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APPENDIX A.

LAURA BRIDGMAN.

TO THE TRUSTEES.

GENTLEMEN:

I have the honor to lay before you the following Report upon the history and instruction of Laura Bridgman.

In preparing it I have introduced some speculations which may appear trite, or uninteresting to those conversant with metaphysics; I have also indulged in some reflections upon such points as seemed to have any bearing upon common instruction, and these may seem trivial and unnecessary to practical teachers. But in apology, let me say, that there are a vast number of persons who take a deep interest in the case, who are neither metaphysicians nor teachers, and they will perhaps prefer even my crude speculations and reflections to a bald narration of facts.

To such let me say, in the first place, that nothing can show in a more clear and forcible manner, than Laura's case, the difficulties to be overcome when we learn our vernacular tongue, and the inferiority of artificial to natural methods in the acquisition of language.

The difficulties in the way of the deaf mute are very great; so great indeed that we may safely say they are never entirely overcome; because, although ingenious men by centuries of labor have built up a beautiful system by which the mutes are enabled to read, to write and to converse with ease and with pleasure, still they must, in spite of education, remain insensible to many of the charms of conversation, and the beauties of style, both of prose and of verse. But this beautiful system is addressed entirely to the eye, and poor Laura has no sight.

She has a good intellect, she has been seven years under instruction; her teachers have not been wanting in zeal and diligence, and she has been herself untiring in her efforts, and yet she is now on the verge of womanhood, without so much acquaintance with language as a common child of six years old. This often excites the surprise of visitors who have known the history of her case for a long time, and have taken great interest in it.

In truth people seldom stop to reflect upon the nature of arbitrary language, upon its essential importance to to -sic- the development of the intellect, or upon the wonderful process by which we gradually advance from the power of naming single objects, to that of condensing many of them into one complex term; -- from the Alpha of language, mamma! -- up to its Omega -- Universe!

How much is asserted in the simplest sentence, as this, for instance; "we might have been more truly happy had our widowed father remained contentedly with us" -- here is the assertion of the plurality of persons; of their condition in past time; of the fact of their having been moderately happy in the society of their father; there is the negation of their entire happiness; the implied doubt whether after all they would have been happier; their relation as children; their regret at their father's departure: of the other person it is directly affirmed that he had been with his children; it is implied that he had been married; that he had lost his wife, not by separation, but by death; that he was not contented to remain with his children; that he had gone away from them; that he might have remained with them, &c. &c.

When we reflect upon that principle of the mind which requires that all possible objects, qualities and conditions must be linked so closely with signs that the perception of the signs shall recall them necessarily and instantly; and when we consider how much is attained by young persons, who a few years ago could hardly master baby's prattle, but who now have all the vast sweep of thought, the great amount of knowledge, the degree of reflection, of separation, and of generalization necessary to comprehend such a phrase as

"Count all the advantage prosperous vice attains,
-- 'Tis but what virtue flies from, and disdains;"

we may say with the ancient -- "there is but one object greater than the human soul and that one is its Creator."

The space between the starting point of the infant and that obtained by the mature man, is immense; but our minds, aided by language which give to them wings, skim swiftly and delightedly over the whole, as the wild fowl flies from zone to zone; while Laura is like one of those birds shorn of its wings and doomed to attempt the vast distance on its weary feet. If persons will only make these reflections they will be inclined rather to wonder that she has gone so far, than to feel surprised at her not having gone farther.

With these preliminary remarks, I proceed to a notice of her progress during the year 1844.

I was in Europe during the first half of the year; and the most serious cause of regret which I have for my absence, is the interruption which it caused in my supervision of her education. It may be that I should not have been able to prevent all unfavorable impressions upon her mind, even had I been always here; they were perhaps inevitable at her age, and with her increased capacity for conversation with others, but at any rate I should have tried.

Her teacher, Miss Mary Swift, has been faithful and industrious; and in the intellectual instruction she has shown great tact and ability. Had all others been as discreet and wise as she, we should not have to regret some impressions which the child has received, and which I shall presently mention.

Her bodily health has been very good during the whole year. She has increased in stature and her figure which is more fully unfolded, is well proportioned in all its parts, and strong and graceful. She continues to improve in the knowledge and use of language, as will be shown by the following letters which were written solely by her; and by the extracts from her teacher's journal, in which were recorded at the moment, and with great exactitude, the very words she used.

24TH MARCH, 1844.

MY DEAR MRS. HOWE:

I want to see you very much, I hope you are very well. Miss J. is very well and happy, I think of you very very often. I was very much pleased to receive a letter from you, and I liked it very much. When you come home, I shall shake your hands and hug and kiss you very hard because I love you and am your dear friend. Miss J. is making a nice worsted chair for you to please you very much for a new house. I send much love to you and a kiss. Are you very glad to receive letters from me? One night I dreamed that I was very glad to see you again and that I slept with you all night. I hope that you do not forget to talk with your fingers. I am sad that people are very idle and dirty and poor. I write many letters to you because I love you very much. My mother wrote a letter to Miss J. that she was very sick and my little sister was quite sick, but they are getting well. I am very well. I am your dear friend. I try very hard about America and Europe and Asia and many other things. I can say ship, paper, Dr. baby, tea, mother, and father with my mouth. My teacher always reads a story to me: she is kind to me: she sets me a good example.

My dear friend good bye.

LAURA BRIDGMAN

In another letter written soon after, she said:

"I am happy that your baby is so happy to see the bright light. I want you to come here now; if you do not come quick, then I must send a long string to pull you over the sea to South Boston. I thought of you and Julia, and Dr. many times; that they would love me very much, because I love them and you so much."

The following are extracts from the teacher's journal:

April 3d, 1844. At nine when Laura came down, she said "my heart beats very quick, it is sick." I asked what made it so, "Long ago when Drew was my teacher, my heart beat quick and ached, because I felt very sad that Adeline died, and I did not know about going to Heaven." I asked her if that made her heart ache now? She said, "Monday I thought much about my dear best Friend, and why I should die, and it made my heart beat quick and I thought if I should know when he took my breath, and I tried to draw breath and could not. Do you ever lose breath?" To change the conversation I said yes, when I run up stairs quickly. "I have lost part of the heart, said she; it is not so large as it was when I was small." I asked when she lost it? "I think it went to my lungs. My blood ran quickly and made my heart beat quickly."

April 8th. At nine commenced the lesson by telling Laura about the Rail Road from St. Petersburg to Moscow, and that they were going to have a man from the United States to build it, and about the expense, distance, &c. She asked how the people could get $4,000,000 to pay for it. This introduced the Emperor Nicholas, his rank, office, &c., and from that she asked what the man was called who took care of Americans; told her about the President of the United States, his name and residence. I asked her if she remembered Harrison? At the time of his death, she saw several ladies with crape on their arms, and she made one for herself. When I recalled this to her mind she asked why the people wore it. This introduced the subject of wearing black in mourning, which she has never known any thing about before. While talking of Harrison I told her the people were sad because they could not have him to take care of them. She said, "were they sad that he went to Heaven and was very happy there?" Promised her a continuance of the lesson to-morrow.

One of her exercises consists in having a simple story read to her, of which she is to give a version the next day in her own language. Her first original composition, however, gives a better idea of her use of language than her letters, in writing which she has adopted too formal a style. The whole story is of her own invention.

"There was a little girl named Jane Damon who lived in the country with Mrs. Damon. She was a very good and amiable, and was never cross any. Jane always obeyed her mother. One day she went with her mother to see her friends and they went to see beautiful flowers in the garden. When Mrs. Damon told Jane, you must go to school, she got ready as fast as she could. She had the books and writing in her own desk. Her teacher was very kind to her scholars. Her name was Miss Charlotte. Mrs. Damon gave Jane a beautiful present. Her sister asked what it was and her mother said it was a ring called diamond stone in it. After a few days her mother took Jane to see her Grandmother and staid for one week. She had a very pleasant visit. Mrs. Damon had a little girl named Clara Damon, and Jane took good care of Clara, while her mother was away a little while. It did not cry any for some milk, but Jane fed Clara with a spoon she loved her so much, &c."

Her teacher says,

Aug. 26th. At eight she was talking about a variety of subjects, and among the number, of sickness -- she said "I was sick last year and my mind was dizzy and I was much frightened in my heart." Then she wanted to know the meaning of insensible, and of crucified. I thought I could give her a general definition that would satisfy her as well as any thing else, and I told her it was to make a cross. She said "Jane Damon crucifies the wires for her basket, and winds the worsted on them." I had to tell her she did not understand it, and had better not use it. The next word was mingle, -- defined it by mix -- but she did not understand that any better. Gave her an example of the use of the two words, and she said "the drunkard mixes sugar and rum to drink." Then she wished me to understand that she had not forgotten any thing and gave me a recapitulation -- "perish is to die, you told me last winter -- machine, my writing board is a machine to write with; require, is when I tell you, you must mend my stockings. I require you to do them. I require you to read my story to Jane Damon." She is still on the Globe, in Geography, and studying the Zones. To-day, the lesson was to tell what zone the different countries in South America were; which, with a great deal of difficulty, she accomplished.

Mention was made in a former Report of her disposition to use the lungs and vocal organs. She still shows this; and so does Oliver Caswell, though to a much smaller extent than Laura. The manner in which she uses these organs seems to show their natural office, and would settle the question, (if it be any longer a question) whether they were destined by nature to be the medium of intellectual communication among men, or whether they were selected from among other equally possible means for interchange of thought; as pantomime, arbitrary visible signs, &c.

When Laura feels any strong emotion her chest is inflated, the air is retained a moment, and then expelled with quickness and force, and is often interrupted in its passage by the glottis, tongue, or lips, thus producing a variety of interjections. The fact of these broken sounds will be interesting to the philologist because they form the connecting link between natural language and speech; two things sometimes confounded, but which differ widely from each other; natural language is the servant of the heart; speech is the handmaid of the intellect.

Deaf mutes generally when they are moved by feeling, gesticulate violently, and also make broken sounds with the vocal organs, thus bringing in the adjuncts of speech, as we add gestures to our language when we are excited.

Pains have been taken with Laura to suppress her disposition to make these disagreeable interjections, for although they may be considered as parts of natural language, it is language natural only in the rudest state of society -- in the lowest developement of intellect, and she is to live in a society where they would be disagreeable. The correction however, is not easy to make; she may have been sometimes checked too abruptly, and in a way to let her perceive that it was done rather for the gratification of others, than for her own good, and children always resist the unconditional surrender of their own will to that of another, unless the summons be made in the irresistible language of love -- which is the open sesame to every child's heart.

Her teacher was one day talking with her on the subject, and showing her the propriety of repressing these noises, when she said, "she did not always try not to make them." Miss Swift urged her reasons for wishing her to do so, when Laura said, "but I have very much voice! " This was the truth of the matter; the nervous energy which rapidly accumulated within her while sitting still, found in this way a partial means of escape; and it was as hard for her to restrain it, as it is for little boys who have "very much motion in them," to sit still in school when unoccupied; the fluid accumulates within them until it makes them uneasy, and they relieve themselves from the pressure by suddenly pushing or kicking their neighbors, or by some motion of the body which acts like the opening of a safety valve, and leaves them quiet for a while.

She was not inclined to give up the argument entirely, and said in her defence, "God gave me much voice." She yielded, however, and saw the reasonableness of the request, especially as she had particular hours when she could make as much noise as she wished to do. At such times she often goes into a closet, and shutting the door, indulges herself in a surfeit of sounds.

Great interest has been manifested on all sides to know the effect of religious instruction upon her mind, and not without good cause. I have always thought it desirable on many accounts to give her such ideas, and such only, on this and other important topics as she shall be able always to retain. It is painful to be forced to relinquish ideas which by long possession have become regarded as much one's own -- as much a part of one's self, as one's property, or one's limbs. We defend our religious, political, and other opinions with a zeal not proportionate to their truth, but to the length of time and the closeness of intimacy with which we have associated them with ourselves: when we have never contemplated the possibility of their falsity, the refusal of others to admit them as true, and still more, the attempt to destroy them, often excites as much passion as would the protest of a draft, or an assault upon the person. Some men may preserve their elasticity of mind, and retain unimpaired their confidence in their last belief, after the abandonment of several creeds, especially if blessed with self-complacency; but all cannot do so; for if the soul have drifted from several anchors in the storm of infidelity, it will hardly rely even upon the best bower of faith, as perfectly sure and steadfast.

It seems especially desirable that Laura should never be obliged to remodel her faith. There is a moral in the story of the boy who when the microscope first revealed to him the minute and wondrous structure of one of his hairs, was surprised and pained at not finding the number upon it; he had believed literally that the hairs of his head were all "numbered;" and being of a shy nature he would not ask any explanation, but allowed his faith in the Bible to be seriously impaired. Laura can never use a microscope, but she will, by-and-by, bring the magnifying power of mature judgment to bear upon all that she now takes unhesitatingly from others as literal truth; and I would that she might always find the number written upon every thing on which she had been led to look for it.

But, I have given in former Reports, some of my reasons for deferring this most important part of her education, and I need not now repeat them; suffice it to say, that I wished to give her only such instruction about religion and God, as she was prepared to receive and understand, so that her moral and religious nature should be developed pari passu with her intellect. It was delightful for me to find that without any particular direction being given to it from without, her mind naturally tended towards the causes of things, and that after an acquaintance with the extent of human creative power, she perceived the necessity of superhuman power for the explanation of a thousand daily recurring phenomena. She could not indeed like the poor Indian, "see God in clouds and hear Him in the wind," but then He was manifest in the springing grass, the bursting flower, and the ripening fruit; the genial sun, the falling rain, the driving snow -- these, and countless other things which became known to her by her single sense, made her aware of a power transcending the power of man. It would have been more delightful still to lead her wondering mind to the perception of the higher attributes of God, as her capacity for such perception was unfolded, until, her moral nature being fully developed, she might have been as much impressed with love for his tender mercies as she had been with wonder at his Almighty Power.

I am aware that many will say it is impossible that Laura, ignorant as she is, should have by herself conceived the existence of God, because it is said that of the thousands of deaf mutes who have been received into the Institutions of this country, no one ever arrived at that truth unaided.

Now there is very great vagueness in such general negations; the words can be taken in various senses, and are difficult to be proved in any. It may be said that no man ever arrived at the knowledge of the fact that ten and ten make twenty, by the unassisted efforts of his own mind; for if he had never associated with other human beings he would probably never have perceived that relation between numbers.

The words "knowledge of God" may also be understood in different ways; if a child ascertains that tables and chairs and carpets; houses, ships, and machinery; carriages, tools, watches, and a thousand other things, are made by men, and then infers that the sun, moon, and stars, the hills, rivers, and rocks, must have been created, but could not have been made by man, -- that child has an idea of the existence of God; and when you teach him the three letters G-O-D, you do not make to him a revelation of God's existence, you only give to him a name for a power the existence of which he had already conceived in his own mind. We teachers are apt to overrate our own efforts: let us attempt to convey a knowledge of abstract truths to parrots and monkeys, and then we shall know how much is done by children, and how little by ourselves.

It is in this sense that I mean to be understood when I say that Laura Bridgman of herself arrived at the conception of the existence of God.

Unless there has been some such intellectual process in a child's mind, the words God, Deity, &c. must be utterly insignificant to it. We pronounce certain words with great solemnity and reverence, and the child perceives and understands our manner, for that is the natural language of our feelings; he imitates us, and the repetition of the words will ever after, by association of ideas, call up in his mind the same vague feelings of solemnity and reverence; but all this may be unaccompanied by any thing like an intellectual perception of God's existence and creative power.

It will be said that children three years old will repeat devoutly the Lord's prayer, and tell correctly what God did on each of the six days of Creation; but in so doing they too often take the name of the Lord in vain, and sometimes, alas! worse than in vain.

Children wish to attach some ideas to every sign which is given to them; we give them words as signs of things before the capacity of understanding the things is developed in their minds, they attach to the sign some idea, no matter how inappropriate or grotesque, and there it remains trammelling the thoughts, and preventing them from afterwards using the words in a right sense. How vague is the idea which many people attach to some words! and of how much mischief to the world has this vagueness been the source. How long does it take us to sever these ties! how many of us go to our graves without ever breaking a fibre of them -- without ever having divested words of the crude ideas attached to them in childhood, or contemplated the things with the clear eye of reason. We look with contempt upon a man who is instantly and irresistibly moved to solemnity of feeling, and to acts of devotion by the bare sight of two pieces of wood nailed together crosswise, or by the elevation of the host: but, how many sounding words which are insignificant in themselves are dinned into our ears to excite our feelings, or overpower our reason, in the same way that the sublime image is held up before the eyes of our wondering brother.

It may be said that no human being can have any adequate idea of God's attributes, and that therefore all we have to do is to give Laura such ideas of Him as pious christians form from the study of natural and revealed religion; but, I know not what others may do, I cannot do this. Every man sees God according to his own capacities, and his own nature; the power of poor Laura's God must be weakness compared to the strength of Newton's, who saw Him guiding the huge planets along in their eternal course; the love of her God must be selfishness compared to the love of the God of Howard the philanthropist, who embraced in the arms of his affection the whole human family; but, so must the power and the love of the God of Newton and of Howard, be weakness and selfishness compared to those attributes as seen by the cherubim and seraphim, each of whom see Him with a vision transcending that of the other, all of whom see Him with power transcending human, but none of whom can see Him as He is.

I might long ago have taught the Scriptures to Laura; she might have learned, as other children do, to repeat line upon line, and precept upon precept; she might have been taught to imitate others in prayer; but her God must have been her own God, and formed out of the materials with which her mind had been stored. It was my wish to give her gradually such ideas of His power and love as would have enabled her to form the highest possible conception of His divine attributes. In doing this, it was necessary to guard as much as I could, against conveying impressions which it would be hard to remove afterwards, and to prevent her forming such notions as would seem unworthy to her more developed reason, lest the renouncement of them might impair her confidence in her own belief.

But various causes have combined to prevent what seemed to me the natural and harmonious developement of her religious nature; and now, like other children, she must take the consequences of the wise or unwise instruction given by others. I did not long hold the only key to her mind; it would have been unkind and unjust to prevent her using her power of language as fast as she acquired it, in conversation with others, merely to carry out a theory of my own, and she was left to free communication with many persons even before my necessary separation from her of more than a year.

During my absence, and perhaps before, some persons more zealous than discreet, and more desirous to make a proselyte than to keep conscientiously their implied promise of not touching upon religious topics, some such persons talked to her of the Atonement, of the Redeemer, the Lamb of God, and of some very mystical points of mere speculative doctrine. These things were perhaps not farther beyond her comprehension than they were beyond the comprehension of those persons who assumed to talk to her about them; but they perplexed and troubled her, because, unlike such persons she wished that every word should be the symbol of some clear and definite idea.

She could not understand metaphorical language; hence the Lamb of God was to her a bona fide animal, and she could not conceive why it should continue so long a lamb, and not grow old like others and be called a sheep.

I must be supposed to mention this only as her faithful chronicler, and to do it also in sorrow. If the poor child spoke inadvertently on such topics, it was without consciousness of it, and she was made to do so by indiscreet persons, not by any communications of mine or of her teacher; we shall never speak to her of Jesus Christ but in such a way as to impart a portion at least of our own reverence, gratitude, and love.

During my absence in Europe, I received from her several letters, and among others the following:

24TH OF MARCH, 1844.

MY DEAR DR. HOWE:

I want to see you very much, I hope that you will come to South Boston in May, I have got a bad cough, for I got cold when I came home, in much snow with Miss Swift, but my cough is little better. When you come home I shall be very happy to have you teach me in the Psalms Book, about God and many new things I read in the Harvey Boy's Book every Sunday. I am learning Asia now, I will tell you all about new things to please you very much. Why do you not write a letter to me often? Do you always pray to God to bless me. I think of you often. I send a great deal of love to you and Mrs. Howe. I shall be very happy to see you and her when you come home. I always miss you much. All the girls and I and Lurena had a very pleasant sleighing seven miles to a hotel. We had nice drink of lemon and sugar and mince pie and sponge cake. Governor Briggs came twice to see us and the blind scholars. We are all well and happy and strong. I have not seen you for ten months, that is very long. I wrote a letter to Governor and he wrote a letter to me long ago. Mr. Clifford is a Dr. now to cure his wife. I wrote a letter to her. I want you to write a letter to me. Miss Swift sends her love to you. Are you in a hurry to see me and J. again? I would like to live with you and your wife in a new house, because I love you the best. All folks are very well and happy. I want you to answer my last letter to you about God and Heaven, and souls and many questions.

My dear friend good bye.

LAURA BRIDGMAN.

In reply I wrote to her as follows: MY DEAR LITTLE LAURA

Mrs. Howe has a sweet little baby; -- it is a little girl; we shall call her Julia; she is very smooth, and soft, and nice; she does not cry much, and we love her very, very much. You love her too, I think, do you not? But you never felt of her, and she never kissed you, and how can you love her? It is not your hands, nor your body, nor your head, which loves her, and loves me, but your soul. If your hand were to be cut off, you would love me the same; so it is not the body which loves. Nobody knows what the soul is, but we know it is not the body, and cannot be hurt like the body; and when the body dies the soul cannot die. You ask me in your letter a great many thing about the soul, and about God; but, my dear little girl, it would take very much time, and very many sheets of paper to tell you all I think about it, and I am very busy with taking care of my dear wife; but I shall try to tell you a little, and you must wait until I come home, in June, and we will talk very much about all these things. You have been angry a few times, and you have known others to be angry, and you know what I mean by anger; you love me and many friends, and you know what I mean by love. When I say there is a spirit of love in the world, I mean that good people love each other; but you cannot feel the spirit of love with your fingers, it has no shape, nor body; it is not in one place more than in another, yet wherever there are good people there is a spirit of love. God is a spirit; the spirit of love. If you go into a house, and the children tell you that their father whips them, and will not feed them; if the house is cold, and dirty, and every body is sad and frightened, because the father is bad, and angry, and cruel, you will know that the father has no spirit of love. You never felt of him, you never had him strike you, you do not know what man he is, and yet you know he has not the spirit of love -- that is, he is not a good, kind father. If you go into another house, and the children are all warm, and well fed, and well taught, and are very happy, and every body tells you that the father did all this, and made them happy -- then you know he has the spirit of love; you never saw him, and yet you know certainly that he is good, and you may say that the spirit of love reigns in that house. Now, my dear child, I go all about in this great world, and I see it filled with beautiful things, and there are a great many millions of people, and there is food for them, and fire for them, and clothes for them, and they can be happy if they have a mind to be, and if they will love each other. All this world, and all these people, and all the animals, and all things, were made by God. He is not a man, nor like a man; I cannot see Him, nor feel Him, any more than you saw and felt the good father of that family; but I know that He has the spirit of love, because he too provided every thing to make all the people happy. God wants every body to he happy all the time, every day, Sundays and all, and to love one another; and if they love one another they will be happy; and when their bodies die, their souls will live on, and be happy, and then they will know more about God.

The good father of the family I spoke to you about, let his children do as they wished to do, because he loved to have them free; but he let them know that he wished them to love each other, and to do good; and if they obeyed his will they were happy; but if they did not love each other, or if they did any wrong, they were unhappy; and if one child did wrong it made the others unhappy too. So in the great world. God left men, and women, and children, to do as they wish, and let them know if they love one another, and do good, they will be happy; but if they do wrong, they will be unhappy, and make others unhappy likewise.

I will try to tell you why people have pain sometimes, and are sick, and die; but I cannot take so much time and paper now. But you must be sure that God loves you, and loves every body, and wants you and every body to be happy; and if you love every body, and do them all the good you can, and try to make them happy, you will he a very happy yourself; and will be much happier after your body dies than you are now.

Dear little Laura, -- I love you very much. I want you to be happy and good. I want you to know many things, but you must be patient and learn easy things first, and hard ones afterwards. When you were a little baby, you could not walk, and you learned first to creep on your hands and knees, and then to walk a little, and by and by you grew strong, and walked much. It would he wrong for a little child to want to walk very far before it was strong. Your mind is young and weak, and cannot understand hard things, but by and by it will be stronger, and you will be able to understand hard things; and I and my wife will help Miss Swift to show you all about things that now you do not know. Be patient, then, dear Laura; be obedient to your teacher, and to those older than you; love every body, and do not be afraid.

Good bye! I shall come soon, and we will talk and be happy.

Your true friend,

DOCTOR.

Before receiving this, she wrote me again, as follows:

MY VERY DEAR DR. HOWE:

What can I first say to God when I am wrong? Would he send me good thoughts and forgive me when I am very sad for doing wrong? Why does he not love wrong people if they love him? Would he be very happy to have me think of Him and Heaven very often? Do you remember that you said I must think of God and Heaven? I want you to please to answer me to please me. I have learned about great many things to please you very much. Mrs. Harrington has got a new little baby eight days last Saturday. God was very generous and kind to give babies to many people. Miss Rogers's mother has got baby two months ago. I want to see you very much. I send much love to you. Is God ever ashamed? I think of God very often to love Him. Why did you say that I must think of God? You must answer me all about it, if you do not I shall be sad. Shall we know what to ask God to do? When will he let us go to see Him in Heaven? How did God tell people that he lived in Heaven? How could he take care of folks in Heaven and why is he our Father? When can he let us go in Heaven? Why can not He let wrong people to go to live with Him and be happy? Why should he not like to have us ask him to send us good thoughts if we are not very sad for doing wrong?

I give the following extract from my own journal, as a specimen of the method of conversing with her on such subjects.

In talking with Laura to-day, on the subject of the Deity, I said, How do men make bread? "From wheat." How do they make wheat? "They cannot make wheat," said she. Then how do they get it? said I. "God makes it grow." Why? "For man to eat," said she. I then explained to her that some birds and animals eat grain, and asked -- Why does God give it to them? She said, "To make them happy." But does He love them? said I. "No," said she; "they have no souls."

I then told her there are some beautiful islands on the globe, where the sun shines clearly and warmly; where there are rich meadows, and sweet flowers, and tall trees, and shady groves; where the brooks run merrily down the hills, and where there is plenty of delicious fruit and nutritive plants; that these islands are never visited by man, yet nevertheless that thousands of birds are singing in the branches, and rejoicing over their little ones; that the young animals are frolicking on the soft grass, and the old ones looking on them with silent joy; that the fishes are swimming briskly about in the clear streams, and leaping out sportfully into the air, and that all this has been going on thousands of years. After thus trying to give her as vivid a picture as I could of the happy inhabitants of these peaceful isles, I asked her who made such beautiful places? She said -- "God." But for what did He make them? "To make the animals all happy," said she, -- and added, of her own accord, "God is very good to make them happy." She then meditated a little, and said -- "Can they thank Him?" Not in words, said I. I then went on to show her that He had no need of thanks in words; that He did not do these good things in order to be thanked, when she stopped me by asking "why He did not give them souls?" I tried to explain how much of reason and sense they really possess, and how grateful all of God's children should be for what they have, without asking why it was not more, when she said suddenly, "Why is God never unkind or wrong?" I tried as well as I could to explain the perfection of God's character, and its freedom from human frailties; but alas! how vain is the effort, when neither teacher nor pupil have any other standard than human littleness by which to measure God's greatness.

There is this constant difficulty with her, (and is it not one too much overlooked in the religions instruction of other children,) that being unable to form any idea of virtue and goodness in the abstract, she must seek it in the concrete; and her teachers and friends, frail and imperfect beings like herself, furnish the poor impersonations of the peerless attributes of God.

This difficulty might have been avoided, I think, by the plan which I had marked out for the orderly development of her intellectual faculties and moral sentiments, and which was simply to follow the natural order; but since that plan has been marred by the well-meant officiousness of others, there remains only to remedy, as far as we can, what we cannot cure entirely -- the bad effects of ill-timed direction of her thoughts to subjects too far above her comprehension.

After the conversation related above, I went on to illustrate, as well as I could, the difference between human and divine care of animals. I said, why does man take care of a cow, and get hay into his barn to feed her in winter? "Oh!" said she, "to get her milk!" Why does he take care of his horse, and keep him covered with a warm blanket, and feed him? "That is to ride him well," said she. Why do people keep cats, and feed them? "To catch mice!" Why do farmers take such good care of sheep? "To get wool." But when the cow and the sheep are old, and cannot work, what does man do? "He kills to get meat." Well! said I, why does God make the grass to grow in the meadow, and let the cow eat it -- does He want her milk? "No, no!" said she. Does He need the wool of the sheep? "No, no!" replied she, vehemently -- "He does not want any thing!" Presently she said, "How do men know whether cows are willing to give them their milk?" I said, They do not know, and do not care. She mused a while, as is her wont when talking on a new subject, and said -- "The little lambs and young animals play -- why do not sheep love to have their pleasure?" I explained how they had pleasure in giving milk to their young; how they loved to eat the tender grass, and lie in the shade. She seemed to have another difficulty, and said -- "Why do cats want to kill mice? they have no love!"

To answer this question, it would have been necessary to open up the whole of that wonderful and benevolent scheme by which God, through the agency of death, bestows the blessings of existence upon myriads of generations, instead of upon a single one; and this scheme, like many others, can only be fully explained to her when her reasoning powers are fully developed.

There are a great many things with the existence of which most young persons become familiar, but of which Laura, as yet, knows nothing; such as wars, and fightings, crimes of various kinds, severe accidents, and awful deaths.

Not long ago, allusion was made incidentally in conversation with her, to murder and capital punishment, when she instantly asked, with much eagerness, and with an expression of horror, why a man would kill another? The explanation was painful, and probably satisfactory; but not more so than that which followed, of capital punishment. She was perplexed to know why men should kill the murderer; and her simple question amounted to asking why they try to remedy one evil deed by perpetrating a like deed; it was as forcible as if put by Beccaria himself; nor could I answer it, except by assuming the homeaepathic axiom, "that like cures like."

It may be remembered that in the Report of the year before last, mention was made of an instance where she was led by strong temptation to tell an untruth; and of the deep regret and repentance which she manifested when she found how much wrong she had done to herself, and how much grief she had caused her friends. It seems that the lesson has not been forgotten, for I find the following record in the teacher's journal: --

"At nine, talked with Laura an hour. She asked, 'Do you remember about the woollen gloves that I had two years ago? and that I hid them and told lie about them, because I did not like them?' She talked of nothing but this the whole hour; said she was sorry she did so, and that the reason was, because she preferred to wear kid gloves. She spoke of her work yesterday, and I told her she was very industrious to knit so much. She appeared very happy, and told me she would try to be very gentle all day, and not tire me, because I was very weak and sick."

We have not been so fortunate, however, as to avoid all explosions of passion, but I am constrained to say, I think that is less her fault than ours. The following record in her teacher's journal, I read with grief equalled only by surprise:

February 2d, 1844. At twelve, I was talking with her in the schoolroom, about the different kinds of coal, and the manner of making charcoal; -- we had just commenced the latter subject, when I noticed that she had left her handkerchief upon the desk. I have always objected to this, and told her to keep it in her desk. She has never refused to do it, though I have noticed frequently that she did it with great reluctance, but have never spoken to her on the subject afterwards. To-day, when I told her to put it in the desk, she hesitated as usual, and put it in her lap, saying, "I prefer to put in my lap," and then held up her hand for me to go on with the story. I said, "I told you to put it in the desk, and now I want you to do it." She sat still for about two minutes, and then lifted the lid very high, threw the handkerchief into the desk, and let it fall with such a noise as to startle all in the school-room. Her face was growing pale, and she was evidently getting into a passion. This was the moment to cease urging her, and to leave her to herself for awhile. Whenever I have seen any thing of this kind, the question, Are you angry? has always recalled her to her senses; but now she answered, "I am cross." I said to her, "I am very sorry, -- and I am sorry you shut the desk lid so hard; I want you to open it again, and take your handkerchief to put it in gently. Putting on a very firm look, she said, "I will take it out to wipe my eyes," -- meaning, but not to mind you. I told her, I wanted her first to put it in gently. After a moment's hesitation, she took it out and let the cover slam as before, and then raised it to wipe her eyes. -Here she should have been taken to her room, and left to her own reflections.- I said No, decidedly, and took her hand down gently. She sat still awhile, and then uttered the most frightful yell that I ever heard. Her face was perfectly pale, and she trembled from head to foot. I said, "You must go and sit alone." One second she clung to my dress, -here was another critical moment, which should have been improved,- and then went quietly out of the room.

At dinner time, I led her to the table, without speaking, and after that gave her a chair to sit by herself, without work. Instead of looking troubled, as she generally does after having done any thing wrong, she assumed an expression of indifference, and talked to herself a little, and then feigned sleep. When she had taken tea, I asked her if she thought she could do as I told her to do this morning, if I let her go to the school-room. She said she would. I led her in, and she did it very quietly. After this, I talked an hour with her, trying to get her to feeling as she ought. She acknowledged the wrong at once, and said she was sorry, but her countenance indicated any thing but sorrow. I left her during the hour for reading, and when I returned, she looked much more troubled, and I told her she might go to bed, hoping that her own thoughts might bring her to a right state of feeling.

Saturday, Feb. 3d. This morning have talked with Laura again, and am completely discouraged. I have tried every argument, and appealed to every motive that I can think of, and with but partial success. The only thing which seemed to move her at all was, that I did not want to punish her, but that I could not let her do many things to-day to make her happy; when she went to Exhibition, I could not let Sophia talk with her, and could not let her go to the party, because only good girls went. But these were direct appeals to selfishness, and they were all that touched her. I do not know what to do, and never felt time need of counsel more. As I had exhausted every argument, I thought I would try the effect of a lesson in Geography; so taught her something about the produce of different countries of Europe, and of their manufactures. She was very quiet during this, and also a writing lesson which followed. The regular lesson for the last hour's school would have been the reading of a story, and I thought best to omit it. At dinner, she seemed to be very well satisfied with herself. When it was time to go into the school-room for the exhibition, she said, "I think I had better not go." I merely said, "It is time," and took her hand to lead her. During the exhibition she said, "Is Sophia here?" I told her she was in her desk, in the school-room. "I am very happy," was the only reply. This was a spirit of defiance in Laura that I had never seen before. A few moments after, she attempted to kiss me, thinking she could take the advantage of the presence of company. She was very willing to answer her questions, and willing to do what I wished her to do. At seven, I told her she could go to bed, and she went, without any objection, but still with the same expression of countenance.

Sunday, Feb. 4th. As Laura proposed that she should sit alone to-day, I left her this forenoon in the basement, where she had seated herself. When I returned from church, she did not appear to be troubled at all. I led her to dinner, and then of her own accord she returned to the same place. At tea-time, she seemed much more sad, and after tea I sat down by her to try what effect I could produce then. I could now perceive a great difference, and after I had told her how wrong it was that she did not feel more sad for doing wrong, she said, "I do feel very sad now -- I was said and cried this afternoon, and I thought that I was very wrong, and I asked God to forgive me, and send me good thoughts, and to love me." She then asked the old question -- "What shall I ask God first, when I ask Him to give me good thoughts? Must I say, Lord, Father, my Heavenly?" I answered her, that she could say just what she thought first, and that satisfied for. I told her that I was glad that she felt better now, and that I would forgive her, and I hoped she would never he angry again. She said, "I think I never shall do so again. Why do I feel so very sad after I ask God to forgive me, and when you forgive me?" I told her it was because she felt sorry that she had done wrong at all.

Every reflecting person must see and lament the error of treatment, but the best might have fallen into it. It may be good, it may be necessary, "to break the will of a child," but never unless we have vainly tried to make it break its own will.

How many softening hearts do we harden by our own sternness; how often are rising sobs suppressed by harsh reproofs; how many by their Gorgon aspect turn the just forming tear of contrition into stony hardness, and leave it the nucleus of selfishness and rage! And if these things are done even by parents, who would "coin their hearts, and drop their blood for drachmas" to promote the real good of those whom they punish, how much oftener are they done by teachers who, when roused by opposition, forget that there may be great selfishness in their determination to carry their point. Even those who strive to govern their tempers, sometimes fail because their fathers "ate the sour grapes, and set their teeth on edge." Laura has not escaped all such untoward influences; there are persons who have had much influence over her education, who have labored most diligently, and displayed great tact and ingenuity in developing her intellect, but who have never succeeded in inspiring that perfect love which casteth out fear; there are others with far less intellect and acquirement, who have gained more complete dominion over her affections, and whose will and pleasure is her delightful law.

We sometimes attribute the misconduct of children to perverseness and ill-temper, when it is really occasioned by causes over which they have no control, such as indigestion, derangement of some of the bodily functions augmented by particular state of the atmosphere, and other things. In such conditions they feel unpleasantly, and having but imperfect development of the moral character, and little self control, they are unamiable and cross. With adults we follow Shakespere's advice, that such "little faults proceeding from distemper should be winked at," but children are noticed instead of being left unobserved, and perhaps punished instead of being pitied or reasoned with, and they become sullen and sour.

The only other instance of ill-temper which I have to notice is contained in the following extract,and it will be seen that it was kindly and judiciously treated.

Tuesday, January 16th. Laura continued to do well in Arithmetic this morning. Yesterday she went to see Miss J. in Boston, and while the I was away, commenced fault-finding: Eunice was wrong because she had gone into the kitchen; Frank was wrong because he came over J's stairs to find Rogers. To each of these charges, which were evidently made, that she might blame them, -- Miss J. said she was very glad they came. She then said I was not right since I put my dress on the bed. These were only a few of the cases. About three months ago, she did the same thing, and I talked with her a long time about it until I thought she saw the wrong, and felt sorry for it. When I called for her to take her home, she wanted to talk with me, but I told her I could not talk; that J. said she been unkind and wanted her to think about it. She said no more and soon after we got home it was time for her to go to bed. This morning at nine I told her I wanted to talk about it. She looked very sad, when I asked her to tell me, what she told J. In all the charges against Eunice and Frank, -- I showed her where they were both right in doing what they did, -- in reply to those she brought against myself -- I told her of some careless things which she did yesterday when preparing to walk; -- such as pulling a dress down and leaving it on the floor, -- a closet door open, &c., and asked her if she would like to have me go to J. and tell of them, that she might blame her; and when I said that I shut the door, and hung up the dress, she answered, "you were very kind, I was very unkind." I talked with her some time to convince her, how often she might tell her wrong stories, by blaming people for things she did not know about. She said "whose people did I blame?" I did not understand what she meant, and answered, you blamed many people. "I blamed the Lord's people," said she. I was surprised to hear this, and asked, what does Lord's mean -- "God's -- I saw it in a book;" and she showed me in "the Child's Second Book" the Commandments, "I am the Lord thy God," &c. She said "how can I ask God to forgive me for blaming his people?" You can ask him in your thoughts." "Can I know when he forgives the -- how can I know? He will give you good thoughts: -- The next hour was for writing, -- she came to me and said, "I have asked God to forgive me and I hope I shall not be unkind." She then seated herself to write, but it was a long time before she could do so. I took a seat at a short distance from her and tried to read her conversation with herself, her soliloquy. She said to herself, "I am very sorry." "Dr. said he preferred to teach me himself." "Why can I not know? It makes me very nervous." There was much more that I could not read.

Jan. 17th. At nine gave her a lesson in Philosophy on the Lever. She seemed to understand the three kinds -- so that she could tell me what kind I used when taking coals with tongs, and ashes with the shovel, shutting a door, &c., and in more lessons will do very well. After the lesson, she said "I think God has sent me good thoughts, I am very happy to day, I do not feel cross any." I asked why she kissed me so much; she said because I love you so much; you are very kind to teach me many new things."

The soliloquy mentioned above is only a specimen of what occurs every day, though it is rarely that one can make out what she says, because her fingers move with such rapidity as to run the signs into each other, as we unite words with each other, and speak by whole sentences rather than by single words.

Sometimes her acts and expressions furnish themes as interesting to the poet as to the philosopher. On new-year's day when I was in Europe, she met her teacher and said, "It is new happy year day." The teacher wished her a happy new year, when she turned to the East, and stretching out her hand, said -- "I want Doctor a happy new year;" -- she then paused, and, turning to her teacher, said, "but Doctor cannot know I say so."

I have observed before that she has a constant sense of her relations to space, and is confused, as we are, if she loses the points of her compass.

I have sometimes questioned her about her aesthetical perceptions, but have not obtained any very satisfactory answers. Her ideas of beauty in material things are principally connected with smoothness. A round ball is not more beautiful to her than a square box, provided they are equally smooth. Freshness or newness is indeed an element, but this is evidently derived from the associations with new clothes, new shoes, &c.

With respect to long or short noses, regular or irregular features, she has no thought; and yet it is probable that a monstrously large nose would shock her, and that one as short as Dr. Slop's would amuse her; for on my asking how she would like a person with a nose not larger than a pea, she said it would be "funny."

She perceives symmetry of person, however, and is disagreeably affected by any strongly marked departure from it. On asking her if a little hump-backed girl was handsome, she said, very emphatically, "No!" Why not? said I. "Because," said she, "she is crooked;" and she imitated the motion of the child walking, and asked why she could not grow like other children. She said, a lady of her acquaintance, who is very fat and ungainly, was very ugly. Why? said I; but she could only reply that she did not know, -- that she was too large about the waist, and that "her stomach came out too quick."

I asked her who was the handsomest lady of her acquaintance, and she replied, "***** *****;" but upon my pressing her for her reason, she could only say that her hands were smooth, soft, and pretty.

A cane with knots on it was less pleasing to her than a smooth one; and an irregularly knobbed stick, than one with the prominences at regular intervals. She has thus the rudiments of the aesthetic sense, but, like that of other children, its developement must depend upon education and habit. She is not yet old enough to give any satisfactory account of her own feelings on the subject.

The subject of her dreams is a most interesting one, but like many others must be passed over hastily.

One morning she asked her teacher what she dreamed about, and said, "I sometimes dream about God." Her teacher asked, what did you dream about last night; she said, "I dreamed that I was in the entry, -- the round entry, and Lurena was rolling about in her wheel-chair to exercise, and I went into a good place where God knew I could not fall off the edge of the floor." Soon after she said, "I dreamed that God took away my breath to Heaven," accompanying it with the sign of taking something away from her mouth.

On another occasion her teacher says, "In the hour for conversation she commenced the subject of dreaming again, and asked, "Why does God give us dreams? Last night I dreamed I talked with my month, did you hear me talk?" No, I was asleep. "I talked with my mouth" -- and then she made the noise which she generally does for talking. I asked her how she talked -- "I talked as any people in dreams." To the question, what words did you dream? I could get no answer. She asked "do Spanish people dream like us? do they dream words like us?"

Site sometimes is frightened in her dreams, and awakes in great terror, and says she dreamed there were animals in the room which would hurt her. She has still much fear of animals, and can hardly be induced to touch the quiet and harmless house dog.

Aug. 19th. The last hour she asked me if she ever told me about her friends at home, and commenced an account of times when she lived there. It consisted chiefly of a history of all the animals she saw, and of which she wished me to tell her the names. She gave me a description of an animal three feet high and covered with hair curled like a sheep. I told her it was a sheep -- but she said -- "No, it was much larger and could not be.'' Then she told me how frightened she was when she first saw her mother open a hair trunk because she thought it was an animal. I asked her what she used to think about when she lived at home. She said "I could not think or talk good then. I did not know any of my friends in Pearl (1) Boston then." Asked her if she thought how kind her mother was. She said "No, I did not think she was kind for she whipped me and shook me," &c. I explained to her why she did it, and how much trouble she had caused her mother

The most important part of moral education is that of practical kindness and usefulness to others -- discipline and training in acts of love, without which, precepts, preaching and books are little worth. Laura has even more need of such training than others have, for her peculiar situation is unfavorable to the growth of the moral nature.

The idea of self is developed in children as soon as they are born; any thing which affects their bodily organization, any thing which gratifies or disappoints a desire, gives them pleasure or pain without the slightest regard to its effect upon any other human being. Afterwards the circle of self is enlarged, and embraces the family, and those who by frequently contributing to the gratification of our desires seem to belong to ourselves, and whose pleasures and pains become our pleasures and pains. As the social nature is developed the circle is still more enlarged until it embraces neighbors and countrymen, in all of whose joys and sorrows, though they live upon its outskirts, the affectionate heart vividly sympathizes. But to attain this enlargement of the affections, moral education and training of the feelings are necessary; for the circle of the untrained heart must ever be very small, and it can be very sensitive only in the central point of self. And even of the well trained and the good, how few consider this circle as their moral kingdom, and strive to extend its limits till it embraces the globe and makes of their very antipodes, neighbors and brothers!

Laura has much to narrow and limit her circle; her heart, cruelly hedged in, is forced at each remove to recur to self; at every step she feels the chain which reminds her of its shortness. She has fewer means of exercising her sympathies than we have -- we who in every waking moment have forced upon our eyes constant marks of human feeling in the countenances of others, and upon our ears constant sounds that should appeal to our hearts, for sympathy.

Any departure from the moral and healthy condition of the body; any ail, or pain, or deformity or maim, is very apt to contract the circle of the sympathies by forcing the thoughts to dwell upon the centre of self. There are very few who can find the jewel in the head of the beast, which to the many is ever ugly and venomous.

It is said that to have perfect digestion, one should not know that one has a stomach; and it may be added, that to have perfect health, there should not be an obstacle or hindrance to the free action of any bodily organ. Now Laura has not only much less than we have to call out and exercise her sympathies and feeling for others, but she has much more to concentrate her thoughts upon herself; and if she should always be a generous and self-forgetful woman, it will be in spite of many obstacles; obstacles which will be more and more formidable as with advancing years the sense of individuality will become more distinct.

It is a law of nature, that this tendency to individualism should not be strong in children; each one has enough to impart consistency to the mass of actions which go to constitute the character. Children are given to us like clay in the hands of the potter, and poor pottering work we often make of it! One of the most difficult things in education, either public or private, is to decide how far this tendency and desire shall be indulged or gratified. Perhaps I am not understood; let me explain by a comparison.

If it be true (and we know it is,) that the physical organization of each one of us is subject to certain influences from the physical organization of others, producing sympathies, antipathies, and the like, it is equally true that nature requires a certain independence and individuality in every organism; and no person in the sound state of health can have his bodily organism so completely overpowered by the influence of any other person, as to have the direction of its movements wrested from his own control. This ought so to be, and is; and any apparent exception to it carries prima facie evidence that the organism so influenced must have been in a morbid and abnormal condition. It may be that nature affixes this liability to be controlled by other bodies as one of the ill consequences of a departure from the natural condition of health -- it may be something else; but it cannot be that she allowed the existence of any power by which the operation of one of her laws could be prevented. Now the moral nature has its laws of sympathy and influence as strong as the laws of gravitation and magnetism; and these laws require, that while each nature should be subject to certain general influences exercised by others, it should also retain a certain independence. Some strong minds strive to soar above these social influences, and attaining a cold sublimity of intellect, seem to move on undisturbed by human proximity; while others, swaying to and fro in the crowd of men, are moved by every wind of doctrine; they feel only as others feel, and think only as others think. But the great man, who in his icy isolation courts not human love, and heeds not human counsel, and the little man who never communes with his lonely self, and never relies on his own intellect, have both departed from the natural and healthy condition of the soul, and it is hard to say which suffers most in consequence of it. Some teachers entirely disregard the tendency of each pupil to develop his particular individualism; they break off the sharp corners, smooth away salient points, and strive to reproduce as many and as perfect types of themselves as possible. Their pupils are like artificial trees in a "trim parterre," all cut and docked, and made to grow after one pattern. Other teachers, overlooking that tendency, neglect to repress an undue propensity, or to draw out a too feeble sentiment, and their pupils have no type at all; they are like plants in a neglected woodland, where the stunted shrub, and the gnarled oak, proclaim the absence either of nature or art in their training.

Now in Laura's case all the difficulties are very much increased; she has departed from the natural and healthy standard, and although it is not by any fault of her own, her innocence does not suspend the action of the natural law. She is withdrawn from certain natural and healthy influences, she is subjected in an undue degree to other influences; the beautiful harmony between the macrocosm and the microcosm -- between the world without her and the world within her, is broken, and it might perplex a wiser man than I am to obviate all the unfavorable consequences of it upon her future character.

I should fill a volume were I to enlarge upon this subject, and I must only allude to some of the most striking causes which operate as disturbing forces in the development of her character. There is great fear that so much attention as she receives, and which we cannot prevent her perceiving without constant management and concealment, must have a bad effect upon her. And yet the attempt to conceal it might have an effect which would be hardly less bad than would be her knowledge of the truth.

I am afraid that she may be made vain and presumptuous by being so much caressed; and it would be as little consolation to reflect that it was done by the kind and well meant indiscretion of others, as it would be to a father to know that his child had been spoiled by the over fondness of its mother.

I am still more afraid that her peculiar situation may have a hardening effect upon her affections. I believe I have alluded to this before, but it cannot be too much considered by those who would carefully scrutinize her character. Every body can be useful or agreeable to her in some way or other, and every body tries to be so; but she can be of little use to them. All exercise kindly offices to her, and are themselves made better by the practice of the kindly feelings; she is merely the recipient, and kind offices long received are apt to be considered at last as something due to one's merit, and to be claimed as a right. It is difficult to find ways in which she may have the satisfaction of being useful to others, and thus train her to habits of kindness until they shall become wants, without some contrivance which she would be sure to perceive, and which would spoil the effect. Those who have looked upon her case as an interesting experiment for ascertaining the natural character and tendencies of the human heart, must take all these things into consideration. They must consider too that the case was novel, that she was the first deaf and blind mute who had been taught arbitrary language; that it has not been possible to conduct the experiment of her education in an entirely satisfactory manner; that it has not been practicable to cut her off from communication with ignorant and selfish persons, as it would have been had she been secluded in the bosom of a private family. And, after making all these allowances, they will, I trust, believe that there is much which is beautiful and good in her imperfect nature.

It is true that such cases present a rare opportunity of watching the developement of some of the feelings in comparative freedom from external influences; but it is equally true that other influences, both of a positive and negative kind, may be exerted so as to disturb the natural growth of the mind. If in common cases the twig be bent one way, in these uncommon cases it may be bent another, and the distortion of the tree be equally great.

Lastly, the character and disposition may be partially modified by the wonderful law of hereditary transmission of peculiar tendencies. A man often transmits to a son, born after his own death, such a peculiarity of physical organization as causes that son, when grown to manhood, to startle others by a hitch of the shoulder, a twist of the features, or even an "ahem!" so like his father's, that the dead seems to be alive again. By the operation of a law, no more mysterious, and no less certain, a man may reap the reward, or pay the penalty, as the case may be, for the habitual exercise of any sentiment, or any propensity, by transmitting to his offspring a strong disposition for the exercise of a similar feeling.

How much Laura Bridgman, or any body else, may be influenced by such causes, no one can tell; but they deserve to be taken into consideration by all who would ascertain precisely the effect of the privation of any of the senses, or the results of particular modes of training.

The experiment in the case of Oliver Caswell I consider to be much more satisfactory, as far as all the moral developements are concerned, than in Laura's case. He is less communicative, and has had less untoward influence exercised upon him. Though surrounded by boys, some of whom are rude and ill disposed, he has nevertheless been much under the influence of his teachers; and a more gentle, honest, true-hearted boy exists not within my knowledge. May the maturity of both of them yield the fair fruit which the blossom of their youth now promises.

S.G. HOWE.

APPENDIX B. OLIVER CASWELL.

TO THE TRUSTEES.

GENTLEMEN:

I have the honor to submit the following Report upon the case of the Deaf and Blind Mute, Oliver Caswell.

He has made very slow progress in knowledge during the past year, in comparison with Laura Bridgman. He has a much smaller brain, and is decidedly of a lymphatic temperament. But besides this, he has been slightly ailing most of the time, and has never had that exuberance of health, and consequent flow of animal spirits which force her to mental activity.

He seems to be troubled by some disorder in the glandular system, or in the primae viae, which causes frequent indigestion, slow circulation of the blood, and consequent depression of spirits. When he is indisposed he loses his interest in his studies, and common occupations; and his usual sedateness becomes melancholy. He seems to be aware of the cause of this, and says he must go home, and that his native air will make him well; or if he be at home in vacation, he says, he must go back to the Institution, and his walks and gymnastic exercises will restore him. He never becomes peevish, however, but endures with uncomplaining fortitude.

But even when his digestion is good, and his physical system is in its best condition, he is habitually quiet and sedate. He is always mild and kind; and though he does not, like Laura, lavish caresses, kisses, and other demonstrations of affection upon those about him, he has always a smile for every one who greets him, and receives any marks of kindness with evident feeling of gratitude.

He is not so fond of any intellectual exercise which taxes severely his thinking faculties, as Laura is, nor indeed as the blind generally are; nevertheless he has gone on during the past year slowly adding to his knowledge of the qualities and relations of things, and increasing the store of words by which he expresses his thoughts, and learns the thoughts of others.

If he were naturally talkative, he would doubtless make more rapid progress in knowledge of all kinds. He is quite unlike Laura in this respect; she loves talk, and if she comes in frequent relation with any person, as a seamstress who may be about the house, a new domestic, or a lady visitor, she contrives to teach them her manner of making the letters of the alphabet with the fingers; and if the person be at all clever, in a few hours the way is open between their minds, and the exchange of thought is thenceforward rapid and constant. Oliver, on the other hand, cares little about talk; there are persons employed about the house whom he has known for three years, of whom he is very fond, and near whom he will sit or walk quietly and happily for hours; and although they cannot say a word to him, he never attempts to teach them his alphabet, nor does he seem to care for other intercourse than the simple one by which he ascertains that they are well, in good spirits, and fond of him. This he does in a way which seems magical to those who do not reflect, that every state of the feelings has its natural language, and manifests itself not only upon the countenance in visible signs, and through the voice by audible sounds, but also by certain motions of the body and limbs, and by peculiarities of deportment which are easily recognised by the sharpened sense of touch, and instinctively understood as the natural language of certain mental qualities. This has been remarked upon in Laura's case; and it is so strong in Oliver's that it may furnish a hint to those who are curious about the moral effect of the solitary and the social system of prisons.

There is one of the household of whom Oliver is very fond, and though he cannot talk with him, he loves to be near him, and will sit quietly for hours within the circle of his physical influence. Now although this man is affectionate in his temper, he is quick in his movements, and rather abrupt in his deportment, so that it cannot be the gentleness of motion which constitutes the attraction; yet Oliver is always happy to be with him, and strives to do things pleasing to him. This man exercises a good influence over him without speaking a word; and merely by the gratification of his social nature.

Now suppose Oliver to be surrounded with persons whose moral tendencies were bad, whom he knew were disposed to do things contrary to the rules of the house, and contrary to his natural sense of what is right, would they not have a great influence over him for evil, even though they spoke not to him; and would not all his tendencies to wrong, provided he had any, be strengthened and confirmed by the consciousness that those about him had the same tendencies, without the power of gratifying them? Would not his desire for their sympathy make him conform his own feelings as nearly as possible to what he supposed to be theirs?

Oliver is remarked by every one as having a countenance remarkably indicative of amiability and sweetness of temper; and his face is but the mirror in which his mind is truly reflected. There have been no instances during the past year of any bad temper, or even of ill-will to any one. This is somewhat remarkable, for he is thrown much in contact with boys, some of whom are rude and ill mannered; and one or two who are so mischievous that they sometimes try to annoy him with the petty tricks of boyhood; hut he is always as calm as the sunshine.

It was observed in a former Report, that Oliver was always very honest, and that we did not know of any special instruction having been given to him on the subject; but now that he can talk about his former condition, he sometimes shows that at heart he knew how other children were treated when they took things without leave. On one occasion, his teacher says:

"I took a book, and read a simple story about a little boy named William Morton, who took some sugar from the sugar-bowl without permission. Oliver wished to know if he was 'little way from my mother's house. Man did ride far off how many miles to see Wil1iam Morton?' When I had finished, he said, 'He wrong, mother strike him, make noise, cry.' I asked if his (Oliver's) mother did so. 'Yes, little,' was the reply."

He has shown the sense of property most clearly ever since I knew him. He supposes that his clothing and his little articles of property are as much his own as his fingers and toes are. It matters not whether they were acquired by gift, exchange, or purchase; the right becomes vested in him forever, unless he of his own free will should give it up. He respects also the property of others, and has never been known to violate it, except in one solitary instance, when the temptation came in the same form which was fatal to the mother of us all. The following is an account of the affair by his teacher:

"Mrs. Smith came and called me, saying she feared Oliver had been doing wrong, for she saw him in Mrs. Hach's closet, at her apple barrel; she did not know that he had taken any, but feared the temptation might be too strong. I went to his room and began a conversation, hoping to lead to the subject, without direct questioning. At last I saw a stem of an apple on the floor. I picked it up, and asked who gave him an apple; he replied, 'Man.' When? 'Yesterday.' I asked, Did you see apple in barrel? 'Who told you?' replied he, and then said, 'he did.' Did you take apple? 'Yes.' I asked if he was good boy? He first said, 'Yes,' and afterwards, 'No.' Where is apple? 'Gone in stomach,' said he, Who gave you apple? I asked. 'Hach,' was the reply. When? 'Before dinner.' Mr. H. was absent, so I could not ascertain the truth of this statement. During the whole time he was very much confused, and it is possible he may not be guilty of taking and keeping the apple, but knew I should not like to have him go into the closet at all. After talking about his being a good boy for some time, I told him he might go to make brushes. I stood at his door for some time, and was surprised to see him remain motionless by his bed. I went and told him a second time; he said 'Yes.' After a few moments I looked in again; he stood by the window, with his back towards me. I stood and watched him many minutes, and then went in to speak to him. His cheeks were wet with tears; he turned his head quickly, and tried to hide them. I asked, Why stand by window? 'I like warm sun,' was the reply, and instantly he added, 'I make brushes,-- that is, I will go to make brushes. When Mr. Hach returned he talked with him, and Oliver told him he took an apple and ate it. Mr. H. expressed his sorrow, and so did we all. Oliver felt very badly, and it was with difficulty that he restrained his tears.''

No allusion was ever after made to the subject, but the lesson never was lost upon poor Oliver; if the tears were restrained, they softened his heart; if he had paid to others the penalty of stripes or chidings, he might have considered himself quit with them, and with his conscience; as it was, he repented of himself, and within himself, and has never since been known to do a dishonest thing.

The readiness of Oliver to understand all the requirements of delicacy, not to say his native modesty and innate sense of propriety, is hardly less remarkable than Laura's. One cannot suppose that any lessons on delicacy of behavior should have been given to a child of three years old, or if given should have been understood; yet he is always modest and reserved, and has been so ever since his residence with us. It is possible that by observing the fact that little boys are indulged by ladies with kisses, but forfeit their privilege by growing to manhood, he may have applied it to his own case; but I cannot help thinking that he would not so readily have arrived at the conclusion without some natural sentiment to aid him; the idea was rather evolved by the development of his own mind, than implanted there by others. Be it as it may, the following conversation with his teacher is curious. She says "After dinner, I sat talking with him about growing to he a man. He said, 'I grow man, shave razor, Mr. Caswell, not kiss you,' -- that is, when I grow up, and become a man, and shave with a razor; I shall be Mr. Caswell, and must not kiss you. I asked him if he would kiss his mother and sisters? He said, 'Yes.' I then asked if he would kiss Susan? -one of his little playmates- He said, No! large;' that is, Susan will be large, and I must not kiss her."

Like Laura, he always shows emotion when he is told of any thing which seems to him wrong, especially if it he accompanied by any violence. When his teacher was telling him about the anaconda's killing large animals, he was exceedingly distressed.

He is very fond of any mechanical employment, and shows great readiness in comprehending any machinery. A curious lock, a complicated door-spring, or any thing of the kind, affords him great amusement, and he will examine it with untiring patience, until he finds out all about the construction. In the work-shop he shows much ingenuity, and works with great zeal. He is fond of many boyish amusements, as holding a kite, coasting on a sledge, &c. His progress in the acquisition of language has been slow, and his vocabulary is still very limited, as the specimens of his writing and conversation will show. Here is a letter, composed entirely by himself the last spring, and written in a very fair, legible hand.

"MY DEAR MOTHER:

I love you very much. I will ride to see you after seventy-four nights. I will he happy glad to see you and father and John and Albert and Henry and Sister. I will ride to see you when warm summer will come. Philip will come ride me after seventy-four days. I am very well. I am fifty seven inches high. I grow fast. I and James Coolidge walk to grow fast much. Dr. Fisher will bring paper picture. I bring paper picture to you. You must put in glass paper picture. Boys and girls will ride go in Boston State House. Six hundred men to see boys. I will stay with you twenty five nights. Good bye."

His teacher adds: "When he had written as far as 'my dear' he asked if he should write 'my mother.' I told him this morning that it would be seventy-five days before he went home. When he wrote seventy-four. I corrected him; he replied 'tomorrow, one day has gone.' He had before asked when the letter would be sent.''

August 21st. Took Oliver to Boston and went to see the pond on the common; with this he was much pleased. We walked round it and he got quite a good idea of its shape.

August 22d. Oliver talked of our walk yesterday, the pond, &c. Taught him oval and talked of round, square, and oblong shapes. He said, "Small boy did make boat; he is sailor?" Again be asked, "Wight and I did go to see boy in boat on river, he is sailor?" Told him about carpenters and masons. Then he desired me to tell him about melons. While Frank and Susan were writing gave him some questions in Addition and Subtraction, which he performed as usual rather lazily. At 12 -- he wished to see "where Osborne did go on map," so I took him to the large map of the United States. He then wished to be shown Billerica, and Jamestown. He found one of the large lakes; called it a very large pond, and wished to know how many miles long and wide it was, and its distance from Boston.

August 23d. Oliver was not very well or very talkative. He complained that he took warm milk and it made his stomach sour. He was more interested in his lesson on the map than any thing else. He found all the towns he knew on the Map of Boston and told their distance and direction from Boston. Of the different directions he judges very accurately. He turned to the map of the city and asked for the frog pond -- found the common and wanted to know the number of posts around it and the number of streets.

July 16. Oliver came in saying, "I see boy on piazza, has very long hair on back, you come see quick." Found a Chinese man -- Oliver was very much interested and talked of little else all day. I told him about the ladies of China having small feet. He asked if they could walk, run, or make dinners; and when told some had large feet and went about to do the work, he wished to know if this man's mother had small feet.

August 1, Found Oliver engaged in glueing some boards. Gave him a lesson about the manufacture of glue. He asked -- "Glue in Elephant's foot?"

At noon we received a visit from a lady who had been in China and seen Mrs. Gutzlaff's blind children. I told Oliver of it and he was much interested. He asked, "People in China have horses and cows and pigs and cats and dogs and hens?" "Lady did see boys have long hair?" Told him about sedan chairs. He asked, "men hands are hard to carry sedan chairs? Ladies have windows in chairs?" "Men in China have many windows in houses?"

He learned about Lexington on the map.

August 14. Oliver brought me a large corn stalk, as a topic for conversation. Finding it contained a sweet juice, he asked, "Men make sugar?" "Men make sugar of canes has corn?" He then told me that he made noise with stalks many nights ago.

August 20. When I went for Oliver at eight he asked "why talk?" and the first part of the hour he was rather lazy; but afterwards he became interested in talking of different trades. At ten o'clock, he tried to make conversation to defer the "adding" as he calls it, but when he found it must come he did pretty well. At twelve we took the map; this is an unfailing source of interest, and he adds to his knowledge mite by mite.

July 2d. Oliver's most interesting subject was the manufacture of Gunpowder, which he asked me about yesterday. I explained as well as I could to him the process and tried to instil in his mind great caution about handling it, but he said "I am not afraid of gunpowder." He inquired about strawberries and said, "I and my sister Mary did walk go up on hill find strawberries. Mary pick small strawberries. "My brother Philip did pick strawberries tin plate full. My mother and father, and John and Sister did eat on meal cake."

September 11. At eleven we had a great deal of company, and that necessarily interrupts the regular lessons. Oliver informed me when I went for him, "Ladies have come." Did you see them? I asked. "No, I smell them." What did you smell? "Cologne."

September 12. Oliver's new knife furnished an ample topic of conversation. After he had shown me each curious part, he told me which part was the back and two sides, and asked in great glee for its head. Asked, "Hook knife in store in Boston?" "Doctor did buy far off how many miles?" "My Philip, and John, and Albert, and Henry, and sister, and father, and mother, will see my uew -sic- knife after twelve days." Of the handle he asked, "Who horn?" and this led to a conversation about deers. Gave him a number of questions in addition at 10, which he performed pretty well. He is now much interested in learning some things on the map of Providence, as he thinks it relates to his own home, and wants a map to carry to his mother.

September 17. Oliver talked of kites, and I told him a story about two boys and a kite. To-day too for the first time he was interested in the subject of color, and talked nearly an hour about it. He remarked, "I talk, learn much." It is singular, but I can never get him to say he wants a thing unless be thinks he can have it. To-day, I tried it again and again. He was very desirous to write to Osborne, which he did in the following words:

"MY DEAR OSBORNE:

Your boat go in the water will float, -- stones, and iron, and lead not float. They will sink in the water. I did go in the water, and float to bathe. I am not afraid. I am brave boy. Good bye."

These extracts will give one a tolerable idea both of the simple method used in teaching Oliver, and of his usual course of thought. It will be seen that he does not yet show much disposition to inquire into causes, and indeed that he is but a little child in intellect. You must keep constantly in mind the immense disadvantage under which he labors; you must consider that his powers of acquiring knowledge are as much more limited than those of the merely deaf and dumb, as theirs are limited in comparison with ours, or else you will be disappointed with the result of the last year. The great difficulty, however, is already vanquished in his case; he has become familiar with the outline and general purpose of language, and he will now go on acquiring it in geometrical progression.

He has been under the immediate charge of Miss Eliza Rogers; and to her patient and persevering kindness he owes the improvement which he has made.

We shall, during the current year, be able to do much more than in any previous year; and I doubt not that with his expanding intellect he will seek as earnestly for light upon moral and religious subjects as he does now upon merely material ones. Thus far, he is pure in heart and correct in conduct; and we hope and trust that his poor single talent may be so improved as that his mortal life shall not be a total blank in his soul's existence.

S. G. HOWE.