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Letters and Journals of Samuel Gridley Howe

CHAPTER I.
THE CADMUS OF THE BLIND

"It is to Dr. Howe more than to any other one man that Massachusetts owes what is best in her charitable system. He had shown his great capacity for philanthropic work by his masterly administration of the gifts sent to the Greeks in 1827-28, but his first definite task was the organization of the Asylum (1) for the Blind, between 1832 and 1842. In the first thirty years of his life, Dr. Howe was exhibiting his character rather than performing his true work, or perhaps we might better describe this period as his apprenticeship, and his journey-work -- the Lehrjahre and Wanderjahre of the great German romance. He was now, in the summer of 1832, about to begin on his actual task in life, the uplifting of the race by education and by the creation of an original institution of philanthropy. Such in fact was the Massachusetts School and Asylum for the Blind -- the pioneer of such establishments in America, and the most illustrious of its class in the world. It was in fact a work of constructive genius, and the true place of Dr. Howe is not with men of talent, like Horace Mann and Theodore Parker, but with men of genius like Emerson and Carlyle, who were his contemporaries. He planted for others to reap the harvest, and while men were admiring what he had achieved, he had already quitted that achievement, and was passing on to something newer. When his arrow had once hit the mark, he did not repeat the shot, but aimed higher, until the shaft kindled in the air like that of Virgil's Trojan Archer, and flew onward toward Olympus. He was therefore ever unsatisfied, unresting; the goal receded as he gained it; and a new ambition constantly replaced his earlier ones."

F. B. SANBORN.

IN beginning the story of my father's work among the blind, I am puzzled as to what I should say, and what leave unsaid. This is a story that people never tire of hearing. It has been told over and over, and over again: by Charles Dickens, in the "American Notes;" by Horace Mann, in a eulogy of my father written in 1861; by my mother, in her all-too-brief Memoir; by Mr. Sanborn, his friend and co-labourer in many fields of philanthropy; by Michael Anagnos, his son-in-law and successor in the work; most lately and most fully by my sisters, Mrs. Hall and Mrs. Elliott, in their book entitled "Laura Bridgman, Dr. Howe's Famous Pupil, and What He Taught Her."

There are, however, many other aspects of my father's life far less familiar than this; moreover, the scope and purpose of these volumes is different from that of any that have preceded them. The others tell, more or less fully, of his work; but his work lives after him, and may be seen of men. My object is to bring back, so far as may be, himself; to make my readers see him, in the "brave and noble manhood," the "honour without stain," of which Whittier speaks.

To this end, and because I must keep within reasonable limits of time and space, I shall omit much that is of importance in itself, and shall whenever it is possible use my father's own words.

The first volume of this work ends with my father's deliverance from the Prussian prison, in April, 1832. In the autumn of the same year he returned to America, and instantly set about his new task. Many years later, writing to Horace Mann of this time, he says:

"In 1832 I put the Institution for the Blind into operation, and have administered it ever since. As soon as I had taught two or three children, (2) which I did in my father's house, -- for the Institution was then poor and had no quarters, -- I went about the State and about New England with them, giving exhibitions and raising money."

These two brief sentences stand for a good deal, but to my father the matter was perfectly simple. The thing was to be done; the Institution was to be founded. There was no place and no money? very well! there must be a place, and one that would cost nothing. He took the children home, and the obstacle was overcome.

I have often wondered how this new flight of their Black Swan appealed to the quiet, somewhat conventional family in Pleasant Street. They accepted it, one and all. The sisters, now young women grown, were of great assistance to my father, lending their aid in many ways and during many years; and I have never heard that Grandfather Howe made any objection or protest. Yet it must have been somewhat startling for an elderly gentleman of settled habits, and of no special philanthropic proclivities, to have his house, spacious though it was, suddenly turned into a school for the blind. I have always admired Grandfather Howe for this forbearance.