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systematic process of training, lasting but a few min- sided in their training" is not made very clear. They

utes at once.

Many specimens of good literature have been learned in a minute portion of the time which would be found necessary to the untrained student.

It is undeniably true that the mind retains longest that to which it gives the closest attention; therefore, it need be no matter of astonishment that the pupils are able to recall selections, or lessons, thus learned, after months or even years have passed.

Classes in history, literature, and art have been conducted with little use of text-books. There have been readings, lectures, and familiar talks on the part of the teacher, the oral method having been found to impart more of the substance to be learned than the pupil could gain from the mere study of the book. Many examples might be given proving the efficacy of a system which strives to develop to the fullest extent, in each individual, the power of attention and concentration.

With this important part of the mental machinery in efficient working condition, the judicious teacher, ever watchful of the physical welfare of the youth intrusted to her care, will gladly dispense with many brain-wearying hours for her pupils, and will rejoice in being able to afford them sufficient time for play and physical development. She will not insist upon a verbal recitation, in order that she may "hear a les son," but will require of the scholars an oral or written account of what has been learned in listening to her instructions, and as the result of their own research and observation.

In a school where the pupils are daily exercised to the end of securing habits of attention, much time will be economized, more instruction will be imparted, fewer text-books will be used, a clearer and broader intelligence will be secured, by direct contact with the teacher's mind; and last, but by no means least, a truer sympathy will exist between teacher and pupil.

Catharine Aiken.

The Education of the Blind.

A REPLY.

It is in no spirit of controversy, but from a feeling that the schools and institutions for the blind are placed in a false light, that I enter a protest against certain sentiments expressed in the "Open Letter" entitled "The Blind as Students," in the November CEN

TURY.

After the faint praise of the opening sentence we are told that the schools "are fearfully one-sided in their training, lamentably limited in their scope." First, let us see what their scope is. That of one, according to the words of the director, taken from its prospectus, is, "in all cases to fit them [the pupils] for usefulness in life, and for maintaining themselves, if necessary, by their own efforts"; of another, "to furnish to the blind children of the State the best known facilities for acquiring a thorough education, and to train them in some useful profession or manual art, by which they may be enabled to contribute to their own support after leaving the institution." There seems to be nothing "lamentably limited " thus far, and these are but specimens of many which might be cited.

are charged with conducing to "blindisms," such as "snapping the fingers to indicate the position of the extended hand when about to exchange a friendly greeting or pass an object." How it may have been in time past I am unable to say, but in an experience of three years' teaching, and having witnessed their greetings and hand-shakings scores of times, I have never yet noticed the "snapping of fingers," nor until the perusal of Mr. Perry's letter had I heard of such an expedient. On the other hand, however, I have known cases where pupils have come to the school with "blindisms" acquired at home, such as moving the body and making grotesque motions with the hands and arms, which gradually disappeared under the timely and friendly admonitions of teachers and the influence of their new companions, many of whom have gone through the same experience and are on the lookout for these peculiarities in new-comers.

It is true that not all is accomplished that might be wished, but the same is true of the public schools. The course of study pursued in the schools for the blind with which I am acquainted is at least equal to that up to and including the ordinary high school.

66

Last year a lady, known as a lecturer in an adjoining State, visited a class of blind in algebra. After listening to the recitation, which consisted in solving problems of two and three unknown quantities, from books printed in the ordinary raised type, the time spent in the learning of which Mr. Perry considers 'wholly wasted," she told them that they recited as well as any seeing scholars she ever heard. A young man from the same school last year entered a theological seminary, passing the required examination without a single "condition," while several other candidates, some of whom were college graduates, were "conditioned" on two or more subjects. I give these merely as examples of what the institutions are doing educationally. I would not discourage the education of the blind in the public schools, as the writer recommends, if it were practicable. But we must take the facts as they are, and as the case now stands it is unquestionably impracticable. Of this, however, it is not my purpose now to speak.

"

We are told that our methods are "slow and clumsy.” It is only fair to judge of the methods by the results. The young man referred to was congratulated upon his successful examination by a seeing classmate, who said, "If my college had done for me what your little school has for you, I should be satisfied." It is further objected that 'the competition at such institutions is always and in every department only with those hampered by a like disadvantage," and that the pupil "needs the constant spur to his pride of seeing those about him accomplishing more in less time, to stimulate his ambition." What stimulus can there be to the ambition of a pupil capable of learning a lesson from one or two readings, in surrounding him with children who, "with fingers crammed into their ears, buzz over a lesson of three pages for the fifteenth time"?

The efficiency of wooden maps and globes in teaching geography is admitted; but "an excellent substitute may be furnished by any friend at home who will carefully trace the outlines of maps in a common atlas." "Whatever these contrivances lack, the native ingenuJust what is meant by their being "fearfully one- ity and aptitude of the pupil must supply." This is

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followed by the sage remark that "after all, the stimulating of these is of far more value than any number of facts or theories crammed into his brain by patent processes." Why should not this hold as true for the 'clumsy methods" of the schools in question? Why should the writer take into consideration, at all, the methods of instruction if, as he further says of the pupil, "it is what he is, and not what he is taught, that makes him a success or a failure"? A casual reader would be led to infer that a school for the blind assumes to take in hand any "individual under thirty "and turn him out a "finished specimen of its educational excellence." As, however, the school age is usually placed at from six to twenty years, it will be seen that this does not fall within its " scope."

In short, Mr. Perry, notwithstanding his characterization of the methods pursued in the schools as "clumsy," recommends, especially in the home, the use of the Braille-board for writing, maps in relief, and the typeboard for arithmetical calculations.

These constitute in effect nearly all the apparatus, designed specially for the blind used in the schools, with the exception that here their use is directed by experienced teachers.

J. T. Morey.

PERKINS INSTITUTION FOR THE BLIND, So. BOSTON, MASS.

The American of the Future.

IT has been observed that the bulk of American citizens now engaged in the attempt to free labor from the tyranny of capital were not born in this country; and this fact has been mentioned as if, in some way, it cast a reflection upon the expediency or wisdom of the attempt in question. Native-born Americans, it is urged, trained from birth and by inheritance in the traditions of American independence and in the principles of the Constitution of the United States, would never lend themselves to such "foreign" and aggressive measures as the boycott, the strike, and the bomb. This position, however, will be found upon examination to be both logically and morally indefensible. In the first place, it is much to be doubted whether one native-born American in ten could repeat from memory a single clause of the Constitution of his country; and this ignorance bears practical point in the uncomplaining submission with which most native-born Americans endure insolence, imposition, and robbery that would stimulate to rebellion the least warlike denizens of the effete monarchies of Europe. Our foreign-born population, on the other hand, especially those of recent importa tion, are still instinct with something of the same enthusiasm for liberty and for having their own way which distinguished the Pilgrims of 1620 and the patriots of 1776; they have not yet succumbed to the apathy and timidity which seem inseparable from a prolonged residence in the land of the free. It is not the descendants of the "Mayflower," in short, who are the representative Americans of the present day; it is the Micks and the Pats, the Hanses and the Wilhelms, redolent still of the dudeen and the sauerkraut barrel; and it is to them that a prudent public sentiment will intrust the reins of power and the destinies of the republic. Nor should we stop here. There is a further step to be taken; one which the increasing enlighten

ment of this age will be certain, sooner or later, to force upon us. America, unlike all other countries of the world, is an idea rather than a place; a moral rather than a geographical expression. It is not so much the land, as the principle, of Freedom. To be an American, therefore, it is by no means necessary to be an inhabitant of the United States. In a higher and truer sense, an American is a man of European birth, who renders himself obnoxious to the land or social proprieties of his birthplace. And since, as has been shown, the genuine American spirit deteriorates in direct ratio with the length of the individual's residence in America, it follows that the most genuine Americanism must be that which has been free from this enervating influence altogether. If this reasoning be valid, an amendment to the Constitution should be introduced without delay, providing that no person of American birth or descent should be allowed to hold any political or public office in the United States; that the most recent immigrants should be intrusted with the most controlling offices of government; and that no man shall be eligible for the Presidency unless he can prove that he is an outlaw in his own country, and that he has never set foot in this. Julian Hawthorne.

Christian Union.

IN reading the profoundly interesting second paper on the "United Churches of the United States," in the December CENTURY, I was struck by the omission of all reference to an episcopal church (probably on account of its numerical weakness) which, owing to its peculiar history, would have been deserving of mention in Professor Shields's scholarly essay. I refer to the Moravian Episcopal Church, with its historical name of Unitas Fratrum. Taking its rise in the forces set in motion by the Bohemian-Moravian Reformation of Huss in the fifteenth century, and experiencing a renewal under German influences in the eighteenth century, it possesses the oldest Protestant historic episcopate, antedating the Anglican, continuing in an unbroken succession to the present day from 1467, at which time the episcopate was obtained from the Romish Church through the medium of two Waldensian bishops, regularly consecrated by Roman prelates. After a searching examination, the church was legally acknowledged as an "Ancient Episcopal Church" by an act of the English Parliament in 1749, and thus, so far as I know, is the only church whose clergy is officially acknowledged by the Anglican church.

So early as 1840 the late Right Rev. B. B. Smith, the then Presiding (Anglican) Bishop of Kentucky, proposed an organic union between the Methodist Episcopal and Protestant Episcopal churches through the medium of Moravian ordination, i. e., that the Methodist clergy were to be ordained by Moravian bishops, as "this was an episcopate which both churches acknowledged." The two Wesleys, John and Charles, were converted through the instrumentality of the Moravian bishop Peter Boehler.

The Moravian Church, while admitting of the greatest freedom of worship, has a rich scriptural liturgy, which, with its pure historic episcopate, it prizes as its richest treasure.

Although historically an episcopal church, its government is largely synodical and conferential, and thus presents an example of a church combining these two forms of government.

It has from its origin always been of strong union tendencies, and of a truly catholic spirit, ever recognizing, even in times of prevalent bigotry, all sister churches, and standing in friendly relations with them where they would let it. It possesses this same spirit to day, and hails with delight all signs of union in the great denominations of our country, for its churchly watch-word has ever been the high-priestly prayer of Christ," that they may be one.

MEDFIELD, MINN.

Paul de Schweinitz.

To the Deaf.

THE conditions and troubles of defective hearing may not interest the general reader, for none but the sufferers themselves have any idea of the burden of sorrow imposed by the impairment or deprivation of the sense of hearing. Nothing save blindness is so hard to bear, especially for those full of ambition, and otherwise capable of the full enjoyment of life.

But there are comforts even in deafness. We can see the faces of our loved ones, we can enjoy all beautiful sights, the lovely flowers, the rich landscapes, the glorious sunsets, and all the beauties of nature, while all arts save music lay their treasures and achievements at our feet. The pleasures of travel, too, are not less to us, perhaps in many respects they are rather enhanced.

We can make the pen available by correspondence, and so benefit ourselves and our friends. We can use the brush, and enjoy our labor at the easel; and we can employ our hands for our own and others' comfort and happiness in a thousand ways.

Deafness is far more common than is generally supposed, and is especially prevalent among the middleaged. Medical works assert that fully one-third of our population between the ages of twenty-five and fifty are partly deaf, the trouble having come on so gradually that fully one-half of those afflicted are unaware of it until sufficiently advanced to become troublesome.

We believe the best aurists agree that there is no help for hereditary and congenital deafness, or those cases where the nerves are paralyzed. A very common cause of temporary deafness is hardening of the wax of the ear; and the trouble may become serious if not relieved by prompt and proper treatment at the hands of a good aurist. Where such aid is not available, it is safe and possible to remove the wax by putting into the ear two or three drops of pure glycerine three times a day for three days, and then syringing with warm water (as warm as can be comfortably borne) in which a little carbonate of soda has been dissolved. Use a teaspoonful to one quart of water.

The ear being a very intricate, delicate, and sensitive organ, no patent nostrum should ever be introduced into it nor any quack ever allowed to tamper with it. Only the very best aurists should treat it. Many disorders and conditions of the inner parts of the organ are beyond the reach of medical skill. Such cases are disheartening. Obstruction of the Eustachian tube (the tube that connects the tympanum, or ear-drum, with the back upper part of the throat) is a frequent cause

of deafness. Inflammation of the throat, affecting this tube, also causes it. In either case, a good aurist can afford speedy relief by removing the obstruction or allaying the inflammation.

Catarrhal deafness usually disappears when the cause is removed, if the trouble has not become too deeply seated. Early manifestations of deafness should not be overlooked or neglected. Elderly people are often deaf because vitality is declining generally; the hearing, in common with the other powers, shows the approaching weakness and decay of age. Some persons whose hearing is ordinarily very acute are quite deaf when extremely weary.

Rupture of the drum membrane by an accidental puncture, by whooping-cough, or by a blow on the head, is among the causes of deafness. The sudden concussion of air against the delicate tympanum, caused by the discharge of heavy artillery, has often more or less impaired the sense of hearing, and, strangely enough, in some reported cases where the hearing was already weakened, has restored it. Many soldiers were made deaf during the war. The ears sometimes seem entirely stopped up by a severe cold; but let them alone, treat and remove the cause, and the effect will probably disappear.

Climatic causes produce deafness. We have visited a county in central Pennsylvania where deaf people are the rule and those with good hearing the exception. In districts in Alpine Switzerland the same peculiarity has been observed. Another cause of deafness is thickening of the lining membranes of the ear, and for this there is no known remedy. It may be constitutional, or caused by ulceration after scarlet fever, or by other diseases; but it sometimes comes on without any known or apparent cause. All that can be done in this case is to palliate the trouble by using an ear-trumpet, or, better still, an audiphone. The latter is now oftenest made in the form of a fan of vulcanite, and being black, and a seeming accessory to the toilet, is in no respect objectionable, as was the large ear-trumpet of former days. There is a very small ear-trumpet made that is helpful. These instruments are of great assistance in hearing lectures and the like, as well as in lending distinctness to conversation.

It has been said that "Deaf people are always proud." Call it pride, if you will; but why needlessly proclaim a misfortune (which, unlike blindness, is not often evident) by using a conspicuous and forbidding instrument? One does not care to emphasize his own personal afflictions for the observation and comment of others.

If people only knew how to talk to the deaf, a great many heart-aches would be saved. First, have a little consideration, and by a very trifling motion, which they readily see and understand, call their attention to you; then articulate clearly and distinctly - not too fast, and not too loud. It is this shouting into the ear of a deaf person that fills him with confusion and sends all the blood to his face; by his wavering and equivocal responses he sometimes hardly gets credit for due intelligence, although he may really be very well informed on the subject under discussion. He had hoped you would speak low and distinctly; he could then have heard you, acted like himself, and been himself; but now all within hearing know he is deaf, think he is very deaf, and look upon him with com

miseration perhaps, as well they may; perhaps gaze at him much, and long and rudely too. This only adds to his perplexity, and induces fresh resolves never to go again where there is any danger of the occurrence being repeated. Strange as it may seem, some deaf people often hear much better in the noisy street, or traveling in the cars, than in a quiet place.

This is the reason why deaf people shun society, for there lie the rough places in their pathway, because few know how to talk to them. We do not mean the very deaf, but those who enjoy a chat or a conversation with a friend without discomfort. Their greatest trouble is to hear mixed conversation, sermons, and the like. Familiar voices are easily heard by the partly deaf: so they are happiest at home, and avoid general society. The annoyances that seem to accompany the deaf are numerous, and often very hard to bear. It leads them very often to renew their determination to stay closer at home, plunge deeper into books, and try there to find compensation for the unattainable pleasure of social intercourse.

Katharine Armstrong.

Names.

AN amateur painter was once strolling through the streets of a coast town, when he suddenly espied, standing in the door of a little cottage, a beautiful young woman with a sturdy child in her arms. The pretty picture framed in the dusky doorway attracted him, and with an eye to a "study" he accosted the unconscious Madonna. The young mother answered that she was n't particular about herself, but that she should admire to have Iddy's picture taken. “Iddy!" rejoined the painter; "what's the rest of his name?" 'Oh," said she, with an air of pardonable pride, "you know he's our first baby, and we did n't want him to have a name like everybody else; so he found some nice words in a book, and Iddy's name is one of 'em Idiosyncrasy!"

That the above is a true story as to the main fact makes it none the less melancholy. But at the same time there was the germ of reform wrapped up in the idea of an original name for the child. This motive governed our friend Mrs. Kenwigs, when she composed the immortal cognomen of her Morleena; and I knew a lady who bravely carried about the appellation of Garaphelia Mohalba. This was certainly unique, though for purposes of convenience it had to be dwarfed to the commonplace and every-day Garry.

In these complex times it is useless to hope that the simplicity and truth of the old Hebrew nomenclature can ever be restored. But what an amazing effect might be predicted if names were all at once to resume their old-time elasticity, and could be donned and doffed as character suggested. Think of being known as "Supplanter," or "Dishonest," or "Repentant," as the case might require. And what an immense stimulus to selfrighteousness there would be, supposing a man had really begun to mend his ways, in being addressed as "Virtuous," or "Excellent," or "Pure." It would never do. It would be "living in a lantern" with a vengeance. The present fashion of newspaper pub licity would be retirement and secrecy compared with it, and something more serious than "dramatic situations" would inevitably result. It is probably for

the general good, therefore, that the moral condition of language renders such a state of things impossible. No doubt speech was orignally an honest interpreter of thought, but the interpreter has trifled with his moral sense until it is hopelessly degraded, and he has no longer even the courage of his opinions left. So we give a child his father's name just because it is his father's name, and not from any special fitness. Indeed, the whole question of fitness seems to be lost sight of, except in rare cases. The original significance of baptismal names is buried under a mountain of associations, and we characterize certain ones as stately, or somber, or piquant, chiefly because of the qualities of some former possessor. And as with “ Iddy's " parents, the mere sound of a name goes far to recommend it to many people. The melodious arrangement of vowels and consonants is, after all, one of the main motives; and as tastes differ in regard to what constitutes melody, the standard has to vary in a somewhat trying manner. A large class of excellent people confine themselves with praiseworthy fidelity to Bible names, on account of which a girl now and then finds herself weighted in the race of life with such a burden as Keren-happuch, or a boy is forever jeered by his mates on account of being known as Tiglath-Pileser. Even this, however, is an improvement on the Cromwellian style of using whole formularies of theology, such as, "Through much tribulation we enter into the kingdom of Heaven (which was irreverently condensed to Tribby), or the famous Praise-God Barebones. That was a quaint and not unpleasing usage of two generations back which gave our aunts and grandmothers such names as Patience, Mercy, Thankful, Submit, etc. But how an occasional “high-strung" maiden must have rebelled against the meekness of such an appellation. A mode which finds more or less favor in the Western States has at least the merit of being patriotic. Thus a boy born on the Fourth of July was christened Independence, and I remember such combinations as Indiana Martin, Peoria Frye, and Minneapolis Forsyth. There is a certain breadth and freshness, as it were, about these specimens which smack of wide rivers and wider prairies.

There is one aspect of the case against which the writer feels bound especially to protest. It is the nefarious practice of altering a child's name, now happily taking its place among other relics of barbarism—a very different thing, you will perceive, from the honesty of the Hebrew usage; but it has been largely sanctioned, even among the most intelligent people. Say, for instance, that a child has, after much anxious thought and search, been given her great-great-grandmother's majestic and honorable name. All the associations of early infancy naturally cling about it. The baby's silver cup and the little spoon and fork bear the three stately initials, and various precious heirlooms are held in trust for the future pleasure of the fortunate namesake. But an elder sister dies, and straightway, through some occult law of sympathy or sentiment, away goes the grand old name to give place to-Susie! It is nothing short of robbery. That obnoxious "ie" reminds me of another practice which is almost too absurd to combat. Can any reasonable being give a valid excuse for the strange fatuity which makes grown-up women, and business women at that, announce themselves to the world as Jennie, Mattie,

The Glacier versus the Editor.

ADOWN a Glacier's steep crevasse I dropped a little song,
And far within the shining depths it slipped and slid along.
Then to an Editor I sent the self-same song away;

The Editor accepted it upon that self-same day.

He did not print it- but his words were courteous, warm, and kind.
The Glacier held with frigid grasp my little song enshrined.

The Glacier or the Editor? - I fain would see revealed

Which icy heart would be the first my little song to yield.

Far, far above, through sun and storm, the Glacier gleamed and shone;

I took my little rocking-chair and climbed the Alps alone;

For fifty years I sat and watched that Glacier's glittering way,
In hope to see it bring my song again to upper day.
For fifty years I watched the date the magazine appears-
No murmur once escaped my lips in all those fifty years;

But still, with meek humility,-heart-sick with hope deferred,-
Deferred to judgment wiser far, and never once demurred.
And yet again the pages scanned each month with hope renewed,
Each month, in deep dejection lost, the cruel pages viewed.

Again Hope spake with cheering voice, and waved her drooping wing,
"Take heart! THE CENTURY of next month your song will surely bring!"
At last, with heart all turned to ice, despair too deep to name,
I calmly gave my poem up the Glacier did the same!

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We were college chums, but, powder and flame!
How can a fellow keep cool?

He never would even tell me her name,
And laughed, and called me a fool.

He liked her, too, I was sure he did,

He was praising her high and low,

And he 'd give me a look from under his lid-
Well, I certainly hated Joe!

Did I ever swear I was bound to win
If the kindly fates approved? -

She was "more to him than friend or kin,"
And "the sum of all he loved."

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Charlotte W. Thurston.

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Ballade of Rejected MS.
I'VE" submitted" my verse and my prose
To the editors' "reading machines,'
Yet my name 's unfamiliar to those
Who subscribe for the best magazines.
I began to write verse in my teens,
By the light of sweet Erato's face;
Now, what is it the editor means

By," We 're sorry we have n't the space"?

Here are madrigals written to Rose-
'T is to Rose that my preference leans;
Here are triolets, rondels, rondeaux,
And the charms they portray our Fifines;
Here's "A Plea for our Gallant Marines
'T was the Admiral "stated the case";
Pray, what is it the editor means

By, "We're sorry we have n't the space”?

Here are tales quite as ghastly as Poe's,
And weird legends; the "limit" still screens
All I fain to the world would disclose,
So I clasp my portfolio's shagreens:
But just here a grim thought supervenes -
Does my "style" lack acceptable grace?
And is that what the editor means
By, "We're sorry we have n't the space

ENVOY.

?

Friend,- for you 're at the back of the scenes,-
Does my Pegasus halt in his pace?
Can you tell what the editor means

By, "We're sorry we have n't the space ”?
Andrew Hussey Allen.

In Silken Hose.

IN silken hose and powdered hair,
And gay pumps twinkling at the toes,
He had no vulgar flesh to spare
In silken hose!

His cheeks were like Moore's laggard rose;
And though he breathed Parisian air,
Insidious wrinkles were his woes.
Time planned for him no sudden snare,
But probing age- his worst of foes-
Laid all his imperfections bare
In silken hose!

THE DE VINNE PRESS, PRINTERS, NEW YORK.

William H. Hayne.

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