Lost Senses, Series I. - Deafness
John Kitto
mrt %L^KfflL -••■«<v^v-', : v ja i o ■$* THE LOST SENSES. Series I.- DEAFNESS. THE LOST SENSES. BY JOHN KITTO, D.D., F.S.A. EDITOR OF THE ' PICTORIAL BIBLE,' &C, &C. Series I.— DEAFNESS. LONDON: CHARLES KNIGHT & CO., LUDGATE STREET. 1845. London; Printed by William Clowes and Sons, Stamford Street. CONTENTS. PAGE 1. INTRODUCTION 5 2. SPEECH IS 3. PERCUSSIONS . 32 4. SIGHT 48 5. DISQUALIFICATIONS 72 6. COMMUNICATIONS i>7 7. SOCIETY 138 H. MISCELLANEOUS 155 9. MASSIEU AND OTHERS 183 THE LOST SENSES: Series I.— DEAFNESS, INTRODUCTION. Any one who has spent a considerable portion of time under peculiar, or at least undescribed, cir- cumstances, must have been very unobservant if he has nothing to relate in which the public would be interested. It may be, indeed, that such a person lies under the same obligation to the public of de- scribing his own condition, as a traveller is under to render his report respecting the unexplored coun- tries which he has traversed in his pilgrimage. It is under this impression that I now write. I am unwilling to quit this world, without leaving behind me some record of a condition of which no sufferer has yet rendered an account. The condition itself is not entirely new ; and that it has not been hitherto described, may be owing to the fact that a morning of life subject to such crushing calamity, has seldom, if ever, been fol- lowed by a day of such self-culture — which is the only culture possible, — and of such active exertion, as seems indispensably necessary to prevent the faculties from rusting under the absence of the diverse influences by which they are, in ordinary circumstances, brought into working condition for B b THE LOST SENSES DEAFNESS. the useful labours at which all men should aim, and for the struggles necessary to self-advancement in a country and in a time like this. My case is this. It has pleased Providence that three-fourths of a life now at its meridian, should be passed in the most intense deafness to which any living creature can be subjected ; and which could not be more entire had the organs conducive to the sense of hearing been altogether wanting. It is the consequences resulting from this position, that form the theme which I have now placed before me. For one who is deaf, my life has been studious ; and for one who has been both deaf and studious — or indeed for any one — my life has not been un- eventful. I know not, however, that I have any right to obtrude the events or studies of my life upon the public" notice ; and it is not my intention to refer to them further than may be necessary to bring out the points and peculiarities of the deaf con- dition. From the multifarious matters arising from the activities of a life which once seemed doomed to inertion, I shall select those only which arise from, which illustrate, or which are in any remark- able way connected with my deafness. It is needful to explain this, lest in sketching the natural history of my deafness, I should be supposed to offer a biography of myself. I became deaf on my father's birthday, early in the year 1817, when I had lately completed the twelfth year of my age. The commencement of this condition is too clearly connected with my cir- cumstances in life to allow me to abstain from troubling the reader with some particulars which I should have been otherwise willing to withhold. . My father, at the expiration of his apprentice- INTRODUCTION. 1 ship, was enabled by the support of his elder brother, an engineer well 'known in the West of England,* to commence life as a master builder, with advan- tageous connections and the most favourable pros- pects. But both the brothers seem to have belonged to that class of men whom prosperity ruins : for after some years they became neglectful of their business, and were eventually reduced to great dis- tress. At the time I have specified, my father had become a jobbing mason, of precarious employment, and in such circumstances that it had for some time been necessary that I should lend my small assist- ance to his labours. This early demand upon my services, joined to much previous inability or re- luctance to stand the cost of my schoolings and to frequent head-ache, which kept me much from school even when in nominal attendance, made my educa- tion very backward. I could read well, but was an indifferent writer, and worse cypherer, when the day arrived which was to alter so materially my condition and hopes in life. The circumstances of that day — the last of twelve years of hearing, and the first of twenty-eight years of deafness, have left a more distinct impression upon my mind than those of any previous, or almost any subsequent, day of my life. It was a day to be remembered. The last day on which any cus- tomary labour ceases, — the last day on which any customary privilege is enjoyed, — the last day on * This brother held the contract for constructing the Upper Road across the Laira marshes, from Plymouth towards Exeter, and for embanking a great portion of this road from the tide. This embankment, which was locally regarded as an important public work, gained him much credit, being (as 1 have understood) on a new construction, with slate set on edge b2 8 THE LOST SENSES- — DEAFNESS. which we do the things we have done daily, are always marked days in the calendar of life ; how much, therefore, must the mind not linger in the memories of a day which was the last of many blessed things, and in which one stroke of action and suffering, — one moment of time, wrought a greater change of condition, than any sudden loss of wealth or honours ever made in the state of man. Wealth may be recovered, and new honours won, or happi- ness may be secured without them ; but there is no recovery, no adequate compensation, for such a loss as was on that day sustained. The wealth of sweet and pleasurable sounds with which the Almighty has filled the world, — of sounds modulated by affection, sympathy, and earnestness, — can be appreciated only by one who has so long been thus poor indeed in the want of them, and who for so many weary years has sat in utter silence amid the busy hum of populous cities, the music of the woods and mountains, and, more than all, of the voices sweeter than music, which are in the winter season heard around the domestic hearth. On the day in question my father and another man, attended by myself, were engaged in new slating the roof of a house, the ladder ascending to which was fixed in a small court paved with flag stones. The access to this court from the street was by a paved passage, through which ran a gutter, whereby waste water was conducted from the yard into the street. Three things occupied my mind that day. One was that the town-crier, who occupied part of the house in which we lived, had been the 'previous evening prevailed upon to entrust me with a book, for which I had long been worrying him, and with INTRODUCTION. y the contents of which I was most eager to become acquainted. I think it was ; Kirby's Wonderful Magazine ; ' and I now dwell the rather upon this circumstance, as, with other facts of the same kind, it helps to satisfy me that I was already a most voracious reader, and that the calamity which befel me did not create in me the literary appetite, but only threw me more entirely upon the re- sources which it offered. The other circumstance was that my grand- mother had finished, all but the buttons, a new smock-frock, which I had hoped to have assumed that very day, but which was faithfully promised for the morrow. As this was the first time that I should have worn that article of attire, the event was contemplated with something of that interest and solicitude with which the assumption of the toga virilis may be supposed to have been con- templated by the Roman youth. The last circumstance, and the one perhaps which had some effect upon what ensued, was this. In one of the apartments of the house in which we were at work, a young sailor, of whom I had some knowledge, had died after a lingering illness, which had been attended with circumstances which the doctors could not well understand. It was, there- fore, concluded that the body should be opened to ascertain the cause of death. I knew this was to be done, but not the time appointed for the opera- tion. But on passing from the street into the yard, with a load of slates which I was to take to the house-top, my attention was drawn to a stream of blood, or rather, I suppose, bloody water, flo wing- through the gutter by which the passage was traversed. The idea that this was the blood of the 10 THE LOST SENSES DEAFNESS. dead youth, whom I had so lately seen alive, and that the doctors* were then at work cutting him up and groping at his inside, made me shudder, and gave what I should now call a shock to my nerves, although I was very innocent of all knowledge about nerves at that time. I cannot but think it was owing to this that I lost much of the presence of mind and collectedness so important to me at that moment ; for when I had ascended to the top of the ladder, and was in the critical act of stepping from it on to the roof, I lost my footing, and fell backward, from a height of about thirty-five feet, into the paved court below. Of what followed I know nothing : and as this is the record of my own sensations, I can here report nothing but that which I myself know. For one moment, indeed, I awoke from that death-like state, and then found that my father, attended by a crowd of people, was bearing me homeward in his arms : but I had then no recollection of what had happened, and at once relapsed into a state of unconsciousness. In this state I remained for a fortnight, as I afterwards learned. These days were a blank in my life, I could never bring any recollections to bear upon them ; and when I awoke one morning to consciousness, it was as from a night of sleep. I saw that it was at least two hours later than my usual time of rising, and marvelled that I had been suffered to sleep so late. I attempted to spring up in bed, and was astonished to find that I could not even move. The utter prostration of my strength subdued all curiosity within me. I experienced no pain, but I felt that I was weak ; I saw that I was treated as an invalid, and acquiesced in my condi- INTRODUCTION. 11 tion, though some time passed — more time than the reader would imagine, before I could piece together my broken recollections so as to comprehend it. I was very slow in learning that my hearing was entirely gone. The unusual stillness of all things was grateful to me in my utter exhaustion ; and if in this half-awakened state, a thought of the matter entered my mind, I ascribed it to the unusual care and success of my friends in preserving silence around me. I saw them talking indeed to one another, and thought that, out of regard to my feeble condition, they spoke in whispers, because I heard them not. The truth was revealed to me in consequence of my solicitude about the book which had so much interested me in the day of my fall. It had, it seems, been reclaimed by the good old man who had sent it to me, and who doubtless concluded, that I should have no more need of books in this life. He was wrong ; for there has been nothing in this life which I have needed more. I asked for this book with much earnest- ness, and was answered by signs which I could not comprehend. " Why do you not speak ?" I cried ; " Pray let me have the book.*' This seemed to create some confusion ; and at length some one, more clever than the rest, hit upon the happy expedient of writing upon a slate, that the book had been reclaimed by the owner, and that I could not in my weak state be allowed to read. " But," I said in great astonishment, " Why do you write to me, why not speak ? Speak, speak/' Those who stood around the bed exchanged significant looks of concern, and the writer soon 12 THE LOST SENSES — DEAFNESS. displayed upon his slate the awful words — " You are Deaf." Did not this utterly crush me ? By no means. In my then weakened condition nothing like this could affect me. Besides, I was a child; and to a child the full extent of such a calamity could not be at once apparent. However, I knew not the future — it was well I did not ; and there was nothing to show me that I suffered under more than a temporary deafness, which in a few days might pass away. It was left for time to show me the sad realities of the condition to which I was reduced. Time passed on, and I slowly recovered strength, but my deafness continued. The doctors were perplexed by it. They probed and tested my ears in various fashions. The tympanum was unin- jured, and the organ seemed in every respect perfect, excepting that it would not act. Some thought that a disorganization of the internal me- chanism had been produced by the concussion ; others that the auditory nerve had been paralyzed. They poured into my tortured ears various infu- sions, hot and cold ; they bled me, they blistered me, leeched me, physicked me ; and, at last, they put a watch between my teeth, and on finding that I was unable to distinguish the ticking, they gave it up as a bad case, and left me to my fate. I cannot know whether my case was properly dealt with or not. I have no reason to complain of inattention, of my own knowledge ; but, some six months after, a wise doctor from London affirmed that, by a different course at the commencement, my hearing might have been restored. He caused a seton to be inserted in my neck ; but this had no INTRODUCTION. 13 effect upon my deafness, although it seems to have acted beneficially upon the general health. Some years after, Mr. Snow Harris, with a spontaneous kindness, for which I am happy to be able at this distant day to express my obligations, put my ears through a course of electrical operations. He per- severed for more than a month ; but no good came of it : and since then nothing further has been done or attempted. Indeed, I have not sought any relief; and have discouraged the suggestions of friends who would have had me apply to Dr. This and Dr. That. The condition in which two-thirds of my life has been passed, has become a habit to me — a part of my physical nature : I have learned to acquiesce in it, and to mould my habits of life according to the conditions which it imposes ; and have hence been unwilling to give footing for hopes and expectations, which I feel in my heart can never be realized. It was some time before I could leave my bed, and much longer before I could quit my chamber. During this time I had no resource but reading ; and the long and uninterrupted spell at it, which I had now, went far to fix the habit of my future life. The book to which I have repeatedly re- ferred was re-borrowed for me, and was read without restraint. I wish this book had been the ' Paradise Lost,' or some other great work : the reader would be better pleased, and the dignity of this record would have been much enhanced. But I still think it was ' Kirby's Wonderful Magazine ;' and, on second thoughts, I do not know but that this was a very proper book for the time and the circumstances. The strange facts which it re- corded were well calculated to draw my attention b 3 14 THE LOST SENSES DEAFNESS. to books as a source of interest and a means of information ; and this was precisely the sort of feeling proper for drawing me into the habits which have enabled me, under all my privations, to be of some use in my day and generation. I had been so much in the habit, like others in my class of life, of regarding the Bible as a book specially appointed for reading upon Sundays, that I had never ventured to look into it on any other day. It seemed a sort of profanation to handle the sacred book with work- day fingers ; but the exhaustion of all other materials at length drove me to it, and then I read it quite through, Apo- crypha and all. It is not in this place my business to trace the religious impressions which resulted from the direction which my reading had thus taken ; but as much of my attention has been in the course of my life devoted to sacred literature, with results which have long been before the public, it may be desirable to state the means by which this bent of study seems to have been created. At the period to which my present recollections refer, the art of reading was by no means diffused among the class in which I then moved, in the same degree as at present. Many could read : but the acquirement was not in the same degree as now applied to practical purposes. It was regarded more in the light of an occult art, — a particular and by no means necessary attainment, specially destined for and appropriate to religious uses and Sunday occupations. Besides, books were then extravagantly dear, and those which were sold in numbers, to enable the poor to purchase them by instalments, were dearest of all. Hence men could not afford to procure any merely current or tern- INTRODUCTION. 15 porary literature, but desired to have something of substantial and of permanent worth for their money, something which might form a body of edifying Sunday reading to themselves and to their children. The range of books embraced by these consider- ations was very narrow : a folio Family Bible ; Fox's Book of Martyrs ; Life of Christ ; Josephus's Antiquities of the Jews ; Bunyan's Pilgrim's Pro- gress ; Hervey's Meditations ; Drelincourt on Death (with Defoe's Preface, containing the Ghost Story of Mrs. Yeal) ; Baxter's Saint's Rest ; Watts's World to Come ; Gesner's Death of Abel ; Sturm's Reflections, &c. Those who launched forth beyond this range into profane literature, were for the most part content with Robinson Crusoe ; Pamela ; The Arabian Nights' Entertainments ; and Henry Earl of Moreland. This was a selection of books not to be despised. They were all good, and some of them immortal works. But the thing was, that you could see no other books than these. The selection from these books varied, and it was rare to see the whole or a great part of them to- gether ; but whenever a book was to be seen, it was sure to be some one of these. Periodical literature had not reached even the class of tradesmen in any other shape than that of religion. The only periodicals within their reach were of a religious kind, being the Magazines of their respective de- nominations, which were sold at sixpence each. Tradesmen doubtless read the newspapers, but the use of them (except in public houses) had not descended below their class ; and I can declare that I never saw a newspaper, to read, till I was nearly twenty years of age, and after I had been, in fact, removed out of the position to which these first experiences apply. 16 THE LOST SENSES — DEAFNESS. From this account it will appear that any studies founded upon the books to be found under these circumstances, could not but be of an essen- tially religious tone. At a later period I fell in with books of a different description in the same class, and was enabled to satiate myself with controversies on the five points, and to treasure up the out-of-the-way knowledge to be found in such books as Dupin's Ecclesiastical History. The clay came when I plunged into the sea of general literature, and being able to get nothing more to my mind, read poems, novele, histories, and maga- zines without end. A day came, in which any remarkable fact which I met with, was treasured up in my tenacious mind, as a miser treasures gold ; and when the great thoughts which I sometimes found, filled my soul with raptures too mighty for utterance. Another day came, in which I was enabled to gratify a strange predilection for meta- physical books ; and with all the novelists, poets, and historians within the reach of my arm, gave my days to Locke, Hartley, Tucker, Reid, Stewart, and Brown. I think little of these things now, and my taste for them has gone by : but although I now think that my time might have been more advantageously employed, my mind was doubtless thus carried through a very useful discipline, of which I have since reaped the benefit. But amid all this, the theological bias, given by my earlier reading and associations, remained ; and the time eventually came, when I was enabled to return to it, and indulge it with redoubled ardour: and after that another time arrived, when I could turn to rich account whatever useful thing I had learned, and whatever talent I had cultivated, how- ever remote such acquirement or cultivation might INTRODUCTION. 17 have at first seemed removed from any definite pur- suits. This point is one of some importance ; and as I am anxious to inculcate upon my younger readers the instruction it involves, it may be men- tioned, as an instance, that an acquaintance with the Hebrew language, which has eventually proved one of the most useful acquirements I ever made, was originally formed with no higher view than that of qualifying myself to teach that language to the sons of a friend, whose tuition I had undertaken. These facts, although they may seem at first to bear more upon my literary biography than upon my deafness, which is my proper theme, are neces- sarily introduced here, to render intelligible some allusions which will be found in the ensuing pages. And having now fully informed the reader con- cerning the origin of the calamity to which these pages refer, I shall digest the remainder of my information under such heads as appear to me cal- culated to develope the more striking facts and circumstances in the physical, social, and intellec- tual condition of one who has the chief entrance to his inner being closed. 18 THE LOST SENSES — DEAFNESS, SPEECH. It has often occurred to me that there is really more connection between the organs of hearing and of speech than is usually supposed. It is now the received belief that the deaf and dumb are naturally only deaf, and that they are dumb also because they have never had opportunity of learning to speak. It is undoubtedly true that for this reason they do not speak ; but I am persuaded there is also — apart from this, and physically connected with deafness — a sort of inability to utter articulate sounds. I have no physiological acquaintance with the subject ; but the impression growing out of my own experience and observation is, that the same functional causes act upon both organs. The hearing, being the more delicate organ, is utterly extinguished by that which only suffices to impede or deaden, with- out utterly destroying, the vocal organs; leaving in them so much vitality as may, under a certain artificial training and stimulus, be awakened into imperfect action. The deaf can thus be taught to speak, as a bear can be taught to dance, or a man without hands to fabricate baskets ; but a natural indisposition to use this acquired art, with more or less difficulty or pain in the use of it, remains ; and this I am disposed to attribute not to the education being left imperfect through deafness, but to a phy- sical difficulty in the formation of articulate sounds. SPEECH. 19 It will be seen how far my own experience bears upon or illustrates this hypothesis. Before my fall, my enunciation was remarkably clear and distinct ; but after that event it was found that I had not only become deaf, but spoke with pain and difficulty, and in a voice so greatly altered as to be not easily understood. I have no present recollection of having- ever experienced positive pain in the act of speaking ; but I am informed by one who was present, and deeply interested in all which took place at that time, that I complained of pain in speaking ; and I am further told, that my voice had become very similar to that of one born deaf and dumb, but who has been taught to speak. This appears, under ail the circumstances, to be a very strong corroboration, if not an absolute proof of the position I have ventured to suggest. And it is a fact, that under all the modifications and improvements which my vocal organs have since sustained, this resemblance to the voice of the born deaf and dumb has been preserved. It is evi- dent that this cannot be accounted for by any of the reasons which have been supposed to explain the imperfect development of the vocal organs in those born deaf and dumb ; seeing that my vocal powers were once in a perfect condition, and speech ac- quired before I became deaf. I see not how this fact is to be accounted for in any other way than that which has been suggested. Although I have no recollection of physical pain in the act of speaking, I felt the strongest possible indisposition to use my vocal organs. I seemed to labour under a moral disability which cannot be described by comparison with any dis- inclination which the reader can be supposed to 20 THE LOST SENSES DEAFNESS. have experienced. The disinclination which one feels to leave his warm bed on a frosty morning-, is nothing to that which I experienced against any exercise of the organs of speech. The force of this tendency to dumbness was so great, that for many years I habitually expressed myself to others in writing, even when not more than a few words were necessary ; and where this mode of intercourse could not be used, I avoided occasion of speech, or heaved up a few monosyllables, or expressed my wish by a slight motion or gesture ; — signs, as a means of intercourse, I always abominated ; and no one could annoy me more than by adopting this mode of communication. In fact, I came to be generally considered as both deaf and dumb, ex- cepting by the few who were acquainted with my real condition ; and hence many tolerated my mode of expression by writing, who would have urged upon me the exercise of my vocal organs. I re- joiced in the protection which that impression af- forded ; for nothing distressed me more than to be asked to speak : and from disuse having been super- added to the pre-existing causes, there seemed a strong probability of my eventually justifying the impression concerning my dumbness which was generally entertained. I now speak with consider- able ease and freedom, and, in personal intercourse, never resort to any other than the oral mode of communication. This was brought about in a rather remarkable manner. When I first went to the Mediterranean, the companions of my outward voyage were Dr. Korck, a German physician, who had lately taken orders in the Anglican Church, and Mr. Jadownicky, a converted Polish Jew, lately arrived from America, SPEECH. 21 where he had been completing his Christian educa- tion. These well-informed and kind-hearted men, being always with me, soon perceived how the matter really stood ; and after much reasoning with me on the matter, they entered into a conspiracy, in which the captain of the ship joined, not to under- stand a word I said, otherwise than orally, through- out the voyage. In this they persevered to a marvel ; and as I had much to ask, since I had not before been at sea, I made very great progress with my tongue during the six weeks' voyage, and by the time we reached our destination, had almost overcome the habit of clutching a pen or pencil to answer every question that was asked me. From this time I usually expressed myself orally to those whom I knew, in the ordinary intercourse of life ; but when my communication required many words, it was usually conveyed in writing. This also I at length dropped, and strangers only were addressed in writing. Finally, I ventured to accost even strangers with the tongue ; and it was only when not understood, that I resorted to the pen. At first strangers could rarely under- stand me without much difficulty ; but under the improvement which practice gave, my voice was so much bettered, that the instances in which it was not readily understood gradually diminished ; and at the present day I rarely find even a foreigner to whom my language is not clear. This work has been very gradual. I have been made to feel this, by the marked surprise and many compliments of friends, whom I have met at distant intervals of time, at the great improvement which has taken place in my speech since they heard me last. One, in particular, whom it has been my 22 THE LOST SENSES — DEAFNESS. somewhat singular lot to meet with at regular inter- vals of time, in places thousands of miles apart, has invariably made the vast improvement of my speech the subject of his first remark. I regret exceed- ingly, that, as I have no present means of access to this gentleman, I am unable to produce his views on this matter. But another friend, with whom I had much personal intercourse twelve years since, but who has not since heard my voice, favours me with the following remarks, which, however, must be understood with reference to the period indi- cated, for before then my voice was not so good as at that time, and since then it has much improved. REMARKS ON DR. KITTO's VOICE. " It is pitched in a far deeper bass tone than is natural to men who have their hearing. There is in it a certain contraction of the throat, analogous to wheezing ; and altogether, it is eminently guttural. It may be suspected, that this is attributable to the fact that his deafness came on in boyhood, before the voice had assumed its masculine depth. The transition having taken place without the guidance of the ear, was made at random, and without any pains bestowed upon it by those who could hear and correct it. His pronunciation is generally accurate enough, as regards all such words as young boys are likely to be familiar with, and as to others which closely follow their analogy : but is naturally defective in respect to words of later acquirement. In spite of the too great guttural action, his arti- culation of every English consonant and vowel, considered in isolation, is perfect." It is a remarkable fact, that when I thus again obtained the use of speech, my language was formed SPEECH. 23 not so much upon the recovery of my former habits as upon the language of books ; and the vocabulary on which I proceeded was very dif- ferent, more copious, and contained more choice words than those which I had been in the habit of using before my affliction. I have often calculated that above two-thirds of my vocabulary consist of words which I never heard pronounced. From this result some peculiarities not unworthy of notice. Many of the words of my old vocabulary continue to be pronounced in the provincial dialect in which they were learned, such as tay for tea, even though I know the right pronunciation, and generally re- collect the error after it has been committed. I know not that I should regret this, as it seems to give to my language a living character, which it would ne- cessarily want, if all framed upon unheard models. Many such words do not, however, occur, as I have exchanged many provincialisms for book words, which I am not in the same way liable to mispronounce. But even my book words, though said to be generally pronounced with much pre- cision, are liable to erroneous utterance through my disposition to give all such words as they are written ; and it is well known that the letters of which many of our words are composed, do not adequately represent the sounds with which they are pronounced. This error of pronouncing words as they are written, is the converse of that so com- mon among uneducated people, of writing words down according to their sounds. Many of such faults have, however, been corrected in the course of years, and it may not now be easy to detect me in many errors of this kind : but this arises not more from such corrections, than from the curious 24 THE LOST SENSES — DEAFNESS. instinct which has, in the course of time, been developed, of avoiding the use of those words about the pronunciation of which I feel in any degree uncertain, or which I know myself liable to mis- pronounce. This is particularly the case with proper names and foreign words ; although, even in such, I am more in dread of erroneous quantity than of wrong vocalization. I need not point out the serious obstacle which this condition of affairs offers to any attempt to acquire the vocal use of a foreign language. This use of German, in which the words are written as pronounced, and in which the syllables are distinctly brought out, might perhaps be acquired with less difficulty than many other languages. Indeed, of foreigners acquainted with English, with whom I have at any time con- versed, none have understood me with so little difficulty as Germans. So remarkably distinct does my speech appear to them, that if I am talk- ing in the presence of Germans and Englishmen equally strangers to me, the chances are more than equal that the Germans will understand me far better than the Englishmen. In this, however, there is another reason than has yet appeared. In the new, or rather mixed language with which I recommenced my vocal operations, there was a marked absence of all colloquial idioms and contractions. I knew them and had used them, but I became as morally unable to pronounce them as I had been to speak at all. I no longer said, can't you, won't you, don't you, &c, but can you not, will you not, do you not. I was even shy of cannot, and always, when I used it at all, made two very distinct words of it, can not. This extended to all words or phrases capable SPEECH. 25 of the same colloquial abbreviation ; and it must have been of great aid to a foreigner to have every word and syllable thus distinctly pronounced. This necessarily gave a kind of stiffness and pre- ciseness to my language. Indeed, I seem to have had a singular reluctance to use any but the substantial words of the language, and my practical vocabulary was and is singularly void of all expletives and adjuncts, of all complimentary phrases, and even of terms of en- dearment. I was touchingly reminded of the last characteristic a short time since, when one of my little boys suddenly quitted my study, and hastened to tell his mother that I had for the first time in his life called him " Dear." This disposition to confine myself to the words essentially necessary to convey my meaning — the dry hard words without the flowers and derivative adjuncts which custom had made to represent the amenities of social intercourse, must perhaps give an air of rigidity and harshness to my spoken language, which pre- vents it from being, I trust, a faithful representa- tive of my feelings or character. The conventional talk, which stands in the place of intercourse with those to whom one has nothing real to say, I never could manage, and have preferred to be altogether silent than to resort to it. I could never, by the utmost stretch of violence upon my acquired disposition, bring myself to express much solicitude about the health of those whom I saw to be per- fectly well ; or to exchange or make remarks upon the weather, and say — " It is very warm " — " It is a foggy morning " — "It is very cold " — " It threatens to rain " — to those who must be as fully aware of the facts as myself. In like manner I 26 THE LOST SENSES — DEAFNESS. have abstained from the common salutations of casual intercourse. " Good bye/' " Good morn- ing," etc., I could never get out. A silent shake of the head, a nod, a bow, or a movement of the lips, intended to represent all these things, is all I have been able to manage. Such phrases of civility as " Thank you," " If you please," &c, have also been absent from my vocabulary ; not from any disinclination, but because I supposed that having said all that was really essential, all these expressions of civility would be understood ; and that, from my manner, it would be taken for granted that I felt all they were designed to express. That I am not in the way of heaving the interchange of such expressions, may in a great degree account for my neglect of them : for in matters of this kind it is not enough to know that they exist, but one must find them illustrated in daily and familiar use, to be kept in remembrance of them, and to become aware of their importance, as the small change of society, which one should always have at hand for current use. Under all these conditions and progressive alterations, the more marked peculiarities of my voice have remained. It is of course. impossible for me to define them accurately. This has been done in the paper which has been already intro- duced ; and it only remains for me to notice such of the developments and effects as have come under my own cognizance. To my own sensations I seem always to speak in a loud whisper, if the expression may be allowed ; and from the facts I learn from others, this im- pression does not seem to be altogether incorrect. One whose definition agrees well with my own SPEECH. 27 sensations, describes it to me as if formed in the chest, and as issuing therefrom through a tube without being much modulated in its passage through the mouth. The conditions of this voice vary much at different times, and I am myself per- fectly aware, not only whether I am in good voice or not, but of the very words which 1 have failed to bring out with distinctness. The voice itself is loud, and may be heard to an unusual distance, although the articulations can only be made out under cover, or by a person quite near in a quiet street. This would seem to be the cause of the strangeness ; for when people hear a loud voice they expect to distinguish its articulations ; but to hear a voice in speaking action, without being able to distinguish the words, has a startling and some- what unearthly effect. From this cause my voice is often inaudible where most others might be heard by the persons addressed, as in the streets of the metropolis, or in a carriage. The sound, under such cases, combines with and is lost in the noises of the streets or the rattle of the chariot wheels. 