Five Lectures on Blindness | Page 4

certain phrases with certain colors--for instance, blue as the sky, green as grass, yellow as gold, black as night, red as fire, and brown as a berry. I also learned that a color had a variety of shades, and that at times colors were changeable, it being difficult to distinguish blue from green at night. The sky, with its starred phenomena, was even harder to conceive, and I could not understand how clouds obscured the sun, or how old Sol could put the blackest clouds to rout.
My ears and fingers continued to flood my mind with knowledge, and the want of eyesight did not distress me. When I touched an object, or listened to a lesson, my mind stored it away for future reference, and often now, when recalling some facts in history or geography, I can hear the voice of the teacher who read the particular passage.
I was eight years old when I first examined a horse, although I was familiar with the sound of its feet on the pavement, and knew whether it walked, trotted or galloped. The horse I examined had been driven a long distance, and so was very warm; when my hand was placed upon its mane, the hair was damp and clung to the back, and there was an odor of steaming flesh. A fly was tormenting the animal, and, as it tossed its head impatiently, I could hear the rattle of harness, and the sound of its restive foot upon the ground. These impressions have always remained with me. My knowledge of the horse was acquired through the senses of hearing, touch and smell. And so with the cow. I can hear its low "moo, moo," hear the milk dropping into the pail, feel the hard outer shell of the horns, and catch the odor that is ever present in the cow's domain. The cat and dog have their peculiarities, too--the mewing of the cat, and the sounds heard when it purrs while washing its face--the dog's quick bark, and the sound it makes when panting for breath, as it rests after a long chase. I know the animals have different colors, peculiar to them, but this knowledge has no place in my mental conception of them.
In judging people, the voice is my infallible guide. I am instantly attracted or repelled by a voice, and my estimate of character is rarely incorrect. By the voice I am able to form a very accurate idea as to height, weight and age, so here again I do not feel the lack of eyesight. The voice is an unfailing index to character, and the trained ear is quick to catch the slightest variation in tone, and can detect traits and moods hidden from the eye, because not registered upon the face. There is a strong voice, a brave voice, a voice full of hope and cheer; a tired voice, a crafty voice, a voice full of dull despair. And so here again I do not feel the lack of eyesight in noting differences in my fellow men. I know that there are distinguishing marks, that heads are shaped differently, and that hair and eyes have different colors, corresponding to the various types, as blondes or brunettes. All this I know abstractly, but it is just one of the bits of information tucked away in memory's storehouse. I do not suppose many of you have ever heard a smile. I have. I hear a smile almost before the lips can register it, and to me the sound is as musical as the laughter of a very young child. I think hearing a smile must be like seeing the light in the eyes, and so lack of eyesight is no deprivation in this connection.
All during my days at school, I went on acquiring knowledge, learning to see many things, scarcely realizing the handicap of blindness, because every help was given me, and I was surrounded by those whose condition was like my own. But when I went out into the world, I found that many seeing people, so called, had very little vision, although their eyesight was perfect. I found, too, that, although I knew many things, and was well equipped to earn my own living, my lack of eyesight was responsible for a corresponding lack of confidence upon the part of the public. This was a great disappointment, for I knew I could succeed, if only some one would give me the opportunity. After waiting twenty years, the State Library gave me the opportunity. This lack of confidence upon the part of the public is one of the most depressing features of adult blindness. Thus far, I have considered the subject from the point of view of one who has been blind from early infancy, but now