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WE regard congenital deafness as one of the sorest calamities that can befall a human being. The decree of Providence that closes, at birth, the ear of an individual to the admission of sound, shuts up his mind in a cell, where scarcely a ray of intellectual or moral light ever dawns upon his solitude. The deaf child may exhibit the same natural traits of character as his more fortunate companions. Yet he is a different being. Not only is his knowledge of the world, of the history of his race, and of every department of truth, bounded by his narrow observation, but his mind is a perfect blank with regard to all the momentous realities which concern him as a creature of immortality. He knows nothing of the existence of God, of his own spirit, or of a future life. Probation, accountability, retribution, are facts of which he has not the least conception. If he dies unblessed by education, he dies in this utter moral darkness, though he has lived in a Christian land; though from his youth he has frequented the temple of the true God, or daily bowed around the altar of family worship. To open the doors of his prison, and let in upon him the light of truth and the consolations of religion, is a work in which every benevolent mind must feel a deep interest.

The opinions that are prevalent in the community, and even among the relatives of the deaf and dumb, as to the amount of their knowledge of religious truth previous to instruction, we believe to be very erroneous. It is a matter of immense consequence to the deaf-mute that his condition in this respect should be correctly understood. How, it may be asked, can he be in absolute ignorance of subjects so seriously affecting his well-being, and with which those around him are so familiar? He is capable of reason, and evidences of the being and providence of God are all around him. How can he help perceiving that every effect must have an adequate cause, and how natural is it for him to feel the necessity, and recognize the existence of a Universal Cause! Has he no such yearnings after something better than his present experience, no such shrinking from an "eternal sleep," as to suggest the thought that there is a spark within him which is destined to the immortality he desires? Is there not such a pressure of obligation upon his conscience as to convince him, by evidence which he cannot mistake, that he must feel in another state of being the consequence of his conduct in this? When he stands by the death-bed of one whom he tenderly loves, and the look of intelligence fades, and the pulse ceases to beat; in his desolation, does he not understand that death does its work only upon the shell; that all that he loved in his friend has entered upon a higher life, and they shall meet again? Perhaps he is a member of a Christian family. The sympathies of the family circle are entwined around him the more closely on account of his misfortune, and he is peculiarly the child of many prayers. He has often been pointed to the name of God, and to heaven as the place of His abode. He refrains from labor on the Sabbath, and takes a posture of reverence in the house of God, and in the devotions of the family. Can it be possible that this child has no idea whatever of spiritual existence, or any of the doctrines of natural or revealed religion?

To considerations like these, we have only to oppose the decided negative of facts. The deaf-mute is surrounded by an atmosphere of light, but the simple truth is that scarcely a particle enters his mind. He never reasons concerning the origin or the destiny of the beings and things around him. Indeed, so heavy is the hand of his calamity upon him, so nearly does it depress him to the level of mere animal life, so dead are the germs of thought and feeling in his soul, that the great facts and truths relating to God and a future state, which would seem to be the birthright and aliment of every rational mind, rarely attract his attention or excite his curiosity.

A few years since, a number of intelligent deaf-mutes, some of whom had completed their course at the Asylum, and others who were members of the school at the time, were examined with great minuteness as to their knowledge and habits of reflection on these subjects, previous to education. They were fully able to comprehend the meaning of the questions proposed to them, as their answers show; and as these were entirely their own, their testimony can be received without abatement as the true picture of the moral condition of the deaf-mute, before he is enlightened by the special efforts of Christian philanthropy. Our limits will allow us to give but a single reply to each of the questions proposed; and these will be taken at random, regard being had chiefly to their brevity.

QUEST. 1. Before you were instructed in the Asylum, had you any idea of the Creator?

ANS. ''While staying at home, I was ignorant of God, the Saviour of sinners, and the Redeemer of the world. My mind was without light, like an idiot, and I knew nothing about God, immortality, power and wisdom."

QUEST. 2. Had you reasoned or thought about the origin of the world, or the beings and things it contains?

ANS. "I did not think anything about the origin of the world; I only thought that the sky and everything on the earth looked very beautiful."

QUEST. 3. Had you any idea of your own soul, and if so, by what means was it obtained?

ANS. "I knew nothing about my own soul from infancy. I did not know it was connected with my body, but I believed that my body held only flesh. When I first came to the Asylum, one of the instructors explained it to me. Now I shall remember it forever. I had not any idea of spirit, till my admission into the Asylum."

QUEST. 4. Did you know anything of death, and if so, what were your thoughts and emotions about it?

ANS. "My thought of death was in confusion and fear. When beholding a corpse, my feelings were sharp and bitter. I was quite out of knowing what it meant.''

QUEST. 5. When and how did you obtain the first idea of God, of which you are conscious?

ANS. "When I was about fourteen years old, I came to the Asylum, and soon Mr. G., the former principal of the Asylum, taught me the catechism: -- 'God is a spirit;' 'God is good', 'God is eternal.' I wondered to hear it. I had a better idea of God than before. My parents had showed me the name of God, and I was told that he was a very great person in the sky."

QUEST. 6. After you had been some time in the Asylum, and had become familiar with the subjects of the existence of God, of his infinite attributes, and wonderful works, how did you regard your former state of mind on these subjects?

ANS. "It seemed as if I were a beast, or a thing. As the clouds are dispelled, and the sun shines upon us, so the darkness of my mind was enlightened by the illustrations or explanations about the existence, nature, and moral perfections of God. It was not possible for me to contradict these truths."

QUEST. 7. What did you think, when you saw people engaged in what you now know to be religious worship?

ANS. "I thought they generally went to church, to hear what ministers said, but I did not know they worshipped God, and that they were warned to be prepared for death. I thought the people in church sang to please others." (1)

These replies, received from different individuals, are specimens of a great number of similar import, and are entirely in point. To this testimony, (and it might be increased to any extent,) we will only add that of Mr. Gallaudet, whose experience coincides with these statements. "The subject," he says, "was one that engaged my attention during the whole course of my instructing the deaf and dumb, and the inquiries which I made of them in regard to it were continued, various, and minute. I do not think it possible to produce an instance of a deaf-mute from birth, who, without instruction on the subject from some friend, or at some institution for his benefit, has originated from his own reflections the idea of a Creator and Moral Governor of the world, or who has formed any notions of the immateriality and immortality of his own soul." (2)

The real calamity of the deaf-mute, therefore, is not that his ear is closed to the cheerful tones of the human voice, and the melodies of nature; not that all the treasures of literature and science, of philosophy and history, accumulated in the progress of ages, are to him as though they were not; -- but that the light of divine truth never shines upon his path; that even in the midst of Christian society, he must grope his way in darkness and gloom to the unknown scenes of the future, unless some kind hand penetrates his solitude, and breaks the spell that holds him from communion with the thought and feeling of the world. Nor do we affirm that his sad lot can be alleviated only by sending him to an institution for the deaf and dumb. The ingenious and persevering efforts of an intelligent friend may find such access to his mind as greatly to relieve and, in a measure, restore him to society. The success of the excellent Mrs. Tonna in converting the poor Irish lad into the "Happy Mute" is well known, and should encourage every benevolent person who has the opportunity, to make a similar attempt. Unhappily, the experience of all instructors of deaf-mutes goes to show that cases of successful experiment are extremely rare. Least of all can we conclude that because a child points upward with a serious look when he is shown the name of God, or even when he signifies by his rude gestures his belief that the good ascend and the bad go downward, there is evidence that he has any correct notion either of spiritual existence or accountability. In making these signs, he merely imitates his teacher, and his knowledge extends no farther.

It is hardly necessary to remark that the deaf-mute, in common with every rational being, has a moral sense. His own observation has shown him a difference in the moral quality of actions. A thousand scenes have been acted in his presence, upon which he has involuntarily passed a judgment as to their being right or wrong. He has been reproved for disregarding the rights of others, and he has seen the effects of passion in himself and in his companions. His moral judgment is correct, as far as it goes. He is therefore accountable, and must be held strictly responsible for obedience to the dictates of the stern and faithful monitor within.

Such being the truly deplorable condition of the uneducated deaf-mute, obviously the first work to be done for him, after his admission to an institution for his benefit, is to open his mind as soon as possible to the great objects, facts and duties of religion. The policy which would defer the communication of these truths, a knowledge of which is so essential to his present and future well-being, to the last stages of his course, deserves any name rather than that of Christian, and the system of instruction that compels its adoption should be rejected for that reason, if no other existed. If any human being specially needs the consolations of religious faith, it is the one who is the subject of this misfortune. He is peculiarly exposed to the petty vexations and trials of life, as well as to its more serious evils, while he has no resource but to brood in silent dejection over the mysterious causes of the ills that befall him. Why should he longer be left in this distressing uncertainty? Why should not the dark pall that confines his vision at least begin at once to rise? The idea of God, and the leading elements of truth, are certainly within the comprehension of a child who is eight or ten years of age. We are happy to believe that the subject is regarded in its true light in our American institutions, and that religious instruction, beginning with the foundation-truth, is commenced at an early period in the course. In the American Asylum, the first lessons are given always within the first month, and often during the first week of the pupil's connection with the school. Let us now enter with him into this new scene, and note his emotions.

When a deaf-mute finds himself, for the first time, within the walls of the institution, his mind is filled with wonder. His life up to this time, except as regards mere animal enjoyment, has been one of isolation and loneliness. Though surrounded by friends who have felt for him the strongest affection, they have been able to hold intercourse with him only respecting the most common affairs, or his daily wants. But now he is in a new world. The community around him has a language with which he feels somewhat familiar, and in which he rapidly improves. Thought flies from mind to mind, and now, for the first time in his life, he is in the enchanted circle, and feels the thrill! It is news to him that ideas and things have names. And he exhibits as much joy in learning that three small characters combined in a certain order represent a domestic animal with which he has played from childhood, as a more cultivated mind would do, in coming suddenly into the possession of the wealth of a kingdom. He is now ready to be taught, and grasps with eagerness after every truth that comes in his way.

Our readers may be interested to learn the first steps of the method pursued in imparting to the deaf and dumb a knowledge of the soul, and of God and his attributes. It is substantially the same that would be taken to bring these truths to the perception of any other mind that is ignorant of them, though in this case the medium of communication is, of course, the language of signs, while the reasoning is of the simplest kind. We have not to construct an argument to which the acute mind of an inveterate sceptic, (if there exist such an anomaly,) could bring no objection, but rather to trace the path along which a mind anxious to know the truth might reach a satisfactory conclusion. It is not so much, even to the deaf-mute, an introduction of new facts, as pointing out the relations of those he already knows, although they have never excited his attention, and leading him to draw the plain and obvious inference. With regard to some truths, it is simply stating the reality of certain facts, which immediately commend themselves to his reason as natural and necessary, and which he might have himself discovered by proper reflection.

But the class is called together to receive the first lesson of religious truth. Rarely are human beings assembled under more interesting circumstances; -- rarely is there a more responsible work committed to human hands, than falls to the lot of the teacher on such an occasion. Little time is lost in gaining the attention of the silent audience, for every eye in the it beams with the least intelligence is fixed keenly upon the teacher, waiting to read the slightest motion of the finger or expression of the countenance.

We sometimes begin with the idea of the soul, and of God; at others, we first take up the elements of moral character; -- what feelings and actions are good and to be cherished, and what are evil and to be avoided; and also the duties they owe to their fellow-men. After the moral sense is somewhat enlightened and cultivated, we ascend to the relations they sustain, and the duties they owe, to God. The latter course is perhaps the most philosophical, as we can only know God by the reflection of his being in his creatures; -- by clothing with perfection and infinitude the powers which we find in the human soul.

When the idea to be given is that of the soul -- the something within them that "thinks and feels" -- a method like the following is often taken. The teacher calls to him one of their number. He indicates the most obvious points of difference between the child and some inanimate object in the room, as a table or chair. The table has no feeling, no intelligence. He speaks to it, strikes it, calls it, but it makes no response. The child has sensibility and intelligence. He feels pain and pleasure; he comes when he is called. He can see and understand, and the table cannot. The child plainly differs greatly from the table -- and from every inanimate object. He next takes an example from vegetable life, perhaps a tree. By delineating its outline in the air, the size of the trunk, the waving of the limbs, and the motion of the leaves, they soon recognize the intended object. He describes to them the roots piercing the ground, and the circulation of the sap. The tree has life; it grows; the trunk increases in size, the branches in length. Is the tree like the child? Can it feel, or see, or walk? Dees it understand when we speak to it? No, but the child does. The tree is not much like the child. Their attention is now directed to some animal with which they are familiar, as a dog, or a horse. As the teacher describes its shape, height and common habits, the clapping of a dozen hands, accompanied by exclamations of joy, assure him that they know well the animal to which he refers. Is the animal like the child? It can see, run, eat, love, feel pain, come at command, etc. Should he ask them if the animal could do right, or wrong; -- if it can deserve punishment, he would probably receive a universal assent. But is it as intelligent as the child? Can it read and write, or count? Oh, no! He has now made some progress. The child differs from a table, a tree, or a beast. He is better than either. Why? What has the child that these have not? To show more vividly the peculiar power and activity of the mind, the teacher closes his eyes, and walks about the room. He shows them that, although his eyes are shut, he can still see: -- he can see them. With his eyes closed he moves about rapidly, describes various objects, refers to their friends, and their probable occupations. He shows them that they can do the same. They can see their friends, though far away. Often in their sleep, they look upon their familiar faces and enjoy their society .

By pursuing these and similar illustrations, they soon catch the idea which he wishes to convey: that there is something in the child which they do not find in trees, animals, or anything else. But this wonderful "something" is not his body, or any part of it. His hand does not see, nor does any other limb. You may cut off any one of them, and yet the child can see as well as before. It is not his eye that sees, for the eye of a dead person remains unchanged, and yet has perception, and the same is true of the organs of the other senses. But if this "something" is not the body, it has great power over it. It commands the hand or the foot to move, and is instantly obeyed. It sometimes compels the body to make the most violent exertions, to rush forward, to stop suddenly, and to a variety of efforts, as it pleases. They are now prepared to be told that the power that manifests itself in these different ways is called the soul. It is not flesh; it is not any kind of matter. It is something like breath, or the air, (and this is the sign by which we represent it,) but it is not the same. We cannot see or handle it, yet it dwells in our bodies. It is this that "thinks and feels," and makes us differ from the animals and things about us. He also tells them that the body only is subject to decay; that when it dies, the soul leaves it, and that the soul lives forever.

We need not say that these illustrations (we have given only the briefest outline) are watched with intense and absorbing interest. They are portrayed by signs so natural and graphic as to be understood by most of the persons present. Although so simple as scarcely to be worthy of the name of reasoning, they have, nevertheless, effected a work of no small consequence to the deaf-mute. They have given him an idea of spirit; an idea which, previous to this time, had never entered his mind. That he has it now, you may be convinced by examination, and by his expressions of astonishment at the revelation. His notion of spirit, too, is correct as far as it goes; it is composed of a knowledge of some of its manifestations, of some things which it is not, and of its undying life; -- a knowledge differing in degree, not in kind, from that in the mind of the most profound philosopher.

When the idea of spiritual existence is once clearly in the mind of the deaf-mute, it is comparatively easy to lead him up to the Infinite Spirit.

Various objects are around him which were evidently made by human hands: an article of furniture, a vehicle, or a house are obvious examples. Did man make the trees, the animals, the clouds, the stars? Does he cause the lightning, or the whirlwind, the rain, the snow? No, these agents are not under man's control; -- he certainly did not make them. Who made the sun and moon, the sky, the earth, the sea? "Every house is builded by some man, but he that made all things is GOD." There is an invisible, immaterial, every-where present Spirit, who made all these things "by the word of his power."

The impression made by the first idea of God which strikes the mind varies with the mental constitution, habits of attention, and reflection of the pupil. In most cases it enters the mind gradually, and no instantaneous effect is perceived. With some individuals, however, it has happened that in following a course of thought like that above suggested, though more full and minute, when a certain point is reached, the sublime idea of God has seemed to burst at once upon the mind with overwhelming power. The temple that was before tenantless and lonely is filled with glory, and the soul shrinks with awe and amazement before the presence of its Maker, till now unknown. Similar to this was the experience of Massieu, the celebrated pupil of Sicard. The Abbé relates that when, after preparing his mind by a course of argument like the one adverted to above, though of a more elevated character, he came to announce to him, as the author of the beings and things he saw around him. "God, the object of our worship, before whom the heavens, the earth and the seas quake and are as nothing, Massieu instantly became terrified, and trembling as if the majesty of this great God had rendered itself visible, and had impressed all his being, he prostrated himself, and thus offered to this great Being, whose name then struck his view for the first time, the first homage of his worship and his adoration. When recovered from this sort of ecstasy, he said to me by signs these beautiful words, which I shall not forget while I have life -- 'Ah! laissez-moi aller à mon père, a ma mère, a mes frères, leur dire qu'il y a un Dieu; ils ne le savent pas.' 'Oh! let me go to my father, to my mother, to my brothers, to tell them that there is a God; they do not know him.' 'They do know him, my child; it is him they go to supplicate in that temple whither they formerly conducted you. They do know him; all those who hear and speak know him as well as you.'" (3)

Deaf-mutes, as a class, are deeply impressed with religious truth, when once made acquainted with it. The striking narratives of the Scriptures never lose their attractions. The principles and duties laid down in the New Testament are much in their thoughts, and allusion is often made to them in their letters and in the daily exercises of the school-room. Except in rare instances, religious instruction is received with interested and profound attention. Allowance doubtless must be made for the freshness and novelty with which these subjects come to them, and also for the fact that their minds, are less occupied with other kinds of knowledge than those of persons who have heard from infancy. It is not singular, however, that themes which relate to spiritual life, to God, the soul and eternity, coming in upon a mind in a great degree unoccupied by the subjects which employ the thoughts, and absorb so much of the attention of other men, should make a strong and decided impression.

It is a pleasant circumstance in the discipline of a community of deaf-mutes, that they are peculiarly susceptible to the feeling of religious obligation. No arguments affect their conduct so powerfully as those drawn from this source. The approbation of God is constantly held up to them (we can speak confidently only in regard to the American Asylum, but presume the same is true in our other institutions) as the highest motive for right action, and its effect upon the deaf-mute, who in many cases has never been subjected to the least restraint previous to entering the Institution, is a strong testimony to its power over all classes of men, if properly presented. Religious obligation, when brought before the mind of a deaf-mute, usually receives a prompt assent and a ready compliance, so far as the external conduct is concerned, although the heart may not be touched. When he does wrong, and the nature of his conduct is shown to him, he will generally frankly, acknowledge his fault, and express a desire and purpose to amend. In most cases, he manifests an entire willingness to perform religious duty. He is instructed in the duty and privilege of prayer: of confessing his sins to God, and asking for the blessings he needs; and very soon he forms the habit, unknown perhaps to any one but to him who reads the language of the heart, and maintains it with great constancy and seriousness. Indeed so general is this habit among our pupils that, although there are prayerless ones among them, they are the exceptions. It is interesting to notice the care which even very young pupils, who have been only a short time in the school, will take to secure retirement, and the regularity with which they perform this most natural duty that a creature owes to his Creator. It is as if the soul, long enveloped in darkness, had now caught some glimmerings of light to show in which part of the heavens it might expect the rising sun, and with a sense of its pressing want was looking and longing for the presence of its reviving beams.

Instances sometimes are noticed, where, upon the first exhibition of divine truth, both the intellect and heart seem to receive it as just what the soul needs, and cheerfully to yield to its power, while the after life gives beautiful evidence of the influence of grace. It is in many cases, however, extremely difficult to judge correctly with regard to the real state of the heart, from the readiness with which they generally comply with the external duties of religion, and from the fact that in writing upon these subjects, and in the expression of their feelings, they often use language without proper discrimination, attaching to certain terms and phrases a meaning different from that which they convey to other minds. Persons who are unacquainted with the deaf-mute character are liable, for these reasons, to form very erroneous opinions concerning them, when no deception is intended on their part. We would not be understood to imply that the moral character of deaf-mutes differs in any respect from that of the community in which they live, or that the operation of truth upon their minds is not essentially the same as upon others, for we have abundant evidence to the contrary. But passing their early years as they do in utter seclusion from the direct influences of the gospel, it would be singular indeed if their translation into such "marvelous light" should not be attended with some phenomena peculiar to themselves.

The Asylum was designed by its benevolent founders to be preeminently a Christian institution, and to cause it to fulfil in this respect its high destiny, has ever been the desire and aim of the instructors. They esteem it a privilege, not only to lift from the imprisoned mind of the deaf-mute the mantle that shuts in so closely his intellectual horizon, but to open to him, the sublime vision of faith, and to fit him, as far as their influence can do it, to be a partaker in the blessed realities it reveals. Regarding the religious training of the pupils as a matter of the first importance, it is the daily endeavor of the instructors to impress upon their minds those great principles of revealed truth which may prepare them for the duties of the present and the enjoyments of the future life. Inasmuch, however, as the relatives of the pupils belong to the various denominations of Christians which are found in New England, the instructors do not deem it proper, or right, to give them any sectarian bias. They therefore refrain entirely from instruction upon the peculiar articles of faith which divide the Christian community into different sects, and present only those fundamental truths which are perceived in common by all evangelical denominations. Indeed, our pupils are generally ignorant, not only of the lines which divide Christians into different sects, but of the names of divisions. Instruction upon these points may be well enough in its proper place, but they are not subjects which the instructors feel called upon to explain. Even in cases where there is satisfactory evidence of piety, and a desire is expressed to join the visible church, we discourage such a step while they are members of the school, and prefer that it should be taken under the advice and supervision of their family friends. Those residing with us, who are already members of churches, commune with the churches to which they belong.

The routine of religious exercises pursued at the Asylum is as follows:

The pupils assemble in the chapel in the morning, a short time before the hour of school. The seats rise from the platform towards the door, so that every one in the room can have a distinct view of the person who officiates; the boys being arranged on one side, and the girls on the other. A text of Scripture, which has previously been written upon the large slates occupying one side of the room, is carefully explained by natural signs, (i. e. , by signs which represent directly, not words, but ideas,) and commented upon. They then rise, and prayer is offered in the same language. At the close of school in the afternoon the pupils again repair to the chapel. In the meantime the text explained in the morning has been committed to memory. Some one from the scores of hands up-lifted for the purpose is selected to spell the verse. They are examined upon the meaning of its various parts and its general import, and a prayer by signs closes the service. On Saturday morning, a lesson from a catechism of Scripture history is explained to the younger pupils. The older classes have a lesson in a catechism written for their benefit, comprising general expositions of the inspiration of the Scriptures, and of their duties to God, to themselves, and to their fellow men. These lessons are studied on the Sabbath, and recited in the school-room on Monday morning. The Sabbath services are similar to those in our churches, except in the language used, and the necessary absence of vocal praise. As a substitute for the latter, some stanzas of a hymn are often written upon the slate, and explained. This is followed by prayer. The text, and a general outline of the discourse, are also written in large characters upon the slate, so as to be easily read from all parts of the room. The more brief these outlined are, the better for immediate effect. They are desirable chiefly to keep before the mind of the pupil the general divisions of the subject, as the discourse advances. Sometimes, however, these notes are more extended, as the pupils copy them when the service is concluded, and preserve them in a volume for future reference. After they leave the Asylum, these books become valuable sources of instruction. But to return to the service. Skillful and apposite illustration is the great secret of effective lecturing to the deaf-mute. An abstract proposition, however evident and simple it may be, makes but a slight impression upon his mind. It is a matter of little interest to him, except as its relation to other truths is developed. He is not in the habit of generalizing, or of pursuing elevated processes of thought. The truth must be illustrated in the simplest manner, by showing its relation to facts in his own experience, or in the experience of others with which he is familiar.

The beauty, power, and scope of the language of signs, and its inestimable value to the deaf-mute, are nowhere so distinctly seen as in the worship and other services of the Sabbath. We are free to express the belief, that in producing an immediate and strong impression; and in stirring the emotions of the human soul, this language, perfected as it now is by science and skill has vastly more power than any oral language ever constructed by human ingenuity; and for this reason: -- it has more direct access to the heart. The ideas suggested by the sounds of words, or by their written characters, are generally associated with them by a law which is entirely arbitrary. There is usually no connection whatever between the sound of a word and its meaning. Even in the small class of words in which the sound seems to give some clue to the signification of the word, the association is rather from a habit of thought than from any real similarity. A word which, to a cultivated mind comes clustering with beautiful images, and wakes up in his soul thoughts of the spiritual and true, brings no such treasures to the mind of an illiterate man, although he may have a correct understanding of its common import. The case is widely different in signs. This difference is readily seen in the large class which are used to express emotion. The head bowing in adoration, the eye sparkling with joy, the countenance beaming with hope, the arms clasping to the heart the object of affection, the hands lifted in wonder or extended in desire, the whole person shrinking in fear, is language that can reach the seats of feeling in the soul, either in savage or in civilized life, far more directly than any combination of words or sounds of the human voice. The events in the life of our Saviour, his meekness under the taunts of his enemies, and his agony in the garden and upon the cross, when depicted in simple and graphic signs by the hand of a master, call up emotions that words labor in vain to excite. Many signs that are not strictly natural are so nearly so that they express the ideas for which they are used with a charm which words can never convey. But although many of the signs used in an ordinary religious service are conventional, or natural signs so modified as not to be recognized by a person who is unacquainted with the language, it must be recollected that even these are well understood by the greater part of a deaf-mute audience. And there is something exceedingly striking and impressive in the use of this language in a religious service. The mind seems to come into more direct communion with God, and to deal with the realities rather than with the symbols and images of truth.

We have spoken of the deplorable ignorance of deaf-mutes of moral truth previous to instruction. We had designed to present some facts with regard to the number of this class of persons in our country, of a suitable age to receive instruction, who are living, and will probably be left to die, in this ignorance; but our limits will allow only an allusion to the subject. It is a sad fact that there are many such eases in this Christian land, and even in the most enlightened and favored parts of it. Instances have occurred where children within ten miles of the institution have been utterly denied the precious boon of education, although every obstacle had been removed, excepting the simple unwillingness of the parents. Indeed, since institutions for the deaf and dumb have been established in this country, the difficulty of bringing these persons within the reach of instruction has not been so much to obtain the pecuniary means for defraying the entire expense, as to induce their friends to part with them for this purpose! In some cases this unwillingness arises from the excessive tenderness which clings the more closely to the child on account of his misfortune. In others, it arises from ignorance of his present destitution. Persons of limited education are not apt to appreciate the value of a good education to their children, and least of all to realize the deep darkness that veils the mind of the uneducated deaf-mute. But in other cases still, and these unhappily are not few, it must be distinctly said that this unwillingness arises from a motive far more dishonorable to human nature than those just mentioned: the desire of the child's assistance, and a preference of this to its own present and eternal good. It not unfrequently happens that when this reason does not entirely keep a child from the institution, it materially shortens the time of his stay, so as sadly to affect his usefulness and happiness, and, the degree in which he is restored to society. How contemptible such a motive is, how cruel its operation upon the child, and the weight of responsibility it must roll upon the parent who acts under its influence, we need not say.

Upon no class of society has the humane and Christ-like spirit, which at the present day is going forth to relieve every form of human suffering, shone more kindly than upon the deaf-mute. Of all the children of misfortune, his case has, till a somewhat recent period, been the most pitiable. But he is no longer doomed to so cheerless and hopeless a destiny. The liberality of most of the States of the Union, and the active benevolence of individuals, make the want of pecuniary means no obstacle in the way of bestowing upon every deaf-mute of suitable age in our country a good education. It remains for his family friends, and for those who feel an interest in his welfare to see that no other obstacle shall deprive him of a blessing so indispensable to his well-being as an immortal and accountable creature of God.