the language of action may be perfected is almost limitless. As it is, after all, in the countenance, that the chief significancy of its signs exists, continued practice may render the use of the hands almost wholly unnecessary. To this extent did Mr. Gallaudet, the late accomplished principal of the American Asylum, succeed in carrying it; as he has stated in a former number of this magazine. But this success, however it may demonstrate the power and variety of expression of which the human countenance is capable, cannot be received as evidence of the power of natural signs. It is now more than three years, since the writer, their connected with the American Asylum, borrowing the felicitous idea of Mr. Gallaudet, himself attempted numerous and satisfactory experiments of a similar description. He became convinced, however, that the expressions of the countenance, and the slight motions of the head and body, necessary in this mode of communication, serve to recall common colloquial signs, of which they are, in fact, a kind of reduction of the second degree, a partial, or exceedingly abridged imitation; and, moreover, that certain independent conventions, unknown to the common dialect, are absolutely essential to success. He has seen experiments of the same kind conducted by another gentleman, very expert in the use of the sign-language, with the same result. Thus a stranger, though himself deaf and dumb, and acquainted with the common dialect, prevalent where the experiment is made, would probably find this species of sign-making unintelligible.

In this connection, the writer is reminded of another of Mr. Gallaudet's beautiful ideas, which, with the assistance of one of his associates, he has endeavored to reduce to practice. From the vocabulary of the English language are selected a number of words, of which the initial letters are designedly the several letters of the alphabet. These words are the names of passions, emotions, or mental operations; and their corresponding expressions in the countenance are regarded as signs of the initial letters merely; thus forming an alphabet of the countenance, or an alphabet of expression. A few letters are, of necessity, arbitrarily supplied. By means of this alphabet, any word whatever may be spelled to a deaf-mute to whom it is familiar, slowly, it is true, but as certainly, as with the manual alphabet. It is, of course, mere matter of curiosity and amusement, being susceptible of no useful application in practice.

The language of an institution, once established, commonly remains tolerably constant. Each pupil brings with him, on his arrival, the signs of reduction which he has been accustomed to employ among his friends. But he readily lays aside his own signs for those of the community; nor, in doing this, is his memory burthened with a load, like that of a new vocabulary to a person possessing speech. For the signs of reduction which stand for the same idea, come usually from the same extended description, however they may appear to differ; and the new comer has merely to substitute one form of abbreviation for another. Until he has thus fallen into the use of the prevalent dialect, it will be necessary to employ, in his instruction, only those signs which are purely natural.

Having endeavored to explain, in some degree, the nature of the elements, which make up the language of action under the second form, our attention is next directed to the law of combination, according to which these elements may be made to enunciate propositions. This is very simple. The language of action, when so comprehensive as to be really self-explanatory, being little else than the portraying of objects and incidents in the air, as a painter would represent them on canvass; we must forget that it is a language which we are considering, we must cast utterly aside the notions of syntax stereotyped in our minds, and regard simply the question, "Were I a painter, how should I depict this thing, in order most satisfactorily to exhibit, at once, the relations of its parts, and the progress of events." This is the key to the whole matter. Suppose I should wish actually to paint a proposition of this simplicity: "A man kicks a dog." I should begin naturally with the dog, and afterwards represent the man in the act of kicking. To paint first this act, to exhibit a man kicking the air, would be unnatural. So in the language of action: I must first make the sign of the dog, and assign to it a location. I must then make the sign of a man, giving it also a suitable location, and finally represent the action (by actually performing it) as passing in the proper direction between the two. With this illustration, we will leave the sign-language under the second or colloquial form.

Under the first form, this language is, as we have seen, natural. Under the second, it exhibits a combination of nature and of art. Under the third, it appears to have passed entirely over to the opposite extreme, and is wholly artificial. From the first to the second form, the change on the part of the deaf-mute is spontaneous; nay, rather, he is forced into it by strong necessity. His progress exhibits the ordinary and natural march of improvement. But that from the second to the third is unnecessary, unnatural and forced. Were the deaf-mute left to himself, it would never be made, and wherever it is found, it is invariably the work of his teacher. The following is an account of its origin.

The syntax of the sign-language being one of the points in which that mode of communication differs most widely from ours, and its vocabulary being likewise comparatively slender; it occurred to the estimable Abbè De l'Epée, that if these two circumstances could be done away, -- if the number of signs could be made equal to the number of words, and if they could be reduced to an order of arrangement, correspondence to that of words in speech; the deaf and dumb might be instructed by a mere process of translation. He addressed himself to the task, therefore, of affecting this desirable improvement. His labours, greatly amplified by his successor, Sicard, gave rise to a species of signs denominated methodical. This system contained, or was intended to contain, a sign to represent every spoken word; together with auxiliaries, indicative of tense, mode, etc., and of the parts of speech. Further notice will be taken of this species of signs in another place. We will pause here only to remark, that these methodical signs were, of necessity, in good part not colloquial; and that, though they presented a language having a syntax like ours, such a syntax continued to be quite as unnatural, and quite as unintelligible to the deaf and dumb, as before.

Some instructors have endeavoured to make of signs a written, as well as a colloquial language. In order to accomplish this, they have represented the various members of the body, and the several features of the countenance, concerned in pantomime, by characters on paper. By another set of marks they have contrived to indicate all the varieties of motion; and by a third, the most striking expressions of the countenance. By the combination of these characters they are able to express in writing any sign of action, very much as spoken words are spelled by means of alphabetic characters. Mimeography is the name given to this mode of writing signs. It is not known to be at present in use in any school, excepting in that of M. Piroux at Nancy in France, if even it is still employed there. Most instructors have been disposed to regard it as rather curious than useful.

The art of designing is an important auxiliary to the instruction of the deaf and dumb. In teaching even the simple nomenclature of visible objects, a vast amount of time may often be saved by the help of pictures. For it is not of every object of which there is occasion to speak, that a sign of reduction is to be found in the dialect of the institutions. In such a case, if the object be not itself present, nor any picture representing it, it is necessary to resort to the process of description, illustrated when speaking of the sign-language under the first form. This process will be of course be less tedious, in proportion as there exist other signs of reduction to contract its parts; nevertheless it will consume time, which the presence of a picture might save. But design is not of use merely in this way. It may serve to explain phrases and sentences; or to throw light upon difficult subjects, by an allegorical use. Hardly any limit can be assigned to its utility.

There is another auxiliary in use in the schoolrooms of our institutions, employed to illustrate the laws of grammar. It consists of certain symbols, devised to represent the parts of speech, and undergoing systematic modifications, to correspond to the grammatical inflections of words. The idea of such symbols originated with Sicard. There are now in possession of the writer, certain old model lessons, once used in the Royal Institution, in which the symbols of the noun and adjective appear, in form closely resembling those now in use in the New-York Institution. The instructors on this continent have expanded the idea of the distinguished inventor, and have given to grammatical symbols a much higher degree of utility, than they could have possessed in his day. Mere description would hardly enable the public to estimate the merits of this method of illustrating grammar to the eye. There is, however, now in a process of stereotyping for publication in this city, a small volume, which will contain the whole system, as at present in use in the New-York Institution, adapted to the purposes of instruction in ordinary schools.

The language of action, design and grammatical symbols are instruments of instruction unconnected with words. As means of exhibiting or using words, we have also writing, the manual alphabet, and articulation.

Of the first, viz: writing, it is unnecessary to speak.

Of the second, indifferently denominated the finger alphabet, the manual alphabet, and dactylology, the public have, also, in general, some notion sufficiently definite. They are aware that its elements are certain positions of the fingers, representing the letters of the alphabet; and that its use is to spell words literatim. There are two species of dactylology in use, the first employs but a single hand, and prevails over this country and the continent of Europe. The other employs both, and is confined to the British Isles.

Beside simple alphabetic dactylology, instructors have, at times, devised systems of finger-spelling by syllables. Pereiré, a distinguished contemporary of De L'Epée in Paris, employed such an one with eminent success. Mr. J. R. Burnet, a meritorious young man of Livingston, NJ., deaf since the age of seven, but remarkably intelligent and well informed, and the author of a volume of poems, and papers on the deaf and dumb, about a year since planned out a system of syllabic dactylology, adapted to the English language, which evinced considerable ingenuity, and promised to be practically useful: but it has not yet been submitted to the test of experiment.

Articulation comes next. Little explanation is necessary in reference to this. For the deaf it means precisely what it means for others, the actual utterance of words.

Accompanying articulation, it is attempted usually to teach the power of reading words in the motion of the lips. Both these accomplishments have been actually taught to the profoundly deaf; though necessarily at the expense of much time and patient labour. There are many who hear partially, and are, on that account, more fit subjects for this species of instruction.

With this is completed our survey of the instruments of instruction. We pass next to the matter. This consists, first, of alphabetic language; and, secondly, of all the various subjects of knowledge, which constitute the substance of instruction to those who hear. To teach the first presents the great and peculiar task. It is true that language cannot be taught apart from that knowledge of which it is the nomenclature. It is therefore undoubtedly true, that fully to understand all the terms of any given language, is fully to understand every subject of knowledge which the language is sufficiently copious to treat of. Nevertheless, to acquire the use of a language is a labour as specifically different from that of accumulating knowledge, as to acquire the use of a tool is different from the study of the principles on which the tool is constructed.

In the execution of his task, the instructor is at liberty to choose between the two courses following. He may aim only to convey to his pupil a practical knowledge of language, like that which children acquire, as they grow up; or he may desire to make him also acquainted with the principles of grammar. If the latter be his choice, he may follow out the two branches simultaneously; or he may postpone grammar as a science, until language is practically taught. The simplicity of the latter course recommends it; and it is therefore the one most popular, and most generally pursued.

There are still two ramifications, into which the labour of teaching: language subdivides itself. To teach the nomenclature of ideas simply, is not to impart the power of communicating those judgements, which result from the comparison of ideas. The laws which govern discourse, or connected language, constitute, therefore, a distinct division of the subject, requiring the most careful and unwearied attention.

Language being, then, the chief matter of instruction, by what processes shall we expound its difficulties, and simplify its mysteries, to the narrow comprehension of an uneducated deaf-mute? The limits of this paper of course forbid our descending to those minute practical details, which would be necessary to guide a novice in the school-room. We may nevertheless be able to afford some illustration of what would be their nature.

The first ramification of the subject is that of teaching words or nomenclature. We need not remark that words will be of no value to the pupil, unless their corresponding ideas are first clearly and distinctly apprehended. It is the business of the instructor, therefore, to develop in the mind of the learner, a series of ideas, parallel to the words of alphabetic language, and as extensive as the vocabulary to be taught. For this purpose he will avail himself of a variety of processes.

Among these, the simplest are mere indication and description, which, as employed in teaching the names of visible objects, have been already exemplified. These two suffice for the nomenclature of the material world. In regard to description, it should be remarked, that it avails itself of the forms, qualities, and characteristic motions of material things, of their origin or production, of their purpose or uses, of their habits (if living), and of the fate which overtakes them at last. Any circumstance, which might come into a detailed written account of the object, are brought out if necessary, in the pantomimic scene.

In overstepping the confines of matter, if our resources are separately weaker, they are nevertheless more numerous. The first is illustration a word which means here precisely what it does elsewhere. Suppose I desire my pupil to understand what I understand, when I hear the word pity. I represent a miserable woman thinly clad, and shivering with her babe at midnight in midwinter, on the marble step of some stately mansion in Broadway I describe the tears that chase each other down her care-worn cheeks. I paint her mournful gaze through the gloom of the deserted street, and the blank look of despair, with which at last she suffers her head to fall upon her aching bosom; and, as I regard the image, I have thus created before me, I point to my heart, and throw into my countenance an expression characteristic of the emotion I assume to feel. In view of the circumstances, it can hardly be misunderstood.

The next process is metaphor. Let the same word, pity, be the subject. I represent the earth, parched by the heat of summer. I point to the sun, pouring down a most intolerable radiance. I seem, here and there, to see animals panting under the oppressive influence, and men melting in perspiration. The herbage is shriveled, brown and dry. The soil is baked and intersected with cracks in a thousand directions. Suddenly I see a cloud arise in the west. It expands itself over the surface of the whole heaven. I endow it with animation and thought. I perceive it regarding from the sky the pitiable condition of all the lower creation. I see it dissolving away to tears, and pouring out its pitying moisture, in showers, to re-animate and refresh the drooping world.

Metaphoric illustration must be used with caution. When so used, it diversifies the teacher's labour and the learner's toil, with an agreeable variety; and often presents ideas in a very striking light. It is peculiarly useful in cases where simple illustrations, adapted to the learner's capacity, are not easily to be found.

The processes thus far enumerated are of a kind usually called familiar, in opposition to others denominated philosophic, which we shall proceed to consider.

Of these, the first is induction. By this word is meant a mental operation on the part of the pupil himself; a species of analysis into which he is led by the teacher, and in the course of which, he arrives independently at notions, not before distinctly recognized. I have, for example, a pupil, who has never contemplated edifices, or buildings as a class. Making the usual sign for that in which we live, I enquire (a question easily asked in the sign-language), if my pupil has ever seen a similar object. He answers yes, and I require him to describe it, and to tell its use. I ask then for another, and another and another, until his stock is exhausted. But I shall not find it necessary to repeat my interrogatory so often. I shall be anticipated. The characteristic of this class of objects will be brought by my questions before the pupil's mind, and he will run on from one thing to another, until there remain no more. I have succeeded in bringing him to contemplate as a class, a number of objects, which he had been accustomed to consider only as individuals. I proceed to give a name to this newly acquired notion.

The second of these processes is exposition; a kind of analysis precisely like the former in kind, but differing in the mode of conducting it. In the former case the pupil unconsciously passes through the requisite steps; in the latter the teacher does the same with design; the learner remaining a passive spectator. The process is more rapid than induction, and at the same time less certain. It is, hence, better adapted to a later period of instruction, while the former can only, with safety, be depended on, while the mind is yet for the most part undisciplined. As an example, let us take the correlative personal nouns, superiour and inferiour. I enumerate all the particulars which may be supposed to render one individual superiour to another, such as superiour power, superiour wisdom, superiour virtue, superiour ingenuity, superiour strength, superiour agility, etc., and intimate that of two individuals, he who possesses all or any one of these, is entitled to the more honourable appellation. The process is simply definition a posteriori. The third method is that of definition indirect. This is of two kinds, definition by exclusion, and definition by contrast. Both may very well be employed together, for the contrast or direct opposite of an idea is, of course, excluded from the idea itself. Suppose I wish to define liberality or generosity. By the contrast I may say, in the beginning, that it is the reverse of a niggardly, hoarding disposition. Nevertheless, it is not prodigality, or wasteful expenditure. Neither is it the disbursement of sums, however vast, which one ought to pay. Nor is it the free use of money, from a mean-spirited fear of the imputation of stinginess; nor, for the sake of acquiring the name of a good companionable fellow; nor, in order to compass some secret end; nor, for any reason, in short, but the spontaneous promptings of a noble heart, that despises the lucre of gain, but loves its fellows, and desires to impart to them of its means of enjoyment. This process is one of frequent use, and is one of the most efficient known to the art.

There remains only definition by synthesis, or, as it is commonly called, direct definition. According to this method, a particular idea is defined by referring to its genus, and pointing out its specific characteristics. Such a method is not adapted to the circumstances of the deaf and dumb, unless at a late period in the course of their instruction.

These being the processes, logically classified, of developing the ideas of deaf-mutes, preparatory to teaching nomenclature, it would be in order to enquire here, what precautions are taken to insure thoroughness in the other branch of instruction, viz: that which embraces the principles of construction or connected discourse. The few remarks we have to make on this topic, will find a place when we come to consider that which peculiarly characterizes the history of the art in modern times.

We are now in a state to understand the wide differences, which have distinguished the systems pursued by different instructors and different institutions. These differences have arisen from the unequal prominence give by different men, to some of the instruments of communication, and the total exclusion of others from their methods. Of simple homogeneous systems, there are four essentially dissimilar, still in practice. In past times, there have not been wanting others, as we shall presently see. From combinations of the homogeneous systems, there arise others, differing according to the nature of their component parts.

The first and simplest system is that which rests upon the truly natural, unexpanded and unmethodized dialect of the deaf-mute, and aims only to teach language under a written form. It rejects all those contractions, denominated signs of reduction, and dispenses with the use of gestures entirely, as soon as possible. This was, for a long time, the method of the distinguished Dr. John Wallis, Professor of Geometry in the University of Oxford, and almost, if not quite, the earliest of English labourers in behalf of the deaf and dumb.

The second system differs only from the first, in employing the language of action under the second form; or that in which it is no longer universally intelligible, but, by reason of conventions and abbreviations, has become a prompt and easy means of communication. This is the system at present existing in the New-York Institution.

The third is that employed in the sixteenth century by Ponce, the earliest of all instructors, and by great numbers since his time. Its principal instrument is articulation.

The fourth is that which originated with De l'Epée in the latter part of the eighteenth century, and was perfected by Sicard in the beginning of the present, at the Royal Institution of Paris. This, as has been already intimated, depends chiefly upon methodical signs. The celebrity of its originators, and the individual success especially of Sicard, contributed to render this method highly popular in France, and in this country, when the art was new among us. Very little, however, was generally known, at the time, of the systems prevalent on the rest of the European continent, and in the British islands. Greater experience has since induced the Royal Institution to abandon wholly the method of Sicard, and to embrace a mixed method, formed by combining the second the third, named above.

The methods we have described, except that of De L'Epée and Sicard, are as will be perceived, as old as the art itself. That which depends on articulation was, nevertheless, almost universally the favourite, during the two hundred years which preceded the invention of methodical signs. We have mentioned that Ponce preferred this; and we may add that his pupils are said to have been accomplished articulators. After him, Bonet in Spain; Wallis and Holder in England; Van Helmont and Amman in Holland; Kerger, Wild, Niederoff, Raphel, Lichwitz, Arnold, and Heinicke in Germany; and Pereiré, Ernaud, Desehamps, and even the Abbé De L'Epée himself in France, are known to have attached themselves to this method. One of these, Professor Wild, engaged a celebrated mechanist of Frankfort, named Henry Louis Muth, to construct a machine, which should imitate all the movements of the vocal organs; in order that the deaf-mute might have an opportunity to see distinctly the positions he was required to copy. Another, viz: Heinicke, pretended to avail himself of the sense of taste in teaching articulation. The truth of this pretense has been doubted; nevertheless, he is known to have endeavoured to regulate the positions of the vocal organs, by introducing instruments into the mouth.

Sicard, too, so late as the year 1819, republished a little treatise of De L'Epée, called "The Art of Speaking," with a preface, in which he says, "The deaf-mute is not wholly restored to society till he has learned to express himself viva voce, and to read speech in the movement of the lips. It is only then that his education can be said to be complete." These facts are worth remembering on the part of those, who devour, with astonishment, the accounts, which find their way occasionally into the public prints, of the wonderful success, attained by some modern experimenter, in instructing the deaf to speak.

But though the majority of suffrages were early, as we see, in favour of articulation, the simpler form of the art had its disciples. Wallis transferred himself to this class. Beside him, appeared, in England, Bulwer and Dalgarno; and in Germany, Lasius, and probably others, whose names we know, without being particularly acquainted with their practice.

In France, among the first essays attempted in this art, were those of Father Vanin and of Pereiré, whose methods were both sufficiently remarkable to deserve separate mention. The minute details of neither have come down to us, but we know that Father Vanin made design the great instrument of instruction and the basis of his system. By means of this alone, he sought to explain every thing, even of the mysteries of religion.

Pereiré, on the other hand, depended chiefly on a method of syllable dactylology, lost with him, by means of which words could be very rapidly produced. The language of action he rigorously excluded. Articulation was his ultimate aim, it is true, but the channel through which he sought to approach it was peculiar to himself.

Design and the manual alphabet, are, at this day, peculiar to no system. The utility of the first is universally acknowledged, though little has been done toward developing the extensive resources it presents. The second is tolerated every where, on account of its convenience, in producing words without the aid of writing-materials. It is, however, to be feared, that a too early and too constant use of this instrument, may lead to the habit of conceiving words as exhibited by the tedious process of literatim spelling on the fingers, rather than as they appear on paper, in which form the mind will speedily become accustomed to regard them as units.

The aim of modern instructors has not been so much to strike out paths new and untrodden, as to remove obstacles from the old. The search for a method radically different from any yet tried, would probably be a fruitless labour, inasmuch as methods are characterized, as we have seen, by the combinations and the applications which they admit, of the instruments of communication; and as these instruments are few and known. Modern industry and modern investigation have been busy with theory, as well as with practice. They have called in the light of philosophy, to aid in discovering a touchstone for the practician, by which to test the genuineness of his methods. They have turned their attention to a branch of the subject, independent of what are called systems, and equally important to all, viz: the order in which the details of that vast subject, language, should be unfolded to the mind of the learner; embracing a consideration, first, of the principles which should guide in determining the due succession of difficulties, presented in the various forms of connected discourse; and, secondly, of the means of facilitating the development of ideas, by so arranging their nomenclature for the purposes of instruction, as to make each step in advance, a natural guide to the one succeeding.

These are complicated and difficult questions. They are still employing the ingenuity of distinguished individuals. For, though the general and fundamental principles which they involve, are obvious and easy of comprehension, yet the extent of the subject renders their perfect application in practice, a matter of great difficulty

In speaking of the actual state of the art, at the present day, we should say that it is characterized by most vigorous efforts, to introduce philosophical method into the teaching of language. Half a century ago, and even later, the instruments of instruction, and the means of perfecting them, seemed principally to absorb the minds of instructors. In our own time these, in the estimation of intelligent men, have found their true level; and the best methods of simplifying the task, which these instruments are to be the means of performing, are now the grand object of study.

After this account of existing methods, the writer may be expected to express a preference for some one in particular. There are certain principles, admitted by the ablest writers on the subject, at the present day, to be in accordance with sound philosophy, which may serve as a guide in the formation of such a preference. These are,

1st. That it is expedient for the instructor to borrow the entire language of action in possession of his pupil, as being the earliest available instrument of communication.

2d. That the pupil should be taught to associate his ideas directly with the visible forms of written words.

In proposing to the pupil to receive words as the immediate signs of his ideas, we aim, of course, to subvert his long standing habit, of conducting mental operations by means of pantomimic signs. Every expansion of his natural language, therefore, whatever advantages it may bring with it, is attended with at least one important evil, viz: that it strengthens the pupil's attachment to his old habits of thought and his accustomed modes of communication. It renders the task of supplanting signs of action by words, greater; and the disposition on the part of the pupil to aid in the execution of that task, less. The sagacious instructor, therefore, especially if he have but few pupils, will spend very little labour in correcting and improving, and much less in developing, the meagre dialect they bring him. Whatever expansion it acquires in their intercourse with each other, he will turn to the best advantage he can, in the prosecution of his task. Existing in an expanded state, it may be made of use; but its utility is hardly sufficient to justify its cultivation for this specific object. Indeed, the use of the sign language, from the earliest period of instruction, should be daily more and more discouraged; and, as the course of education approaches its termination, it should be, if not rigidly prohibited, at least barely tolerated, and never suffered to appear, save when alphabetic language fails. No teacher can be too watchful in this respect. So copious and so convenient has become the language of the schools, and so elegant and picturesque does it appear in practice, that there is a constant propensity to indulge in its employment; when the less showy and more difficult, but at the same time more useful, language, common to the rest of the world, ought to be substituted; and on occasions most valuable for practical instruction. The ordinary conversations between master and pupil, out of school, too frequently, I should say constantly, go on in the language of action; and the great purpose, for which the community are assembled together, seems wholly forgotten. On this subject M. Recoing, a late luminous writer and able instructor of France, whose volume "by the father of a deaf-mute" is cited at the head of this article, has given us some forcible remarks.

"It is certain," he says, "that the fondness of the deaf and dumb for signs, will turn them away from the habitual use of language: and if the master, on every occasion, instead of giving the conventional word to recall such or such an object, make a natural sign to express his thought, he will doubtless be understood, but the French word will not be learned; or, if known, will not be engraven anew upon the memory. It is undoubtedly true, that he may be able to communicate many simple ideas, as promptly by natural signs, as by the most abridged form of writing; or even more so. But, it will be more useful, nevertheless, to say these things, even down to the most simple, in French; because we shall thus form our pupils to the use of that language, which we cannot too constantly inculcate upon them." Again, "since the master cannot cause the words of his mother tongue continually to resound in the ears of his pupil, he must be so much the more careful to write them unceasingly before the eyes; and never to express himself but in this language, save to take advantage of a gesture to help out his meaning. The gesture which paints the object, may thus be a useful auxiliary. But it will never do to reverse the order, to make of the gesture the capital object, and of the French word, which ought always to be remain in the mind, a mere accessory."

Such, likewise, is the language of Degerando. "Let us recall the principle unceasingly: the deaf-mute must enter our ranks; he must become one of us. It is the language of his country which we desire him to acquire. This should become to him what it is to the ordinary child, what it is to its, his mother tongue. But the adoption of the language of his country can never be perfect and sincere, if he continues to see in it only the translation of his own signs: it will not be his mother tongue. It will remain for him, what the learned languages are for us." Again he says, "The deaf-mute must have the resolution often to interdict to himself the language which he has constructed; for the moment to forget it, if he will be truly initiated into that, which is in circulation among his kind. To familiarize him with our language, if is necessary to familiarize him with our mode of conceiving it; from which he is distracted by the language peculiarly his own."

In commenting upon this passage, M. Recoing remarks, that the words "often" and "for the moment," are "a concession too indulgent, made to ancient prejudices."

In illustration of the evils resulting from the existence of too copious a dialect of the language of action, Degerando cites the example of the company of young Egyptians, sent to Paris by the Pacha of their country, to acquire a knowledge of the arts and the learning of Europe. Having been placed together in the same school, they made, for a long time, little progress in the acquisition of French; because like the deaf and dumb, they conversed continually in a language of their own. On this account they were separated, and distributed among different schools; when, immediately, the advantageous effect of denying them the use of their mother tongue, became manifest in the remarkable rapidity of their improvement.

If, then, even that degree of expansion, which in large institutions, seems, in the nature of things, inevitable, is to say the least, not to be desired; what shall we say of the system of instruction, of which the first great dogma is, expansion to the highest possible degree: nay, more than this, expansion beyond even the limit, within which signs are of colloquial use; and expansion, which is not expansion merely, but rather the destruction of all that is natural in the language of action, and the erection of a stupendous artificial structure upon its ruins; artificial in its materials, and artificial in the mode of their combination. We have already said, that the dialect of the institutions is not properly a natural language. This is true; nevertheless it retains one characteristic of that from which it springs, and which is in fact natural, and that is its syntax. This at least continues to be truly natural, after the individual signs have forfeited their claim to that character; and this last trace of nature it is, which the principle of methodical signs comes to destroy. For, in place of a collocation of signs which the deaf-mute comprehends, it proposes to substitute one which he does not comprehend; and thus to present him with a set of unintelligible elements, arranged in all unintelligible order. I say unintelligible elements. Such they are, of course, whenever without the circle of colloquial signs; or, more accurately perhaps, when standing as the representatives of ideas, as yet beyond the limit of the pupil's intellectual range. But may not the corresponding ideas be defined? True, they may: but their, again, of what manner of use is the sign? To what end is it adopted, if not to serve as in auxiliary in defining the idea? The purpose of the school is not to teach signs, but words; and the labour thus spent in defining a sign, is the very labour, and no other, required to teach a word. Now, were it the fact, that each methodical sign brought with it to the pupil its corresponding idea, and thus saved us the labour of developing the same in his mind; then we would, with pleasure, accept the freight and dismiss the vehicle. But the truth is quite otherwise. We are asked to accept the vehicle, and to furnish it with its freight; in order that we may, the next moment, undo our labour. Truly the system of methodical signs is an unwieldy and cumbrous machine, and a dead weight upon the system of instruction in which it is recognized.

This system is, moreover, exceedingly deceitful. It deceives both instructor and pupil, by affording to the latter a mechanical guide to the construction of sentences, which he does not understand. It is, still further, even at the present day, practically imperfect. Not all the labours of Sicard, and they were Herculean, with those of De l'Epée to aid him in starting, nor all those of his numerous disciples, have yet brought the system to that perfection which its theory demands, or filled up its limitless vocabulary of signs.

M. Recoing, whose writings have been already quoted, and who is distinguished for his glowing zeal in the cause of the deaf and dumb, has taken the trouble to collect a list of distinguished names, behind which to intrench himself, in fulminating anathemas upon the system of methodical signs; and it is a fact in no small degree remarkable, that since the days of De L'Epée, excepting his great disciple Sicard, all Europe has produced no single individual of note, to advocate this mischievous system; while its opponents have been numerous, zealous, and able. Its latest champions in France, M. Jamet of Caen, and M. Dudesert of Conde, are only remarkable, the former of his singular inaccuracy of information, and the latter for a spirit of ultraism never dreamed of even by Sicard. He admits no signs which are not wholly arbitrary; rejects, of course, all natural signs which are not wholly arbitrary; rejects, of course, all natural signs, in the most decided and peremptory manner, and prohibits the use of such, in the mutual intercourse of the pupils themselves. The systems of Jamet and of Dudesert, are not indeed identical with that of Sicard. These gentlemen have some notions peculiar to themselves. They say, for example, that as we possess ideas, words, and also pronunciation; the deaf and dumb should have the same, or something equivalent. Their methodical signs stand therefore for pronunciation; they stand, unvaried, for the words they represent, whatever changes of meaning the latter may undergo; and they stand strictly for single words, and not indifferently for synonymous terms. By deviating then from the system of Sicard, these instructors do not seem to have become more philosophical in theory, or more felicitous in practice.

The radical evil lies here. In all its forms, the methodical sign system rests upon an erroneous theory. Its supporters claim that the deaf and dumb must always, of necessity, think by the instrumentality of their language of pantomime. This doctrine is absurd upon the face of it, and may be met and confuted by arguments of precisely a similar character to those, once successfully employed to combat the assertions of the early teachers of articulation. For be it remembered that these men denied even to pantomime, what more recent teachers have denied to written words, the power or fitness to serve as the instrument of thought: a prerogative which they claimed in behalf of the voice alone. But these doctrines have both alike been long since exploded, and are now quietly inured among the rubbish of the past.* Methodical signs, therefore, remain without a plausible excuse for their continued existence; and are probably destined to disappear with the next generation.

*The writer has observed with regret, in one of his own countrymen, a new advocate, at this late day, of the several absurdities exposed in the text. With still greater regret has he noticed the lack of courtesy on the part of the same gentleman, toward one, who had certainly intended him no disrespect; and who, in giving his own views to the public, through the pages of the North American, was totally unconscious that he was assailing any pet doctrines of Mr. Jacobs of Kentucky His views, for which he prefers no claim to originality, he conceives, are likely to stand: for even when Mr. Jacobs shall have succeeded in exterminating them here, and he seems to flatter himself that time is not far distant, he will find all Europe on his hands after all, as, indeed, he may be early apprised, on the appearance of the fourth circular from Paris, now due, but delayed by the press of the matter. The man, who seems to make a merit of reading no French, should speak in these matters with less confidence; for the French and the German instructors think profoundly before they write; and they read, if Mr. Jacobs does not, the productions of their brethren, though in foreign tongues.

Some instructors, in whose methods this artificial system has held a prominent place, have expressed a conviction, unaccompanied by argument, that signs of this description cannot be entirely abandoned. Methodical signs have been abandoned already. In fact they never had an existence, until about half a century ago, and two entire centuries after the time of Ponce. They have no existence, now, in those schools which have never received the method of De 1'Epée. They never, of course, had an existence in the numerous articulating schools, which have overspread Great Britain and the continent of Europe, even to the heart of France itself: yet, without their aid, multitudes of pupils have even learned to talk. They have no existence at the present time, except as matter of memory, in those institutions, which have once employed, and subsequently abandoned them; among which may be mentioned that with which the writer is connected, and the Royal Institution of Paris.

It is too late to express a conviction that methodical signs cannot be abandoned. This should have been done before the abandonment took place, at least before it took place in the school of Sicard. Were the writer to express a conviction, that there is no such place as Paris, the Parisians would, questionless, remain living entities, in spite of his doubts. So is it in the case. Whoever may withhold his belief from the assertion, the deaf and dumb will, nevertheless, continue to be instructed without the use of methodical signs; as they have been already, for more than two centuries and a half.

The writer cannot help believing, that those who deny the practicability of this, make the denial, because practice has not taught them to modify their schoolroom processes, to meet the new exigency introduced by the change. They would speak with more accuracy, were they to assert the impossibility of discarding methodical signs, and of still continuing to instruct as though methodical signs were still in use. A knight of the twelfth century, divested of his mail, and accoutred as a modern warriour, might be supposed to say, "I cannot dispense with that massive armour. I am convinced that such weapons and such defences are essential to the noble art of war. They can never be laid aside." And why? Because he conceives that he must always do battle, with lance in rest, as a mailed knight should.

If the objectors, along with methodical signs, will abandon the unwise method of verbatim dictation; if they will throw their pupils a little more upon their own resources, and force them to think, as often as they write; if they will start from a point no higher than that at which the pupil is fully competent to begin with them, and be sure never to advance with so impatient speed as to leave him behind; if, finally, they will themselves write a great deal, and make signs comparatively little, before the eyes of their classes in the schoolroom, and in their conversations with individuals out; they will shortly see whether the artificial and mischievous system of methodical signs cannot be abandoned. In view of the comparative labour imposed upon the instructor by the two methods proposed, severally considered, a sluggish man may prefer that which exacts the least thought, which affords him a mechanical means of teaching against time, which involves the necessity of little preparation for his daily task, and of quite as little scrutiny into the actual progress of his pupils. But a wise man, a benevolent man, I might almost say a conscientious man, will choose rather a method, which admits of no such perversion, and one of which it is a characteristic to verify the completeness of its results as it proceeds; in spite of the labour which such a method imposes, and in spite of the time which it exhausts.

In reference to articulation, the writer expresses, as he believes, the opinion of the vast majority of teachers and others, when he says, that, in the cases of those whose organs of speech are flexible, whose voices are agreeable, and whose sense of hearing is not entirely extinct, it seems highly desirable that this accomplishment should be taught. How much more desirable, then, is it, when the individuals, though deaf from an early age, have not become absolutely dumb, but only silent, and when they may yet be easily induced to utter words from memory. To teach such persons to recognize written or printed words, as the same they have been accustomed! to pronounce, only under a different form, is still something of a task, unless they have been made acquainted with alphabetic characters, before losing their hearing. But the power of correct articulation exists, and this it is, which, in ordinary cases, it constitutes the great labour to impart. The class of persons here spoken of, is not so small as is commonly believed. There are ten, at least, out of one hundred and forty pupils now present in the New-York Institution, capable of speaking, several of them fluently, and two or three of the number quite competent to conduct, on their own part, a conversation in words, reading replies on the lips, with the help of an occasional explanatory sign.

The preference of the writer would therefore be for a mixed method, combining, as does that of the Institution at Paris, at the present time, the second and the third of the homogenous methods, and rejecting methodical signs. It is this method, which, in large institutions, will doubtless ultimately prevail. But in a case, in which an instructor is able to confine his whole attention to an individual pupil, or to two or three, apart from a community of deaf-mutes, the first or the third pure method, uncombined with any other, seems rather to be chosen.

A few remarks will be superadded, in reference to that, which has been already mentioned, as constituting, in this art, the peculiar labour of modern times, viz: the perfection of a philosophical method of teaching language. It is now a principle, regarded as fundamental in the art, that deaf-mutes must acquire a knowledge of alphabetic language, by means essentially the same as those, by which ordinary children learn to speak.

Starting from this principle, the first enquiry naturally is, what is it which ordinary children acquire in learning a language? Not words merely, for words are not valuable for their own sake, but for that of their significancy. As the signs of ideas, words are valuable; for they enable their possessor at any moment to awaken in the mind of another, the precise notion which exists in his own; and thus constitute a palpable evidence, that both have before them, at once, the same object of contemplation.

The child, in learning language, has, then, to make an acquisition much more important than that of words -- the acquisition of ideas. It is, furthermore, essential that his ideas should be identical with those of other men, and that, for both, they should attach themselves to the same words. These conditions are equally essential to the utility of language. Unless they exist, no one can be certain that he is understood; nor will words supply the evidence, they are usually supposed to do, that two minds are, at the same moment, occupied with the same idea.

In this remark, it may not be amiss here to observe, we have a probable clue to the origin of much of the misunderstanding and controversy, which interrupts the harmony of those, whose real opinions are not materially at variance, and who would else be friends. Whole folios of polemics spring into existence, because an unfortunate word represents one thing for one man, and another thing, differing from the former "but in the estimation of a hair," for another.

Such differences are evils in some degree necessary, and resulting from the constitution of things. For while the child, in early life, is engaged unconsciously in acquiring ideas, he is, so to speak, his own teacher: or rather he is learning without a teacher at all; he is carrying on a series of inductions upon the language of his fellow-men. The same may be said in reference to much of what his gains in later years. The number of ideas thus independently acquired may be loosely estimated, by considering, how great a part of the words, any individual believes himself to understand, have been unconsciously treasured up. Corresponding to each of these, the individual must, also unconsciously, have imbibed one or more ideas, right or wrong. Years of attentive observation are often necessary to perfect the notion associated in his mind with a single word. He is, in the meantime, conscious in many cases, of the successive modifications which this notion undergoes, in its transition from stage to stage of gradually diminishing errour. He is ultimately assured of its correctness, by observing its uniform fitness for the circumstances, in which he finds the corresponding word introduced among men.

Mere words, then, are but a subordinate part of the knowledge, which ordinary children gather up in early life; since they exist only in consequence of the pre-existence of the ideas, of which they are the registers and the instruments. The idea and the word stand to each other in the relation of soul and body The one manifests itself through the other; the former is the essence, the latter, the abiding-place and organ.

But the mere possession of ideas, even with corresponding signs, is nor all that is necessary to the intercommunication of minds. The objects of our knowledge exist in certain states, they present themselves to our judgements in certain relations, and they often act upon and affect each other's modes of existence, or their own. All these circumstances are variable. For every possible variation, there must be either a new nomenclature, or a single given set of words must be made to assume corresponding variations, either by the aid of auxiliaries, or by a change of form, or of position, or of both. Hence originates the science of grammar.

The circumstances just enumerated constitute a class of general notions, many of which have to represent them, no particular words; but rather a certain order of collocation, or certain inflections, of whatever words may be before the mind. These notions are laws of construction: they constitute the syntax of a language.

Though a part of our ideas, they are not, in general, distinctly abstracted, or made the prominent objects of our contemplation: they are nevertheless recognized in each individual case, and thus they render us a constant and silent service, indispensable to the power of communicating our thoughts. They enable us, by combination in phrases and sentences, to supply the deficiencies of our vocabularies; and it is, in fact, but a wide extension of the principle of generalization to say, that all sentences whatever, are but individual, though complex signs, in lieu of which, a perfect nomenclature, were such a creation possible, would possess only single words, and would constitute a language, in which the necessity of syntax would no longer be felt. Could we suppose the infinite mind to employ signs like our own as the instrument of thought, instead of grasping all things by the power of intuition, we might presume it to avail itself of precisely such a nomenclature. The supposition, however, implies an absurdity; and to a finite mind, moreover, were it otherwise, the construction and the attainment of a language so boundless, would be alike impossible. Syntax is, therefore, a necessary part of every conventional mode of expressing ideas among men. A practical acquaintance with it is attained by speaking children, quite as imperceptibly as any other part of their knowledge, and almost simultaneously with words.

Children, then, in learning language, are making three distinct acquisitions, viz: (naming them in the order of their relative importance) ideas, the laws of construction, and words. These attainments are made so nearly together that, in practice, they may be regarded as really simultaneous. In strict truth, however, ideas must be allowed to take precedence of words in the order of time, and words of the principles of construction. Still this precedence is but momentary, and, in the case of a speaking child, after the very earliest essays at utterance, is hardly perceptible. The sooner, in fact, an idea is attached to its name, and the sooner the relations existing and the actions occurring between objects, are associated with corresponding combinations and modifications of words, the lighter in the end will be the burthen imposed upon the memory of the learner, and the earlier, the stronger and clearer will be his perception of the utility of artificial language.

It follows, therefore, as a general rule for the guidance of the instructor of deaf-mutes, that ideas should be first developed, according to the methods heretofore suggested, and -hen named: and furthermore, that, from the very beginning, the laws of construction should be practically taught by the combination of words into sentences.

We have then, here, a definite point of departure. To trace out the course to be thence pursued, across the vast ocean of language, would be to write a practical treatise, which we cannot propose to ourselves in this place. A few principles, exceedingly general, and constituting the extreme outline of the task, only can be named.

Since, then, the instruction of deaf-mutes is assimilated to the process by which the speaking child acquires language, and since the question has been answered, what it is which the latter acquires, let us next ask, how is this acquisition made. Nothing can be less subject to method, than the succession of words and phrases, that address themselves continually to the ear of the child who hears. He learns, nevertheless, to speak, not in consequence of this want of method, but in spite of it. The same thing is so often reiterated in his hearing, the remembrance of it, when just fading away; is so constantly revived in all its freshness, that in spite of his inattention and indifference, and in spite of the confused tumble of words, with which it comes accompanied, its effects, at last, a permanent lodgement in his memory.

As the language, which it is the lot of the child to hear, is chosen, for the most part, without reference to the exigencies of his case, vastly many more words are obviously spent upon his ear, than would be necessary, were the principle on which he learns, which is induction, made the basis of a method, and were this method substituted for the chance instruction, he actually receives.

The speaking child can afford to dispense with systematic instruction. Not so with the deaf and dumb. For them all superfluous words and sentences must be retrenched. The time allotted to their instruction in alphabetic language is short; this language is not present to them at all times and in all places, as spoken words are to those who hear; and, finally, no means have yet been devised, and probably none will ever be, for exhibiting words in a visible form, with as much rapidity and as little labour, as accompany speech.

The instructor is, therefore, compelled, by the necessity of the case, to reject from his regular course, every use of language, which is not an essential part of instruction to the speaking child.

In proceeding now to the actual execution of his task, the teacher will, of course, in the outset, fasten upon the simplest form of construction possible. A dozen or twenty well selected words will be an ample vocabulary for a beginning. Much, however, depends on the choice of these words. They should belong all to the class of nouns, excepting a single one, which may best be an active verb. The nouns should be selected with special reference to their fitness to enter into combination with each other, under a variety of forms. To this vocabulary, additions will be made from day to day. Other parts of speech will be introduced, and other forms of construction; and these latter will present a series of difficulties, increasing as gradually as possible.

It will be a principle, also, to present but one new thing at a time; to divide the difficulties, and thus, according to the old saw, to conquer.

At every period of instruction, the precise extent of the circle which bounds the pupil's ideas, will be kept in view. This circle will be continually enlarged, by intrenching upon the confines of the unknown beyond; and not by sudden and violent leaps, far over the boundary, and into the midst of darkness.

A great desideratum with instructors, is a vocabulary, containing all the words it is considered expedient to teach, within the period allotted to instruction, arranged in that order, in which each following idea seems to be the immediate offspring of the preceding; an order which Degerando denominates, that of the genealogy of ideas. In the absence of such a general guide, to prepare which has been found a work of great difficulty, the instructor will form his own vocabularies, with an eye constantly upon this principle.

These are all the explanations, which an article of this kind will admit, respecting the details of practice. They will suffice to show, that, in saying that deaf-mutes must acquire language, very much as ordinary children acquire it, nothing is affirmed derogatory to the pretensions (if the art under consideration to a distinguished rank in the intellectual scale. Enough appears, even in this meagre account, to prove, that, in the task set before the instructor, there is ample room for the exercise of all his talent, and all his ingenuity, and all his perseverance.

The principles detailed in this paper, are those of the institution with which the writer is connected. In the reports of that institution, more especially in the fifteenth and sixteenth, they may be found more fully discussed.