489 files changed, 19126 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6833f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/.gitattributes
@@ -0,0 +1,3 @@
+* text=auto
+*.txt text
+*.md text
diff --git a/27683-0.txt b/27683-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1b70f05
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,2905 @@
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 27683 ***
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD I LIVE IN
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+HELEN KELLER
+
+
+   "The autobiography of Helen Keller is
+   unquestionably one of the most remarkable records
+   ever published."--_British Weekly._
+
+   "This book is a human document of intense
+   interest, and without a parallel, we suppose, in
+   the history of literature."--_Yorkshire Post._
+
+   "Miss Keller's autobiography, well written and
+   full of practical interest in all sides of life,
+   literary, artistic and social, records an
+   extraordinary victory over physical
+   disabilities."--_Times._
+
+   "This book is a record of the miraculous. No one
+   can read it without being profoundly touched by
+   the patience and devotion which brought the blind,
+   deaf-mute child into touch with human life,
+   without being filled with wonder at the quick
+   intelligence which made such communication with
+   the outside world possible."--_Queen._
+
+   _Illustrated, price 7s. 6d._
+
+   POPULAR EDITION, _net, 1s._
+
+
+   The Story of My Life
+
+   By HELEN KELLER
+
+        *       *       *       *       *
+
+   The Practice of Optimism
+
+   _Cloth, net, 1s. 6d.; paper, net, 1s._
+
+        *       *       *       *       *
+
+   LONDON: HODDER & STOUGHTON, E.C.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio
+
+Helen Keller in Her Study]
+
+THE WORLD I LIVE IN
+
+by
+
+HELEN KELLER
+
+Author of "The Story of My Life," Etc.
+
+Illustrated
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Hodder and Stoughton
+London New York Toronto
+
+Copyright 1904, 1908, by The Century Co.
+
+
+
+
+                TO
+
+           HENRY H. ROGERS
+
+          MY DEAR FRIEND OF
+
+             MANY YEARS
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+The essays and the poem in this book appeared originally in the "Century
+Magazine," the essays under the titles "A Chat About the Hand," "Sense
+and Sensibility," and "My Dreams." Mr. Gilder suggested the articles,
+and I thank him for his kind interest and encouragement. But he must
+also accept the responsibility which goes with my gratitude. For it is
+owing to his wish and that of other editors that I talk so much about
+myself.
+
+Every book is in a sense autobiographical. But while other
+self-recording creatures are permitted at least to seem to change the
+subject, apparently nobody cares what I think of the tariff, the
+conservation of our natural resources, or the conflicts which revolve
+about the name of Dreyfus. If I offer to reform the education system of
+the world, my editorial friends say, "That is interesting. But will you
+please tell us what idea you had of goodness and beauty when you were
+six years old?" First they ask me to tell the life of the child who is
+mother to the woman. Then they make me my own daughter and ask for an
+account of grown-up sensations. Finally I am requested to write about my
+dreams, and thus I become an anachronical grandmother; for it is the
+special privilege of old age to relate dreams. The editors are so kind
+that they are no doubt right in thinking that nothing I have to say
+about the affairs of the universe would be interesting. But until they
+give me opportunity to write about matters that are not-me, the world
+must go on uninstructed and unreformed, and I can only do my best with
+the one small subject upon which I am allowed to discourse.
+
+In "The Chant of Darkness" I did not intend to set up as a poet. I
+thought I was writing prose, except for the magnificent passage from Job
+which I was paraphrasing. But this part seemed to my friends to separate
+itself from the exposition, and I made it into a kind of poem.
+
+                                                               H. K.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+          CHAPTER I
+                                            PAGE
+          THE SEEING HAND                      3
+
+          CHAPTER II
+          THE HANDS OF OTHERS                 19
+
+          CHAPTER III
+          THE HAND OF THE RACE                33
+
+          CHAPTER IV
+          THE POWER OF TOUCH                  45
+
+          CHAPTER V
+          THE FINER VIBRATIONS                63
+
+          CHAPTER VI
+          SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL             77
+
+          CHAPTER VII
+          RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES       95
+
+          CHAPTER VIII
+          THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD              103
+
+          CHAPTER IX
+          INWARD VISIONS                     115
+
+          CHAPTER X
+          ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION      129
+
+          CHAPTER XI
+          BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN               141
+
+          CHAPTER XII
+          THE LARGER SANCTIONS               153
+
+          CHAPTER XIII
+          THE DREAM WORLD                    169
+
+          CHAPTER XIV
+          DREAMS AND REALITY                 195
+
+          CHAPTER XV
+          A WAKING DREAM                     209
+
+          A CHANT OF DARKNESS                229
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+          HELEN KELLER IN HER STUDY              _Frontispiece_
+
+          THE MEDALLION                       _Facing page_ 22
+
+          "LISTENING" TO THE TREES                "    "    70
+
+          THE LITTLE BOY NEXT DOOR                "    "   120
+
+
+
+
+THE SEEING HAND
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+THE SEEING HAND
+
+
+I HAVE just touched my dog. He was rolling on the grass, with pleasure
+in every muscle and limb. I wanted to catch a picture of him in my
+fingers, and I touched him as lightly as I would cobwebs; but lo, his
+fat body revolved, stiffened and solidified into an upright position,
+and his tongue gave my hand a lick! He pressed close to me, as if he
+were fain to crowd himself into my hand. He loved it with his tail, with
+his paw, with his tongue. If he could speak, I believe he would say with
+me that paradise is attained by touch; for in touch is all love and
+intelligence.
+
+This small incident started me on a chat about hands, and if my chat is
+fortunate I have to thank my dog-star. In any case, it is pleasant to
+have something to talk about that no one else has monopolized; it is
+like making a new path in the trackless woods, blazing the trail where
+no foot has pressed before. I am glad to take you by the hand and lead
+you along an untrodden way into a world where the hand is supreme. But
+at the very outset we encounter a difficulty. You are so accustomed to
+light, I fear you will stumble when I try to guide you through the land
+of darkness and silence. The blind are not supposed to be the best of
+guides. Still, though I cannot warrant not to lose you, I promise that
+you shall not be led into fire or water, or fall into a deep pit. If
+you will follow me patiently, you will find that "there's a sound so
+fine, nothing lives 'twixt it and silence," and that there is more meant
+in things than meets the eye.
+
+My hand is to me what your hearing and sight together are to you. In
+large measure we travel the same highways, read the same books, speak
+the same language, yet our experiences are different. All my comings and
+goings turn on the hand as on a pivot. It is the hand that binds me to
+the world of men and women. The hand is my feeler with which I reach
+through isolation and darkness and seize every pleasure, every activity
+that my fingers encounter. With the dropping of a little word from
+another's hand into mine, a slight flutter of the fingers, began the
+intelligence, the joy, the fullness of my life. Like Job, I feel as if
+a hand had made me, fashioned me together round about and moulded my
+very soul.
+
+In all my experiences and thoughts I am conscious of a hand. Whatever
+moves me, whatever thrills me, is as a hand that touches me in the dark,
+and that touch is my reality. You might as well say that a sight which
+makes you glad, or a blow which brings the stinging tears to your eyes,
+is unreal as to say that those impressions are unreal which I have
+accumulated by means of touch. The delicate tremble of a butterfly's
+wings in my hand, the soft petals of violets curling in the cool folds
+of their leaves or lifting sweetly out of the meadow-grass, the clear,
+firm outline of face and limb, the smooth arch of a horse's neck and
+the velvety touch of his nose--all these, and a thousand resultant
+combinations, which take shape in my mind, constitute my world.
+
+Ideas make the world we live in, and impressions furnish ideas. My world
+is built of touch-sensations, devoid of physical colour and sound; but
+without colour and sound it breathes and throbs with life. Every object
+is associated in my mind with tactual qualities which, combined in
+countless ways, give me a sense of power, of beauty, or of incongruity:
+for with my hands I can feel the comic as well as the beautiful in the
+outward appearance of things. Remember that you, dependent on your
+sight, do not realize how many things are tangible. All palpable things
+are mobile or rigid, solid or liquid, big or small, warm or cold, and
+these qualities are variously modified. The coolness of a water-lily
+rounding into bloom is different from the coolness of an evening wind in
+summer, and different again from the coolness of the rain that soaks
+into the hearts of growing things and gives them life and body. The
+velvet of the rose is not that of a ripe peach or of a baby's dimpled
+cheek. The hardness of the rock is to the hardness of wood what a man's
+deep bass is to a woman's voice when it is low. What I call beauty I
+find in certain combinations of all these qualities, and is largely
+derived from the flow of curved and straight lines which is over all
+things.
+
+"What does the straight line mean to you?" I think you will ask.
+
+It _means_ several things. It symbolizes duty. It seems to have the
+quality of inexorableness that duty has. When I have something to do
+that must not be set aside, I feel as if I were going forward in a
+straight line, bound to arrive somewhere, or go on forever without
+swerving to the right or to the left.
+
+That is what it means. To escape this moralizing you should ask, "How
+does the straight line feel?" It feels, as I suppose it looks,
+straight--a dull thought drawn out endlessly. Eloquence to the touch
+resides not in straight lines, but in unstraight lines, or in many
+curved and straight lines together. They appear and disappear, are now
+deep, now shallow, now broken off or lengthened or swelling. They rise
+and sink beneath my fingers, they are full of sudden starts and pauses,
+and their variety is inexhaustible and wonderful. So you see I am not
+shut out from the region of the beautiful, though my hand cannot
+perceive the brilliant colours in the sunset or on the mountain, or
+reach into the blue depths of the sky.
+
+Physics tells me that I am well off in a world which, I am told, knows
+neither cold nor sound, but is made in terms of size, shape, and
+inherent qualities; for at least every object appears to my fingers
+standing solidly right side up, and is not an inverted image on the
+retina which, I understand, your brain is at infinite though unconscious
+labour to set back on its feet. A tangible object passes complete into
+my brain with the warmth of life upon it, and occupies the same place
+that it does in space; for, without egotism, the mind is as large as the
+universe. When I think of hills, I think of the upward strength I tread
+upon. When water is the object of my thought, I feel the cool shock of
+the plunge and the quick yielding of the waves that crisp and curl and
+ripple about my body. The pleasing changes of rough and smooth, pliant
+and rigid, curved and straight in the bark and branches of a tree give
+the truth to my hand. The immovable rock, with its juts and warped
+surface, bends beneath my fingers into all manner of grooves and
+hollows. The bulge of a watermelon and the puffed-up rotundities of
+squashes that sprout, bud, and ripen in that strange garden planted
+somewhere behind my finger-tips are the ludicrous in my tactual memory
+and imagination. My fingers are tickled to delight by the soft ripple
+of a baby's laugh, and find amusement in the lusty crow of the barnyard
+autocrat. Once I had a pet rooster that used to perch on my knee and
+stretch his neck and crow. A bird in my hand was then worth two in
+the--barnyard.
+
+My fingers cannot, of course, get the impression of a large whole at a
+glance; but I feel the parts, and my mind puts them together. I move
+around my house, touching object after object in order, before I can
+form an idea of the entire house. In other people's houses I can touch
+only what is shown to me--the chief objects of interest, carvings on the
+wall, or a curious architectural feature, exhibited like the family
+album. Therefore a house with which I am not familiar has for me, at
+first, no general effect or harmony of detail. It is not a complete
+conception, but a collection of object-impressions which, as they come
+to me, are disconnected and isolated. But my mind is full of
+associations, sensations, theories, and with them it constructs the
+house. The process reminds me of the building of Solomon's temple, where
+was neither saw, nor hammer, nor any tool heard while the stones were
+being laid one upon another. The silent worker is imagination which
+decrees reality out of chaos.
+
+Without imagination what a poor thing my world would be! My garden would
+be a silent patch of earth strewn with sticks of a variety of shapes and
+smells. But when the eye of my mind is opened to its beauty, the bare
+ground brightens beneath my feet, and the hedge-row bursts into leaf,
+and the rose-tree shakes its fragrance everywhere. I know how budding
+trees look, and I enter into the amorous joy of the mating birds, and
+this is the miracle of imagination.
+
+Twofold is the miracle when, through my fingers, my imagination reaches
+forth and meets the imagination of an artist which he has embodied in a
+sculptured form. Although, compared with the life-warm, mobile face of a
+friend, the marble is cold and pulseless and unresponsive, yet it is
+beautiful to my hand. Its flowing curves and bendings are a real
+pleasure; only breath is wanting; but under the spell of the imagination
+the marble thrills and becomes the divine reality of the ideal.
+Imagination puts a sentiment into every line and curve, and the statue
+in my touch is indeed the goddess herself who breathes and moves and
+enchants.
+
+It is true, however, that some sculptures, even recognized masterpieces,
+do not please my hand. When I touch what there is of the Winged Victory,
+it reminds me at first of a headless, limbless dream that flies towards
+me in an unrestful sleep. The garments of the Victory thrust stiffly out
+behind, and do not resemble garments that I have felt flying,
+fluttering, folding, spreading in the wind. But imagination fulfils
+these imperfections, and straightway the Victory becomes a powerful and
+spirited figure with the sweep of sea-winds in her robes and the
+splendour of conquest in her wings.
+
+I find in a beautiful statue perfection of bodily form, the qualities of
+balance and completeness. The Minerva, hung with a web of poetical
+allusion, gives me a sense of exhilaration that is almost physical; and
+I like the luxuriant, wavy hair of Bacchus and Apollo, and the wreath of
+ivy, so suggestive of pagan holidays.
+
+So imagination crowns the experience of my hands. And they learned their
+cunning from the wise hand of another, which, itself guided by
+imagination, led me safely in paths that I knew not, made darkness light
+before me, and made crooked ways straight.
+
+
+
+
+THE HANDS OF OTHERS
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE HANDS OF OTHERS
+
+
+THE warmth and protectiveness of the hand are most homefelt to me who
+have always looked to it for aid and joy. I understand perfectly how the
+Psalmist can lift up his voice with strength and gladness, singing, "I
+put my trust in the Lord at all times, and his hand shall uphold me, and
+I shall dwell in safety." In the strength of the human hand, too, there
+is something divine. I am told that the glance of a beloved eye thrills
+one from a distance; but there is no distance in the touch of a beloved
+hand. Even the letters I receive are--
+
+          Kind letters that betray the heart's deep history,
+          In which we feel the presence of a hand.
+
+It is interesting to observe the differences in the hands of people.
+They show all kinds of vitality, energy, stillness, and cordiality. I
+never realized how living the hand is until I saw those chill plaster
+images in Mr. Hutton's collection of casts. The hand I know in life has
+the fullness of blood in its veins, and is elastic with spirit. How
+different dear Mr. Hutton's hand was from its dull, insensate image! To
+me the cast lacks the very form of the hand. Of the many casts in Mr.
+Hutton's collection I did not recognize any, not even my own. But a
+loving hand I never forget. I remember in my fingers the large hands of
+Bishop Brooks, brimful of tenderness and a strong man's joy. If you were
+deaf and blind, and could have held Mr. Jefferson's hand, you would have
+seen in it a face and heard a kind voice unlike any other you have
+known. Mark Twain's hand is full of whimsies and the drollest humours,
+and while you hold it the drollery changes to sympathy and championship.
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by the Whitman Studio
+
+The Medallion
+
+The bas-relief on the wall is a portrait of the Queen Dowager of Spain,
+which Her Majesty had made for Miss Keller
+
+To face page 22]
+
+I am told that the words I have just written do not "describe" the hands
+of my friends, but merely endow them with the kindly human qualities
+which I know they possess, and which language conveys in abstract words.
+The criticism implies that I am not giving the primary truth of what I
+feel; but how otherwise do descriptions in books I read, written by men
+who can see, render the visible look of a face? I read that a face is
+strong, gentle; that it is full of patience, of intellect; that it is
+fine, sweet, noble, beautiful. Have I not the same right to use these
+words in describing what I feel as you have in describing what you see?
+They express truly what I feel in the hand. I am seldom conscious of
+physical qualities, and I do not remember whether the fingers of a hand
+are short or long, or the skin is moist or dry. No more can you, without
+conscious effort, recall the details of a face, even when you have seen
+it many times. If you do recall the features, and say that an eye is
+blue, a chin sharp, a nose short, or a cheek sunken, I fancy that you do
+not succeed well in giving the impression of the person,--not so well
+as when you interpret at once to the heart the essential moral qualities
+of the face--its humour, gravity, sadness, spirituality. If I should
+tell you in physical terms how a hand feels, you would be no wiser for
+my account than a blind man to whom you describe a face in detail.
+Remember that when a blind man recovers his sight, he does not recognize
+the commonest thing that has been familiar to his touch, the dearest
+face intimate to his fingers, and it does not help him at all that
+things and people have been described to him again and again. So you,
+who are untrained of touch, do not recognize a hand by the grasp; and
+so, too, any description I might give would fail to make you acquainted
+with a friendly hand which my fingers have often folded about, and
+which my affection translates to my memory.
+
+I cannot describe hands under any class or type; there is no democracy
+of hands. Some hands tell me that they do everything with the maximum of
+bustle and noise. Other hands are fidgety and unadvised, with nervous,
+fussy fingers which indicate a nature sensitive to the little pricks of
+daily life. Sometimes I recognize with foreboding the kindly but stupid
+hand of one who tells with many words news that is no news. I have met a
+bishop with a jocose hand, a humourist with a hand of leaden gravity, a
+man of pretentious valour with a timorous hand, and a quiet, apologetic
+man with a fist of iron. When I was a little girl I was taken to see[A]
+a woman who was blind and paralysed. I shall never forget how she held
+out her small, trembling hand and pressed sympathy into mine. My eyes
+fill with tears as I think of her. The weariness, pain, darkness, and
+sweet patience were all to be felt in her thin, wasted, groping, loving
+hand.
+
+Few people who do not know me will understand, I think, how much I get
+of the mood of a friend who is engaged in oral conversation with
+somebody else. My hand follows his motions; I touch his hand, his arm,
+his face. I can tell when he is full of glee over a good joke which has
+not been repeated to me, or when he is telling a lively story. One of
+my friends is rather aggressive, and his hand always announces the
+coming of a dispute. By his impatient jerk I know he has argument ready
+for some one. I have felt him start as a sudden recollection or a new
+idea shot through his mind. I have felt grief in his hand. I have felt
+his soul wrap itself in darkness majestically as in a garment. Another
+friend has positive, emphatic hands which show great pertinacity of
+opinion. She is the only person I know who emphasizes her spelled words
+and accents them as she emphasizes and accents her spoken words when I
+read her lips. I like this varied emphasis better than the monotonous
+pound of unmodulated people who hammer their meaning into my palm.
+
+Some hands, when they clasp yours, beam and bubble over with gladness.
+They throb and expand with life. Strangers have clasped my hand like
+that of a long-lost sister. Other people shake hands with me as if with
+the fear that I may do them mischief. Such persons hold out civil
+finger-tips which they permit you to touch, and in the moment of
+contract they retreat, and inwardly you hope that you will not be called
+upon again to take that hand of "dormouse valour." It betokens a prudish
+mind, ungracious pride, and not seldom mistrust. It is the antipode to
+the hand of those who have large, lovable natures.
+
+The handshake of some people makes you think of accident and sudden
+death. Contrast this ill-boding hand with the quick, skilful, quiet hand
+of a nurse whom I remember with affection because she took the best
+care of my teacher. I have clasped the hands of some rich people that
+spin not and toil not, and yet are not beautiful. Beneath their soft,
+smooth roundness what a chaos of undeveloped character!
+
+I am sure there is no hand comparable to the physician's in patient
+skill, merciful gentleness and splendid certainty. No wonder that Ruskin
+finds in the sure strokes of the surgeon the perfection of control and
+delicate precision for the artist to emulate. If the physician is a man
+of great nature, there will be healing for the spirit in his touch. This
+magic touch of well-being was in the hand of a dear friend of mine who
+was our doctor in sickness and health. His happy cordial spirit did his
+patients good whether they needed medicine or not.
+
+As there are many beauties of the face, so the beauties of the hand are
+many. Touch has its ecstasies. The hands of people of strong
+individuality and sensitiveness are wonderfully mobile. In a glance of
+their finger-tips they express many shades of thought. Now and again I
+touch a fine, graceful, supple-wristed hand which spells with the same
+beauty and distinction that you must see in the handwriting of some
+highly cultivated people. I wish you could see how prettily little
+children spell in my hand. They are wild flowers of humanity, and their
+finger motions wild flowers of speech.
+
+All this is my private science of palmistry, and when I tell your
+fortune it is by no mysterious intuition or gipsy witchcraft, but by
+natural, explicable recognition of the embossed character in your hand.
+Not only is the hand as easy to recognize as the face, but it reveals
+its secrets more openly and unconsciously. People control their
+countenances, but the hand is under no such restraint. It relaxes and
+becomes listless when the spirit is low and dejected; the muscles
+tighten when the mind is excited or the heart glad; and permanent
+qualities stand written on it all the time.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] The excellent proof-reader has put a query to my use of the word
+"see." If I had said "visit," he would have asked no questions, yet what
+does "visit" mean but "see" (_visitare_)? Later I will try to defend
+myself for using as much of the English language as I have succeeded in
+learning.
+
+
+
+
+THE HAND OF THE RACE
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THE HAND OF THE RACE
+
+
+LOOK in your "Century Dictionary," or if you are blind, ask your teacher
+to do it for you, and learn how many idioms are made on the idea of
+hand, and how many words are formed from the Latin root _manus_--enough
+words to name all the essential affairs of life. "Hand," with quotations
+and compounds, occupies twenty-four columns, eight pages of this
+dictionary. The hand is defined as "the organ of apprehension." How
+perfectly the definition fits my case in both senses of the word
+"apprehend"! With my hand I seize and hold all that I find in the three
+worlds--physical, intellectual, and spiritual.
+
+Think how man has regarded the world in terms of the hand. All life is
+divided between what lies _on one hand_ and on the other. The products
+of skill are _manu_factures. The conduct of affairs is _man_agement.
+History seems to be the record--alas for our chronicles of war!--of the
+_man_oeuvres of armies. But the history of peace, too, the narrative of
+labour in the field, the forest, and the vineyard, is written in the
+victorious sign _manual_--the sign of the hand that has conquered the
+wilderness. The labourer himself is called a _hand_. In _man_acle and
+_manu_mission we read the story of human slavery and freedom.
+
+The minor idioms are myriad; but I will not recall too many, lest you
+cry, "Hands off!" I cannot desist, however, from this word-game until I
+have set down a few. Whatever is not one's own by first possession is
+_second-hand_. That is what I am told my knowledge is. But my
+well-meaning friends come to my defence, and, not content with endowing
+me with natural _first-hand_ knowledge which is rightfully mine, ascribe
+to me a preternatural sixth sense and credit to miracles and heaven-sent
+compensations all that I have won and discovered with my good right
+hand. And with my left hand too; for with that I read, and it is as true
+and honourable as the other. By what half-development of human power has
+the left hand been neglected? When we arrive at the acme of civilization
+shall we not all be ambidextrous, and in our _hand-to-hand_ contests
+against difficulties shall we not be doubly triumphant? It occurs to me,
+by the way, that when my teacher was training my unreclaimed spirit, her
+struggle against the powers of darkness, with the stout arm of
+discipline and the light of the manual alphabet, was in two senses a
+hand-to-hand conflict.
+
+No essay would be complete without quotations from Shakspere. In the
+field which, in the presumption of my youth, I thought was my own he has
+reaped before me. In almost every play there are passages where the hand
+plays a part. Lady Macbeth's heart-broken soliloquy over her little
+hand, from which all the perfumes of Arabia will not wash the stain, is
+the most pitiful moment in the tragedy. Mark Antony rewards Scarus, the
+bravest of his soldiers, by asking Cleopatra to give him her hand:
+"Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand." In a different mood he is
+enraged because Thyreus, whom he despises, has presumed to kiss the hand
+of the queen, "my playfellow, the kingly seal of high hearts." When
+Cleopatra is threatened with the humiliation of gracing Cæsar's triumph,
+she snatches a dagger, exclaiming, "I will trust my resolution and my
+good hands." With the same swift instinct, Cassius trusts to his hands
+when he stabs Cæsar: "Speak, hands, for me!" "Let me kiss your hand,"
+says the blind Gloster to Lear. "Let me wipe it first," replies the
+broken old king; "it smells of mortality." How charged is this single
+touch with sad meaning! How it opens our eyes to the fearful purging
+Lear has undergone, to learn that royalty is no defence against
+ingratitude and cruelty! Gloster's exclamation about his son, "Did I but
+live to see thee in my touch, I'd say I had eyes again," is as true to a
+pulse within me as the grief he feels. The ghost in "Hamlet" recites the
+wrongs from which springs the tragedy:
+
+          Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand.
+          At once of life, of crown, of queen dispatch'd.
+
+How that passage in "Othello" stops your breath--that passage full of
+bitter double intention in which Othello's suspicion tips with evil what
+he says about Desdemona's hand; and she in innocence answers only the
+innocent meaning of his words: "For 'twas that hand that gave away my
+heart."
+
+Not all Shakspere's great passages about the hand are tragic. Remember
+the light play of words in "Romeo and Juliet" where the dialogue, flying
+nimbly back and forth, weaves a pretty sonnet about the hand. And who
+knows the hand, if not the lover?
+
+The touch of the hand is in every chapter of the Bible. Why, you could
+almost rewrite Exodus as the story of the hand. Everything is done by
+the hand of the Lord and of Moses. The oppression of the Hebrews is
+translated thus: "The hand of Pharaoh was heavy upon the Hebrews." Their
+departure out of the land is told in these vivid words: "The Lord
+brought the children of Israel out of the house of bondage with a strong
+hand and a stretched-out arm." At the stretching out of the hand of
+Moses the waters of the Red Sea part and stand all on a heap. When the
+Lord lifts his hand in anger, thousands perish in the wilderness. Every
+act, every decree in the history of Israel, as indeed in the history of
+the human race, is sanctioned by the hand. Is it not used in the great
+moments of swearing, blessing, cursing, smiting, agreeing, marrying,
+building, destroying? Its sacredness is in the law that no sacrifice is
+valid unless the sacrificer lay his hand upon the head of the victim.
+The congregation lay their hands on the heads of those who are sentenced
+to death. How terrible the dumb condemnation of their hands must be to
+the condemned! When Moses builds the altar on Mount Sinai, he is
+commanded to use no tool, but rear it with his own hands. Earth, sea,
+sky, man, and all lower animals are holy unto the Lord because he has
+formed them with his hand. When the Psalmist considers the heavens and
+the earth, he exclaims: "What is man, O Lord, that thou art mindful of
+him? For thou hast made him to have dominion over the works of thy
+hands." The supplicating gesture of the hand always accompanies the
+spoken prayer, and with clean hands goes the pure heart.
+
+Christ comforted and blessed and healed and wrought many miracles with
+his hands. He touched the eyes of the blind, and they were opened. When
+Jairus sought him, overwhelmed with grief, Jesus went and laid his hands
+on the ruler's daughter, and she awoke from the sleep of death to her
+father's love. You also remember how he healed the crooked woman. He
+said to her, "Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity," and he laid
+his hands on her, and immediately she was made straight, and she
+glorified God.
+
+Look where we will, we find the hand in time and history, working,
+building, inventing, bringing civilization out of barbarism. The hand
+symbolizes power and the excellence of work. The mechanic's hand, that
+minister of elemental forces, the hand that hews, saws, cuts, builds, is
+useful in the world equally with the delicate hand that paints a wild
+flower or moulds a Grecian urn, or the hand of a statesman that writes a
+law. The eye cannot say to the hand, "I have no need of thee." Blessed
+be the hand! Thrice blessed be the hands that work!
+
+
+
+
+THE POWER OF TOUCH
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+THE POWER OF TOUCH
+
+
+SOME months ago, in a newspaper which announced the publication of the
+"Matilda Ziegler Magazine for the Blind," appeared the following
+paragraph:
+
+"Many poems and stories must be omitted because they deal with sight.
+Allusion to moonbeams, rainbows, starlight, clouds, and beautiful
+scenery may not be printed, because they serve to emphasize the blind
+man's sense of his affliction."
+
+That is to say, I may not talk about beautiful mansions and gardens
+because I am poor. I may not read about Paris and the West Indies
+because I cannot visit them in their territorial reality. I may not
+dream of heaven because it is possible that I may never go there. Yet a
+venturesome spirit impels me to use words of sight and sound whose
+meaning I can guess only from analogy and fancy. This hazardous game is
+half the delight, the frolic, of daily life. I glow as I read of
+splendours which the eye alone can survey. Allusions to moonbeams and
+clouds do not emphasize the sense of my affliction: they carry my soul
+beyond affliction's narrow actuality.
+
+Critics delight to tell us what we cannot do. They assume that blindness
+and deafness sever us completely from the things which the seeing and
+the hearing enjoy, and hence they assert we have no moral right to talk
+about beauty, the skies, mountains, the song of birds, and colours. They
+declare that the very sensations we have from the sense of touch are
+"vicarious," as though our friends felt the sun for us! They deny _a
+priori_ what they have not seen and I have felt. Some brave doubters
+have gone so far even as to deny my existence. In order, therefore, that
+I may know that I exist, I resort to Descartes's method: "I think,
+therefore I am." Thus I am metaphysically established, and I throw upon
+the doubters the burden of proving my non-existence. When we consider
+how little has been found out about the mind, is it not amazing that any
+one should presume to define what one can know or cannot know? I admit
+that there are innumerable marvels in the visible universe unguessed by
+me. Likewise, O confident critic, there are a myriad sensations
+perceived by me of which you do not dream.
+
+Necessity gives to the eye a precious power of seeing, and in the same
+way it gives a precious power of feeling to the whole body. Sometimes it
+seems as if the very substance of my flesh were so many eyes looking out
+at will upon a world new created every day. The silence and darkness
+which are said to shut me in, open my door most hospitably to countless
+sensations that distract, inform, admonish, and amuse. With my three
+trusty guides, touch, smell, and taste, I make many excursions into the
+borderland of experience which is in sight of the city of Light. Nature
+accommodates itself to every man's necessity. If the eye is maimed, so
+that it does not see the beauteous face of day, the touch becomes more
+poignant and discriminating. Nature proceeds through practice to
+strengthen and augment the remaining senses. For this reason the blind
+often hear with greater ease and distinctness than other people. The
+sense of smell becomes almost a new faculty to penetrate the tangle and
+vagueness of things. Thus, according to an immutable law, the senses
+assist and reinforce one another.
+
+It is not for me to say whether we see best with the hand or the eye. I
+only know that the world I see with my fingers is alive, ruddy, and
+satisfying. Touch brings the blind many sweet certainties which our more
+fortunate fellows miss, because their sense of touch is uncultivated.
+When they look at things, they put their hands in their pockets. No
+doubt that is one reason why their knowledge is often so vague,
+inaccurate, and useless. It is probable, too, that our knowledge of
+phenomena beyond the reach of the hand is equally imperfect. But, at all
+events, we behold them through a golden mist of fantasy.
+
+There is nothing, however, misty or uncertain about what we can touch.
+Through the sense of touch I know the faces of friends, the illimitable
+variety of straight and curved lines, all surfaces, the exuberance of
+the soil, the delicate shapes of flowers, the noble forms of trees, and
+the range of mighty winds. Besides objects, surfaces, and atmospherical
+changes, I perceive countless vibrations. I derive much knowledge of
+everyday matter from the jars and jolts which are to be felt everywhere
+in the house.
+
+Footsteps, I discover, vary tactually according to the age, the sex, and
+the manners of the walker. It is impossible to mistake a child's patter
+for the tread of a grown person. The step of the young man, strong and
+free, differs from the heavy, sedate tread of the middle-aged, and from
+the step of the old man, whose feet drag along the floor, or beat it
+with slow, faltering accents. On a bare floor a girl walks with a rapid,
+elastic rhythm which is quite distinct from the graver step of the
+elderly woman. I have laughed over the creak of new shoes and the
+clatter of a stout maid performing a jig in the kitchen. One day, in the
+dining-room of an hotel, a tactual dissonance arrested my attention. I
+sat still and listened with my feet. I found that two waiters were
+walking back and forth, but not with the same gait. A band was playing,
+and I could feel the music-waves along the floor. One of the waiters
+walked in time to the band, graceful and light, while the other
+disregarded the music and rushed from table to table to the beat of some
+discord in his own mind. Their steps reminded me of a spirited war-steed
+harnessed with a cart-horse.
+
+Often footsteps reveal in some measure the character and the mood of the
+walker. I feel in them firmness and indecision, hurry and deliberation,
+activity and laziness, fatigue, carelessness, timidity, anger, and
+sorrow. I am most conscious of these moods and traits in persons with
+whom I am familiar.
+
+Footsteps are frequently interrupted by certain jars and jerks, so that
+I know when one kneels, kicks, shakes something, sits down, or gets up.
+Thus I follow to some extent the actions of people about me and the
+changes of their postures. Just now a thick, soft patter of bare, padded
+feet and a slight jolt told me that my dog had jumped on the chair to
+look out of the window. I do not, however, allow him to go
+uninvestigated; for occasionally I feel the same motion, and find him,
+not on the chair, but trespassing on the sofa.
+
+When a carpenter works in the house or in the barn near by, I know by
+the slanting, up-and-down, toothed vibration, and the ringing concussion
+of blow upon blow, that he is sawing or hammering. If I am near enough,
+a certain vibration, travelling back and forth along a wooden surface,
+brings me the information that he is using a plane.
+
+A slight flutter on the rug tells me that a breeze has blown my papers
+off the table. A round thump is a signal that a pencil has rolled on the
+floor. If a book falls, it gives a flat thud. A wooden rap on the
+balustrade announces that dinner is ready. Many of these vibrations are
+obliterated out of doors. On a lawn or the road, I can feel only
+running, stamping, and the rumble of wheels.
+
+By placing my hand on a person's lips and throat, I gain an idea of many
+specific vibrations, and interpret them: a boy's chuckle, a man's
+"Whew!" of surprise, the "Hem!" of annoyance or perplexity, the moan of
+pain, a scream, a whisper, a rasp, a sob, a choke, and a gasp. The
+utterances of animals, though wordless, are eloquent to me--the cat's
+purr, its mew, its angry, jerky, scolding spit; the dog's bow-wow of
+warning or of joyous welcome, its yelp of despair, and its contented
+snore; the cow's moo; a monkey's chatter; the snort of a horse; the
+lion's roar, and the terrible snarl of the tiger. Perhaps I ought to
+add, for the benefit of the critics and doubters who may peruse this
+essay, that with my own hands I have felt all these sounds. From my
+childhood to the present day I have availed myself of every opportunity
+to visit zoological gardens, menageries, and the circus, and all the
+animals, except the tiger, have talked into my hand. I have touched the
+tiger only in a museum, where he is as harmless as a lamb. I have,
+however, heard him talk by putting my hand on the bars of his cage. I
+have touched several lions in the flesh, and felt them roar royally,
+like a cataract over rocks.
+
+To continue, I know the _plop_ of liquid in a pitcher. So if I spill my
+milk, I have not the excuse of ignorance. I am also familiar with the
+pop of a cork, the sputter of a flame, the tick-tack of the clock, the
+metallic swing of the windmill, the laboured rise and fall of the pump,
+the voluminous spurt of the hose, the deceptive tap of the breeze at
+door and window, and many other vibrations past computing.
+
+There are tactual vibrations which do not belong to skin-touch. They
+penetrate the skin, the nerves, the bones, like pain, heat, and cold.
+The beat of a drum smites me through from the chest to the
+shoulder-blades. The din of the train, the bridge, and grinding
+machinery retains its "old-man-of-the-sea" grip upon me long after its
+cause has been left behind. If vibration and motion combine in my touch
+for any length of time, the earth seems to run away while I stand still.
+When I step off the train, the platform whirls round, and I find it
+difficult to walk steadily.
+
+Every atom of my body is a vibroscope. But my sensations are not
+infallible. I reach out, and my fingers meet something furry, which
+jumps about, gathers itself together as if to spring, and acts like an
+animal. I pause a moment for caution. I touch it again more firmly, and
+find it is a fur coat fluttering and flapping in the wind. To me, as to
+you, the earth seems motionless, and the sun appears to move; for the
+rays of the afternoon withdraw more and more, as they touch my face,
+until the air becomes cool. From this I understand how it is that the
+shore seems to recede as you sail away from it. Hence I feel no
+incredulity when you say that parallel lines appear to converge, and the
+earth and sky to meet. My few senses long ago revealed to me their
+imperfections and deceptivity.
+
+Not only are the senses deceptive, but numerous usages in our language
+indicate that people who have five senses find it difficult to keep
+their functions distinct. I understand that we hear views, see tones,
+taste music. I am told that voices have colour. Tact, which I have
+supposed to be a matter of nice perception, turns out to be a matter of
+taste. Judging from the large use of the word, taste appears to be the
+most important of all the senses. Taste governs the great and small
+conventions of life. Certainly the language of the senses is full of
+contradictions, and my fellows who have five doors to their house are
+not more surely at home in themselves than I. May I not, then, be
+excused if this account of my sensations lacks precision?
+
+
+
+
+THE FINER VIBRATIONS
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+THE FINER VIBRATIONS
+
+
+I HAVE spoken of the numerous jars and jolts which daily minister to my
+faculties. The loftier and grander vibrations which appeal to my
+emotions are varied and abundant. I listen with awe to the roll of the
+thunder and the muffled avalanche of sound when the sea flings itself
+upon the shore. And I love the instrument by which all the diapasons of
+the ocean are caught and released in surging floods--the many-voiced
+organ. If music could be seen, I could point where the organ-notes go,
+as they rise and fall, climb up and up, rock and sway, now loud and
+deep, now high and stormy, anon soft and solemn, with lighter
+vibrations interspersed between and running across them. I should say
+that organ-music fills to an ecstasy the act of feeling.
+
+There is tangible delight in other instruments, too. The violin seems
+beautifully alive as it responds to the lightest wish of the master. The
+distinction between its notes is more delicate than between the notes of
+the piano.
+
+I enjoy the music of the piano most when I touch the instrument. If I
+keep my hand on the piano-case, I detect tiny quavers, returns of
+melody, and the hush that follows. This explains to me how sound can die
+away to the listening ear:
+
+              . . . How thin and clear,
+            And thinner, clearer, farther going!
+          O sweet and far from cliff and scar
+            The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
+
+I am able to follow the dominant spirit and mood of the music. I catch
+the joyous dance as it bounds over the keys, the slow dirge, the
+reverie. I thrill to the fiery sweep of notes crossed by thunderous
+tones in the "Walküre," where _Wotan_ kindles the dread flames that
+guard the sleeping _Brunhild_. How wonderful is the instrument on which
+a great musician sings with his hands! I have never succeeded in
+distinguishing one composition from another. I think this is impossible;
+but the concentration and strain upon my attention would be so great
+that I doubt if the pleasure derived would be commensurate to the
+effort.
+
+Nor can I distinguish easily a tune that is sung. But by placing my hand
+on another's throat and cheek, I enjoy the changes of the voice. I know
+when it is low or high, clear or muffled, sad or cheery. The thin,
+quavering sensation of an old voice differs in my touch from the
+sensation of a young voice. A Southerner's drawl is quite unlike the
+Yankee twang. Sometimes the flow and ebb of a voice is so enchanting
+that my fingers quiver with exquisite pleasure, even if I do not
+understand a word that is spoken.
+
+On the other hand, I am exceedingly sensitive to the harshness of noises
+like grinding, scraping, and the hoarse creak of rusty locks.
+Fog-whistles are my vibratory nightmares. I have stood near a bridge in
+process of construction, and felt the tactual din, the rattle of heavy
+masses of stone, the roll of loosened earth, the rumble of engines, the
+dumping of dirt-cars, the triple blows of vulcan hammers. I can also
+smell the fire-pots, the tar and cement. So I have a vivid idea of
+mighty labours in steel and stone, and I believe that I am acquainted
+with all the fiendish noises which can be made by man or machinery. The
+whack of heavy falling bodies, the sudden shivering splinter of chopped
+logs, the crystal shatter of pounded ice, the crash of a tree hurled to
+the earth by a hurricane, the irrational, persistent chaos of noise made
+by switching freight-trains, the explosion of gas, the blasting of
+stone, and the terrific grinding of rock upon rock which precedes the
+collapse--all these have been in my touch-experience, and contribute to
+my idea of Bedlam, of a battle, a waterspout, an earthquake, and other
+enormous accumulations of sound.
+
+Touch brings me into contact with the traffic and manifold activity of
+the city. Besides the bustle and crowding of people and the nondescript
+grating and electric howling of street-cars, I am conscious of
+exhalations from many different kinds of shops; from automobiles, drays,
+horses, fruit stands, and many varieties of smoke.
+
+          Odours strange and musty,
+          The air sharp and dusty
+          With lime and with sand,
+          That no one can stand,
+          Make the street impassable,
+          The people irascible,
+          Until every one cries,
+          As he trembling goes
+          With the sight of his eyes
+          And the scent of his nose
+          Quite stopped--or at least much diminished--
+          "Gracious! when will this city be finished?"[B]
+
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio
+
+"Listening" to the Trees
+
+To face page 70]
+
+The city is interesting; but the tactual silence of the country is
+always most welcome after the din of town and the irritating concussions
+of the train. How noiseless and undisturbing are the demolition, the
+repairs and the alterations, of nature! With no sound of hammer or saw
+or stone severed from stone, but a music of rustles and ripe thumps on
+the grass come the fluttering leaves and mellow fruits which the wind
+tumbles all day from the branches. Silently all droops, all withers, all
+is poured back into the earth that it may recreate; all sleeps while the
+busy architects of day and night ply their silent work elsewhere. The
+same serenity reigns when all at once the soil yields up a newly wrought
+creation. Softly the ocean of grass, moss, and flowers rolls surge upon
+surge across the earth. Curtains of foliage drape the bare branches.
+Great trees make ready in their sturdy hearts to receive again birds
+which occupy their spacious chambers to the south and west. Nay, there
+is no place so lowly that it may not lodge some happy creature. The
+meadow brook undoes its icy fetters with rippling notes, gurgles, and
+runs free. And all this is wrought in less than two months to the music
+of nature's orchestra, in the midst of balmy incense.
+
+The thousand soft voices of the earth have truly found their way to
+me--the small rustle in tufts of grass, the silky swish of leaves, the
+buzz of insects, the hum of bees in blossoms I have plucked, the flutter
+of a bird's wings after his bath, and the slender rippling vibration
+of water running over pebbles. Once having been felt, these loved voices
+rustle, buzz, hum, flutter, and ripple in my thought forever, an undying
+part of happy memories.
+
+Between my experiences and the experiences of others there is no gulf of
+mute space which I may not bridge. For I have endlessly varied,
+instructive contacts with all the world, with life, with the atmosphere
+whose radiant activity enfolds us all. The thrilling energy of the
+all-encasing air is warm and rapturous. Heat-waves and sound-waves play
+upon my face in infinite variety and combination, until I am able to
+surmise what must be the myriad sounds that my senseless ears have not
+heard.
+
+The air varies in different regions, at different seasons of the year,
+and even different hours of the day. The odorous, fresh sea-breezes are
+distinct from the fitful breezes along river banks, which are humid and
+freighted with inland smells. The bracing, light, dry air of the
+mountains can never be mistaken for the pungent salt air of the ocean.
+The air of winter is dense, hard, compressed. In the spring it has new
+vitality. It is light, mobile, and laden with a thousand palpitating
+odours from earth, grass, and sprouting leaves. The air of midsummer is
+dense, saturated, or dry and burning, as if it came from a furnace. When
+a cool breeze brushes the sultry stillness, it brings fewer odours than
+in May, and frequently the odour of a coming tempest. The avalanche of
+coolness which sweeps through the low-hanging air bears little
+resemblance to the stinging coolness of winter.
+
+The rain of winter is raw, without odour, and dismal. The rain of spring
+is brisk, fragrant, charged with life-giving warmth. I welcome it
+delightedly as it visits the earth, enriches the streams, waters the
+hills abundantly, makes the furrows soft with showers for the seed,
+elicits a perfume which I cannot breathe deep enough. Spring rain is
+beautiful, impartial, lovable. With pearly drops it washes every leaf on
+tree and bush, ministers equally to salutary herbs and noxious growths,
+searches out every living thing that needs its beneficence.
+
+The senses assist and reinforce each other to such an extent that I am
+not sure whether touch or smell tells me the most about the world.
+Everywhere the river of touch is joined by the brooks of
+odour-perception. Each season has its distinctive odours. The spring is
+earthy and full of sap. July is rich with the odour of ripening grain
+and hay. As the season advances, a crisp, dry, mature odour
+predominates, and golden-rod, tansy, and everlastings mark the onward
+march of the year. In autumn, soft, alluring scents fill the air,
+floating from thicket, grass, flower, and tree, and they tell me of time
+and change, of death and life's renewal, desire and its fulfilment.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[B] George Arnold.
+
+
+
+
+SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL
+
+
+FOR some inexplicable reason the sense of smell does not hold the high
+position it deserves among its sisters. There is something of the fallen
+angel about it. When it woos us with woodland scents and beguiles us
+with the fragrance of lovely gardens, it is admitted frankly to our
+discourse. But when it gives us warning of something noxious in our
+vicinity, it is treated as if the demon had got the upper hand of the
+angel, and is relegated to outer darkness, punished for its faithful
+service. It is most difficult to keep the true significance of words
+when one discusses the prejudices of mankind, and I find it hard to give
+an account of odour-perceptions which shall be at once dignified and
+truthful.
+
+In my experience smell is most important, and I find that there is high
+authority for the nobility of the sense which we have neglected and
+disparaged. It is recorded that the Lord commanded that incense be burnt
+before him continually with a sweet savour. I doubt if there is any
+sensation arising from sight more delightful than the odours which
+filter through sun-warmed, wind-tossed branches, or the tide of scents
+which swells, subsides, rises again wave on wave, filling the wide world
+with invisible sweetness. A whiff of the universe makes us dream of
+worlds we have never seen, recalls in a flash entire epochs of our
+dearest experience. I never smell daisies without living over again the
+ecstatic mornings that my teacher and I spent wandering in the fields,
+while I learned new words and the names of things. Smell is a potent
+wizard that transports us across a thousand miles and all the years we
+have lived. The odour of fruits wafts me to my Southern home, to my
+childish frolics in the peach orchard. Other odours, instantaneous and
+fleeting, cause my heart to dilate joyously or contract with remembered
+grief. Even as I think of smells, my nose is full of scents that start
+awake sweet memories of summers gone and ripening grain fields far away.
+
+The faintest whiff from a meadow where the new-mown hay lies in the hot
+sun displaces the here and the now. I am back again in the old red barn.
+My little friends and I are playing in the haymow. A huge mow it is,
+packed with crisp, sweet hay, from the top of which the smallest child
+can reach the straining rafters. In their stalls beneath are the farm
+animals. Here is Jerry, unresponsive, unbeautiful Jerry, crunching his
+oats like a true pessimist, resolved to find his feed not good--at least
+not so good as it ought to be. Again I touch Brownie, eager, grateful
+little Brownie, ready to leave the juiciest fodder for a pat, straining
+his beautiful, slender neck for a caress. Near by stands Lady Belle,
+with sweet, moist mouth, lazily extracting the sealed-up cordial from
+timothy and clover, and dreaming of deep June pastures and murmurous
+streams.
+
+The sense of smell has told me of a coming storm hours before there was
+any sign of it visible. I notice first a throb of expectancy, a slight
+quiver, a concentration in my nostrils. As the storm draws nearer, my
+nostrils dilate the better to receive the flood of earth-odours which
+seem to multiply and extend, until I feel the splash of rain against my
+cheek. As the tempest departs, receding farther and farther, the odours
+fade, become fainter and fainter, and die away beyond the bar of space.
+
+I know by smell the kind of house we enter. I have recognized an
+old-fashioned country house because it has several layers of odours,
+left by a succession of families, of plants, perfumes, and draperies.
+
+In the evening quiet there are fewer vibrations than in the daytime, and
+then I rely more largely upon smell. The sulphuric scent of a match
+tells me that the lamps are being lighted. Later I note the wavering
+trail of odour that flits about and disappears. It is the curfew signal;
+the lights are out for the night.
+
+Out of doors I am aware by smell and touch of the ground we tread and
+the places we pass. Sometimes, when there is no wind, the odours are so
+grouped that I know the character of the country, and can place a
+hayfield, a country store, a garden, a barn, a grove of pines, a
+farmhouse with the windows open.
+
+The other day I went to walk toward a familiar wood. Suddenly a
+disturbing odour made me pause in dismay. Then followed a peculiar,
+measured jar, followed by dull, heavy thunder. I understood the odour
+and the jar only too well. The trees were being cut down. We climbed the
+stone wall to the left. It borders the wood which I have loved so long
+that it seems to be my peculiar possession. But to-day an unfamiliar
+rush of air and an unwonted outburst of sun told me that my tree friends
+were gone. The place was empty, like a deserted dwelling. I stretched
+out my hand. Where once stood the steadfast pines, great, beautiful,
+sweet, my hand touched raw, moist stumps. All about lay broken branches,
+like the antlers of stricken deer. The fragrant, piled-up sawdust
+swirled and tumbled about me. An unreasoning resentment flashed through
+me at this ruthless destruction of the beauty that I love. But there is
+no anger, no resentment in nature. The air is equally charged with the
+odours of life and of destruction, for death equally with growth forever
+ministers to all-conquering life. The sun shines as ever, and the winds
+riot through the newly opened spaces. I know that a new forest will
+spring where the old one stood, as beautiful, as beneficent.
+
+Touch sensations are permanent and definite. Odours deviate and are
+fugitive, changing in their shades, degrees, and location. There is
+something else in odour which gives me a sense of distance. I should
+call it horizon--the line where odour and fancy meet at the farthest
+limit of scent.
+
+Smell gives me more idea than touch or taste of the manner in which
+sight and hearing probably discharge their functions. Touch seems to
+reside in the object touched, because there is a contact of surfaces. In
+smell there is no notion of relievo, and odour seems to reside not in
+the object smelt, but in the organ. Since I smell a tree at a distance,
+it is comprehensible to me that a person sees it without touching it. I
+am not puzzled over the fact that he receives it as an image on his
+retina without relievo, since my smell perceives the tree as a thin
+sphere with no fullness or content. By themselves, odours suggest
+nothing. I must learn by association to judge from them of distance, of
+place, and of the actions or the surroundings which are the usual
+occasions for them, just as I am told people judge from colour, light,
+and sound.
+
+From exhalations I learn much about people. I often know the work they
+are engaged in. The odours of wood, iron, paint, and drugs cling to the
+garments of those that work in them. Thus I can distinguish the
+carpenter from the ironworker, the artist from the mason or the chemist.
+When a person passes quickly from one place to another I get a scent
+impression of where he has been--the kitchen, the garden, or the
+sick-room. I gain pleasurable ideas of freshness and good taste from the
+odours of soap, toilet water, clean garments, woollen and silk stuffs,
+and gloves.
+
+I have not, indeed, the all-knowing scent of the hound or the wild
+animal. None but the halt and the blind need fear my skill in pursuit;
+for there are other things besides water, stale trails, confusing cross
+tracks to put me at fault. Nevertheless, human odours are as varied and
+capable of recognition as hands and faces. The dear odours of those I
+love are so definite, so unmistakable, that nothing can quite obliterate
+them. If many years should elapse before I saw an intimate friend again,
+I think I should recognize his odour instantly in the heart of Africa,
+as promptly as would my brother that barks.
+
+Once, long ago, in a crowded railway station, a lady kissed me as she
+hurried by. I had not touched even her dress. But she left a scent with
+her kiss which gave me a glimpse of her. The years are many since she
+kissed me. Yet her odour is fresh in my memory.
+
+It is difficult to put into words the thing itself, the elusive
+person-odour. There seems to be no adequate vocabulary of smells, and I
+must fall back on approximate phrase and metaphor.
+
+Some people have a vague, unsubstantial odour that floats about, mocking
+every effort to identify it. It is the will-o'-the-wisp of my olfactive
+experience. Sometimes I meet one who lacks a distinctive person-scent,
+and I seldom find such a one lively or entertaining. On the other hand,
+one who has a pungent odour often possesses great vitality, energy, and
+vigour of mind.
+
+Masculine exhalations are as a rule stronger, more vivid, more widely
+differentiated than those of women. In the odour of young men there is
+something elemental, as of fire, storm, and salt sea. It pulsates with
+buoyancy and desire. It suggests all things strong and beautiful and
+joyous, and gives me a sense of physical happiness. I wonder if others
+observe that all infants have the same scent--pure, simple,
+undecipherable as their dormant personality. It is not until the age of
+six or seven that they begin to have perceptible individual odours.
+These develop and mature along with their mental and bodily powers.
+
+What I have written about smell, especially person-smell, will perhaps
+be regarded as the abnormal sentiment of one who can have no idea of the
+"world of reality and beauty which the eye perceives." There are people
+who are colour-blind, people who are tone-deaf. Most people are
+smell-blind-and-deaf. We should not condemn a musical composition on the
+testimony of an ear which cannot distinguish one chord from another, or
+judge a picture by the verdict of a colour-blind critic. The sensations
+of smell which cheer, inform, and broaden my life are not less pleasant
+merely because some critic who treads the wide, bright pathway of the
+eye has not cultivated his olfactive sense. Without the shy, fugitive,
+often unobserved sensations and the certainties which taste, smell, and
+touch give me, I should be obliged to take my conception of the universe
+wholly from others. I should lack the alchemy by which I now infuse into
+my world light, colour, and the Protean spark. The sensuous reality
+which interthreads and supports all the gropings of my imagination would
+be shattered. The solid earth would melt from under my feet and disperse
+itself in space. The objects dear to my hands would become formless,
+dead things, and I should walk among them as among invisible ghosts.
+
+
+
+
+RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES
+
+
+I WAS once without the sense of smell and taste for several days. It
+seemed incredible, this utter detachment from odours, to breathe the air
+in and observe never a single scent. The feeling was probably similar,
+though less in degree, to that of one who first loses sight and cannot
+but expect to see the light again any day, any minute. I knew I should
+smell again some time. Still, after the wonder had passed off, a
+loneliness crept over me as vast as the air whose myriad odours I
+missed. The multitudinous subtle delights that smell makes mine became
+for a time wistful memories. When I recovered the lost sense, my heart
+bounded with gladness. It is a fine dramatic touch that Hans Andersen
+gives to the story of Kay and Gerda in the passage about flowers. Kay,
+whom the wicked magician's glass has blinded to human love, rushes away
+fiercely from home when he discovers that the roses have lost their
+sweetness.
+
+The loss of smell for a few days gave me a clearer idea than I had ever
+had what it is to be blinded suddenly, helplessly. With a little stretch
+of the imagination I knew then what it must be when the great curtain
+shuts out suddenly the light of day, the stars, and the firmament
+itself. I see the blind man's eyes strain for the light, as he fearfully
+tries to walk his old rounds, until the unchanging blank that
+everywhere spreads before him stamps the reality of the dark upon his
+consciousness.
+
+My temporary loss of smell proved to me, too, that the absence of a
+sense need not dull the mental faculties and does not distort one's view
+of the world, and so I reason that blindness and deafness need not
+pervert the inner order of the intellect. I know that if there were no
+odours for me I should still possess a considerable part of the world.
+Novelties and surprises would abound, adventures would thicken in the
+dark.
+
+In my classification of the senses, smell is a little the ear's
+inferior, and touch is a great deal the eye's superior. I find that
+great artists and philosophers agree with me in this. Diderot says:
+
+          Je trouvais que de tous les sens, l'oeil était le
+          plus superficiel; l'oreille, le plus orgueilleux;
+          l'odorat, le plus voluptueux; le goût, le plus
+          superstitieux et le plus inconstant; le toucher,
+          le plus profond et le plus philosophe.[C]
+
+A friend whom I have never seen sends me a quotation from Symonds's
+"Renaissance in Italy":
+
+          Lorenzo Ghiberti, after describing a piece of
+          antique sculpture he saw in Rome adds, "To express
+          the perfection of learning, mastery, and art
+          displayed in it is beyond the power of language.
+          Its more exquisite beauties could not be
+          discovered by the sight, but only by the touch of
+          the hand passed over it." Of another classic
+          marble at Padua he says, "This statue, when the
+          Christian faith triumphed, was hidden in that
+          place by some gentle soul, who, seeing it so
+          perfect, fashioned with art so wonderful, and with
+          such power of genius, and being moved to reverent
+          pity, caused a sepulchre of bricks to be built,
+          and there within buried the statue, and covered it
+          with a broad slab of stone, that it might not in
+          any way be injured. It has very many sweet
+          beauties which the eyes alone can comprehend not,
+          either by strong or tempered light; only the hand
+          by touching them finds them out."
+
+Hold out your hands to feel the luxury of the sunbeams. Press the soft
+blossoms against your cheek, and finger their graces of form, their
+delicate mutability of shape, their pliancy and freshness. Expose your
+face to the aerial floods that sweep the heavens, "inhale great draughts
+of space," wonder, wonder at the wind's unwearied activity. Pile note
+on note the infinite music that flows increasingly to your soul from the
+tactual sonorities of a thousand branches and tumbling waters. How can
+the world be shrivelled when this most profound, emotional sense, touch,
+is faithful to its service? I am sure that if a fairy bade me choose
+between the sense of light and that of touch, I would not part with the
+warm, endearing contact of human hands or the wealth of form, the
+nobility and fullness that press into my palms.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[C] I found that of the senses, the eye is the most superficial, the ear
+the most arrogant, smell the most voluptuous, taste the most
+superstitious and fickle, touch the most profound and the most
+philosophical.
+
+
+
+
+THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD
+
+
+THE poets have taught us how full of wonders is the night; and the night
+of blindness has its wonders, too. The only lightless dark is the night
+of ignorance and insensibility. We differ, blind and seeing, one from
+another, not in our senses, but in the use we make of them, in the
+imagination and courage with which we seek wisdom beyond our senses.
+
+It is more difficult to teach ignorance to think than to teach an
+intelligent blind man to see the grandeur of Niagara. I have walked with
+people whose eyes are full of light, but who see nothing in wood, sea,
+or sky, nothing in city streets, nothing in books. What a witless
+masquerade is this seeing! It were better far to sail forever in the
+night of blindness, with sense and feeling and mind, than to be thus
+content with the mere act of seeing. They have the sunset, the morning
+skies, the purple of distant hills, yet their souls voyage through this
+enchanted world with a barren stare.
+
+The calamity of the blind is immense, irreparable. But it does not take
+away our share of the things that count--service, friendship, humour,
+imagination, wisdom. It is the secret inner will that controls one's
+fate. We are capable of willing to be good, of loving and being loved,
+of thinking to the end that we may be wiser. We possess these
+spirit-born forces equally with all God's children. Therefore we, too,
+see the lightnings and hear the thunders of Sinai. We, too, march
+through the wilderness and the solitary place that shall be glad for us,
+and as we pass, God maketh the desert to blossom like the rose. We, too,
+go in unto the Promised Land to possess the treasures of the spirit, the
+unseen permanence of life and nature.
+
+The blind man of spirit faces the unknown and grapples with it, and what
+else does the world of seeing men do? He has imagination, sympathy,
+humanity, and these ineradicable existences compel him to share by a
+sort of proxy in a sense he has not. When he meets terms of colour,
+light, physiognomy, he guesses, divines, puzzles out their meaning by
+analogies drawn from the senses he has. I naturally tend to think,
+reason, draw inferences as if I had five senses instead of three. This
+tendency is beyond my control; it is involuntary, habitual, instinctive.
+I cannot compel my mind to say "I feel" instead of "I see" or "I hear."
+The word "feel" proves on examination to be no less a convention than
+"see" and "hear" when I seek for words accurately to describe the
+outward things that affect my three bodily senses. When a man loses a
+leg, his brain persists in impelling him to use what he has not and yet
+feels to be there. Can it be that the brain is so constituted that it
+will continue the activity which animates the sight and the hearing,
+after the eye and the ear have been destroyed?
+
+It might seem that the five senses would work intelligently together
+only when resident in the same body. Yet when two or three are left
+unaided, they reach out for their complements in another body, and find
+that they yoke easily with the borrowed team. When my hand aches from
+overtouching, I find relief in the sight of another. When my mind lags,
+wearied with the strain of forcing out thoughts about dark, musicless,
+colourless, detached substance, it recovers its elasticity as soon as I
+resort to the powers of another mind which commands light, harmony,
+colour. Now, if the five senses will not remain disassociated, the life
+of the deaf-blind cannot be severed from the life of the seeing, hearing
+race.
+
+The deaf-blind person may be plunged and replunged like Schiller's
+diver into seas of the unknown. But, unlike the doomed hero, he returns
+triumphant, grasping the priceless truth that his mind is not crippled,
+not limited to the infirmity of his senses. The world of the eye and the
+ear becomes to him a subject of fateful interest. He seizes every word
+of sight and hearing because his sensations compel it. Light and colour,
+of which he has no tactual evidence, he studies fearlessly, believing
+that all humanly knowable truth is open to him. He is in a position
+similar to that of the astronomer who, firm, patient, watches a star
+night after night for many years and feels rewarded if he discovers a
+single fact about it. The man deaf-blind to ordinary outward things, and
+the man deaf-blind to the immeasurable universe, are both limited by
+time and space; but they have made a compact to wring service from their
+limitations.
+
+The bulk of the world's knowledge is an imaginary construction. History
+is but a mode of imagining, of making us see civilizations that no
+longer appear upon the earth. Some of the most significant discoveries
+in modern science owe their origin to the imagination of men who had
+neither accurate knowledge nor exact instruments to demonstrate their
+beliefs. If astronomy had not kept always in advance of the telescope,
+no one would ever have thought a telescope worth making. What great
+invention has not existed in the inventor's mind long before he gave it
+tangible shape?
+
+A more splendid example of imaginative knowledge is the unity with which
+philosophers start their study of the world. They can never perceive the
+world in its entire reality. Yet their imagination, with its magnificent
+allowance for error, its power of treating uncertainty as negligible,
+has pointed the way for empirical knowledge.
+
+In their highest creative moments the great poet, the great musician
+cease to use the crude instruments of sight and hearing. They break away
+from their sense-moorings, rise on strong, compelling wings of spirit
+far above our misty hills and darkened valleys into the region of light,
+music, intellect.
+
+What eye hath seen the glories of the New Jerusalem? What ear hath heard
+the music of the spheres, the steps of time, the strokes of chance, the
+blows of death? Men have not heard with their physical sense the tumult
+of sweet voices above the hills of Judea nor seen the heavenly vision;
+but millions have listened to that spiritual message through many ages.
+
+Our blindness changes not a whit the course of inner realities. Of us it
+is as true as it is of the seeing that the most beautiful world is
+always entered through the imagination. If you wish to be something that
+you are not,--something fine, noble, good,--you shut your eyes, and for
+one dreamy moment you are that which you long to be.
+
+
+
+
+INWARD VISIONS
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+INWARD VISIONS
+
+
+ACCORDING to all art, all nature, all coherent human thought, we know
+that order, proportion, form, are essential elements of beauty. Now
+order, proportion, and form, are palpable to the touch. But beauty and
+rhythm are deeper than sense. They are like love and faith. They spring
+out of a spiritual process only slightly dependent upon sensations.
+Order, proportion, form, cannot generate in the mind the abstract idea
+of beauty, unless there is already a soul intelligence to breathe life
+into the elements. Many persons, having perfect eyes, are blind in
+their perceptions. Many persons, having perfect ears, are emotionally
+deaf. Yet these are the very ones who dare to set limits to the vision
+of those who, lacking a sense or two, have will, soul, passion,
+imagination. Faith is a mockery if it teaches us not that we may
+construct a world unspeakably more complete and beautiful than the
+material world. And I, too, may construct my better world, for I am a
+child of God, an inheritor of a fragment of the Mind that created all
+worlds.
+
+There is a consonance of all things, a blending of all that we know
+about the material world and the spiritual. It consists for me of all
+the impressions, vibrations, heat, cold, taste, smell, and the
+sensations which these convey to the mind, infinitely combined,
+interwoven with associated ideas and acquired knowledge. No thoughtful
+person will believe that what I said about the meaning of footsteps is
+strictly true of mere jolts and jars. It is an array of the spiritual in
+certain natural elements, tactual beats, and an acquired knowledge of
+physical habits and moral traits of highly organized human beings. What
+would odours signify if they were not associated with the time of the
+year, the place I live in, and the people I know?
+
+The result of such a blending is sometimes a discordant trying of
+strings far removed from a melody, very far from a symphony. (For the
+benefit of those who must be reassured, I will say that I have felt a
+musician tuning his violin, that I have read about a symphony, and so
+have a fair intellectual perception of my metaphor.) But with training
+and experience the faculties gather up the stray notes and combine them
+into a full, harmonious whole. If the person who accomplishes this task
+is peculiarly gifted, we call him a poet. The blind and the deaf are not
+great poets, it is true. Yet now and again you find one deaf and blind
+who has attained to his royal kingdom of beauty.
+
+I have a little volume of poems by a deaf-blind lady, Madame Bertha
+Galeron. Her poetry has versatility of thought. Now it is tender and
+sweet, now full of tragic passion and the sternness of destiny. Victor
+Hugo called her "La Grande Voyante." She has written several plays, two
+of which have been acted in Paris. The French Academy has crowned her
+work.
+
+The infinite wonders of the universe are revealed to us in exact measure
+as we are capable of receiving them. The keenness of our vision depends
+not on how much we can see, but on how much we feel. Nor yet does mere
+knowledge create beauty. Nature sings her most exquisite songs to those
+who love her. She does not unfold her secrets to those who come only to
+gratify their desire of analysis, to gather facts, but to those who see
+in her manifold phenomena suggestions of lofty, delicate sentiments.
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio
+
+The Little Boy Next Door
+
+To face page 120]
+
+Am I to be denied the use of such adjectives as "freshness" and
+"sparkle," "dark" and "gloomy"? I have walked in the fields at early
+morning. I have felt a rose-bush laden with dew and fragrance. I have
+felt the curves and graces of my kitten at play. I have known the
+sweet, shy ways of little children. I have known the sad opposites of
+all these, a ghastly touch picture. Remember, I have sometimes travelled
+over a dusty road as far as my feet could go. At a sudden turn I have
+stepped upon starved, ignoble weeds, and reaching out my hands, I have
+touched a fair tree out of which a parasite had taken the life like a
+vampire. I have touched a pretty bird whose soft wings hung limp, whose
+little heart beat no more. I have wept over the feebleness and deformity
+of a child, lame, or born blind, or, worse still, mindless. If I had the
+genius of Thomson, I, too, could depict a "City of Dreadful Night" from
+mere touch sensations. From contrasts so irreconcilable can we fail to
+form an idea of beauty and know surely when we meet with loveliness?
+
+Here is a sonnet eloquent of a blind man's power of vision:
+
+
+              THE MOUNTAIN TO THE PINE
+
+          Thou tall, majestic monarch of the wood,
+            That standest where no wild vines dare to creep,
+          Men call thee old, and say that thou hast stood
+            A century upon my rugged steep;
+          Yet unto me thy life is but a day,
+            When I recall the things that I have seen,--
+          The forest monarchs that have passed away
+            Upon the spot where first I saw thy green;
+          For I am older than the age of man,
+            Or all the living things that crawl or creep,
+            Or birds of air, or creatures of the deep;
+          I was the first dim outline of God's plan:
+            Only the waters of the restless sea
+            And the infinite stars in heaven are old to me.
+
+I am glad my friend Mr. Stedman knew that poem while he was making his
+Anthology, for knowing it, so fine a poet and critic could not fail to
+give it a place in his treasure-house of American poetry. The poet, Mr.
+Clarence Hawkes, has been blind since childhood; yet he finds in nature
+hints of combinations for his mental pictures. Out of the knowledge and
+impressions that come to him he constructs a masterpiece which hangs
+upon the walls of his thought. And into the poet's house come all the
+true spirits of the world.
+
+It was a rare poet who thought of the mountain as "the first dim outline
+of God's plan." That is the real wonder of the poem, and not that a
+blind man should speak so confidently of sky and sea. Our ideas of the
+sky are an accumulation of touch-glimpses, literary allusions, and the
+observations of others, with an emotional blending of all. My face feels
+only a tiny portion of the atmosphere; but I go through continuous space
+and feel the air at every point, every instant. I have been told about
+the distances from our earth to the sun, to the other planets, and to
+the fixed stars. I multiply a thousand times the utmost height and width
+that my touch compasses, and thus I gain a deep sense of the sky's
+immensity.
+
+Move me along constantly over water, water, nothing but water, and you
+give me the solitude, the vastness of ocean which fills the eye. I have
+been in a little sail-boat on the sea, when the rising tide swept it
+toward the shore. May I not understand the poet's figure: "The green of
+spring overflows the earth like a tide"? I have felt the flame of a
+candle blow and flutter in the breeze. May I not, then, say: "Myriads of
+fireflies flit hither and thither in the dew-wet grass like little
+fluttering tapers"?
+
+Combine the endless space of air, the sun's warmth, the clouds that are
+described to my understanding spirit, the frequent breaking through the
+soil of a brook or the expanse of the wind-ruffled lake, the tactual
+undulation of the hills, which I recall when I am far away from them,
+the towering trees upon trees as I walk by them, the bearings that I try
+to keep while others tell me the directions of the various points of the
+scenery, and you will begin to feel surer of my mental landscape. The
+utmost bound to which my thought will go with clearness is the horizon
+of my mind. From this horizon I imagine the one which the eye marks.
+
+Touch cannot bridge distance,--it is fit only for the contact of
+surfaces,--but thought leaps the chasm. For this reason I am able to use
+words descriptive of objects distant from my senses. I have felt the
+rondure of the infant's tender form. I can apply this perception to the
+landscape and to the far-off hills.
+
+
+
+
+ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION
+
+
+I HAVE not touched the outline of a star nor the glory of the moon, but
+I believe that God has set two lights in mind, the greater to rule by
+day and the lesser by night, and by them I know that I am able to
+navigate my life-bark, as certain of reaching the haven as he who steers
+by the North Star. Perhaps my sun shines not as yours. The colours that
+glorify my world, the blue of the sky, the green of the fields, may not
+correspond exactly with those you delight in; but they are none the less
+colour to me. The sun does not shine for my physical eyes, nor does the
+lightning flash, nor do the trees turn green in the spring; but they
+have not therefore ceased to exist, any more than the landscape is
+annihilated when you turn your back on it.
+
+I understand how scarlet can differ from crimson because I know that the
+smell of an orange is not the smell of a grape-fruit. I can also
+conceive that colours have shades, and guess what shades are. In smell
+and taste there are varieties not broad enough to be fundamental; so I
+call them shades. There are half a dozen roses near me. They all have
+the unmistakable rose scent; yet my nose tells me that they are not the
+same. The American Beauty is distinct from the Jacqueminot and La
+France. Odours in certain grasses fade as really to my sense as certain
+colours do to yours in the sun. The freshness of a flower in my hand is
+analogous to the freshness I taste in an apple newly picked. I make use
+of analogies like these to enlarge my conceptions of colours. Some
+analogies which I draw between qualities in surface and vibration, taste
+and smell, are drawn by others between sight, hearing, and touch. This
+fact encourages me to persevere, to try and bridge the gap between the
+eye and the hand.
+
+Certainly I get far enough to sympathize with the delight that my kind
+feel in beauty they see and harmony they hear. This bond between
+humanity and me is worth keeping, even if the idea on which I base it
+prove erroneous.
+
+Sweet, beautiful vibrations exist for my touch, even though they travel
+through other substances than air to reach me. So I imagine sweet,
+delightful sounds, and the artistic arrangement of them which is called
+music, and I remember that they travel through the air to the ear,
+conveying impressions somewhat like mine. I also know what tones are,
+since they are perceptible tactually in a voice. Now, heat varies
+greatly in the sun, in the fire, in hands, and in the fur of animals;
+indeed, there is such a thing for me as a cold sun. So I think of the
+varieties of light that touch the eye, cold and warm, vivid and dim,
+soft and glaring, but always light, and I imagine their passage through
+the air to an extensive sense, instead of to a narrow one like touch.
+From the experience I have had with voices I guess how the eye
+distinguishes shades in the midst of light. While I read the lips of a
+woman whose voice is soprano, I note a low tone or a glad tone in the
+midst of a high, flowing voice. When I feel my cheeks hot, I know that I
+am red. I have talked so much and read so much about colours that
+through no will of my own I attach meanings to them, just as all people
+attach certain meanings to abstract terms like hope, idealism,
+monotheism, intellect, which cannot be represented truly by visible
+objects, but which are understood from analogies between immaterial
+concepts and the ideas they awaken of external things. The force of
+association drives me to say that white is exalted and pure, green is
+exuberant, red suggests love or shame or strength. Without the colour or
+its equivalent, life to me would be dark, barren, a vast blackness.
+
+Thus through an inner law of completeness my thoughts are not permitted
+to remain colourless. It strains my mind to separate colour and sound
+from objects. Since my education began I have always had things
+described to me with their colours and sounds by one with keen senses
+and a fine feeling for the significant. Therefore I habitually think of
+things as coloured and resonant. Habit accounts for part. The soul sense
+accounts for another part. The brain with its five-sensed construction
+asserts its right and accounts for the rest. Inclusive of all, the unity
+of the world demands that colour be kept in it, whether I have
+cognizance of it or not. Rather than be shut out, I take part in it by
+discussing it, imagining it, happy in the happiness of those near me
+who gaze at the lovely hues of the sunset or the rainbow.
+
+My hand has its share in this multiple knowledge, but it must never be
+forgotten that with the fingers I see only a very small portion of a
+surface, and that I must pass my hand continually over it before my
+touch grasps the whole. It is still more important, however, to remember
+that my imagination is not tethered to certain points, locations, and
+distances. It puts all the parts together simultaneously as if it saw or
+knew instead of feeling them. Though I feel only a small part of my
+horse at a time,--my horse is nervous and does not submit to manual
+explorations,--yet, because I have many times felt hock, nose, hoof and
+mane, I can see the steeds of Phoebus Apollo coursing the heavens.
+
+With such a power active it is impossible that my thought should be
+vague, indistinct. It must needs be potent, definite. This is really a
+corollary of the philosophical truth that the real world exists only for
+the mind. That is to say, I can never touch the world in its entirety;
+indeed, I touch less of it than the portion that others see or hear. But
+all creatures, all objects, pass into my brain entire, and occupy the
+same extent there that they do in material space. I declare that for me
+branched thoughts, instead of pines, wave, sway, rustle, make musical
+the ridges of mountains rising summit upon summit. Mention a rose too
+far away for me to smell it. Straightway a scent steals into my
+nostril, a form presses against my palm in all its dilating softness,
+with rounded petals, slightly curled edges, curving stem, leaves
+drooping. When I would fain view the world as a whole, it rushes into
+vision--man, beast, bird, reptile, fly, sky, ocean, mountains, plain,
+rock, pebble. The warmth of life, the reality of creation is over
+all--the throb of human hands, glossiness of fur, lithe windings of long
+bodies, poignant buzzing of insects, the ruggedness of the steeps as I
+climb them, the liquid mobility and boom of waves upon the rocks.
+Strange to say, try as I may, I cannot force my touch to pervade this
+universe in all directions. The moment I try, the whole vanishes; only
+small objects or narrow portions of a surface, mere touch-signs, a chaos
+of things scattered at random, remain. No thrill, no delight is excited
+thereby. Restore to the artistic, comprehensive internal sense its
+rightful domain, and you give me joy which best proves the reality.
+
+
+
+
+BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN
+
+
+BEFORE my teacher came to me, I did not know that I am. I lived in a
+world that was a no-world. I cannot hope to describe adequately that
+unconscious, yet conscious time of nothingness. I did not know that I
+knew aught, or that I lived or acted or desired. I had neither will nor
+intellect. I was carried along to objects and acts by a certain blind
+natural impetus. I had a mind which caused me to feel anger,
+satisfaction, desire. These two facts led those about me to suppose
+that I willed and thought. I can remember all this, not because I knew
+that it was so, but because I have tactual memory. It enables me to
+remember that I never contracted my forehead in the act of thinking. I
+never viewed anything beforehand or chose it. I also recall tactually
+the fact that never in a start of the body or a heart-beat did I feel
+that I loved or cared for anything. My inner life, then, was a blank
+without past, present, or future, without hope or anticipation, without
+wonder or joy or faith.
+
+          It was not night--it was not day.
+
+                 .       .       .       .       .
+
+          But vacancy absorbing space,
+          And fixedness, without a place;
+          There were no stars--no earth--no time--
+          No check--no change--no good--no crime.
+
+My dormant being had no idea of God or immortality, no fear of death.
+
+I remember, also through touch, that I had a power of association. I
+felt tactual jars like the stamp of a foot, the opening of a window or
+its closing, the slam of a door. After repeatedly smelling rain and
+feeling the discomfort of wetness, I acted like those about me: I ran to
+shut the window. But that was not thought in any sense. It was the same
+kind of association that makes animals take shelter from the rain. From
+the same instinct of aping others, I folded the clothes that came from
+the laundry, and put mine away, fed the turkeys, sewed bead-eyes on my
+doll's face, and did many other things of which I have the tactual
+remembrance. When I wanted anything I liked,--ice-cream, for instance,
+of which I was very fond,--I had a delicious taste on my tongue (which,
+by the way, I never have now), and in my hand I felt the turning of the
+freezer. I made the sign, and my mother knew I wanted ice-cream. I
+"thought" and desired in my fingers. If I had made a man, I should
+certainly have put the brain and soul in his finger-tips. From
+reminiscences like these I conclude that it is the opening of the two
+faculties, freedom of will, or choice, and rationality, or the power of
+thinking from one thing to another, which makes it possible to come into
+being first as a child, afterwards as a man.
+
+Since I had no power of thought, I did not compare one mental state with
+another. So I was not conscious of any change or process going on in my
+brain when my teacher began to instruct me. I merely felt keen delight
+in obtaining more easily what I wanted by means of the finger motions
+she taught me. I thought only of objects, and only objects I wanted. It
+was the turning of the freezer on a larger scale. When I learned the
+meaning of "I" and "me" and found that I was something, I began to
+think. Then consciousness first existed for me. Thus it was not the
+sense of touch that brought me knowledge. It was the awakening of my
+soul that first rendered my senses their value, their cognizance of
+objects, names, qualities, and properties. Thought made me conscious of
+love, joy, and all the emotions. I was eager to know, then to
+understand, afterward to reflect on what I knew and understood, and the
+blind impetus, which had before driven me hither and thither at the
+dictates of my sensations, vanished forever.
+
+I cannot represent more clearly than any one else the gradual and subtle
+changes from first impressions to abstract ideas. But I know that my
+physical ideas, that is, ideas derived from material objects, appear to
+me first an idea similar to those of touch. Instantly they pass into
+intellectual meanings. Afterward the meaning finds expression in what is
+called "inner speech." When I was a child, my inner speech was inner
+spelling. Although I am even now frequently caught spelling to myself on
+my fingers, yet I talk to myself, too, with my lips, and it is true that
+when I first learned to speak, my mind discarded the finger-symbols and
+began to articulate. However, when I try to recall what some one has
+said to me, I am conscious of a hand spelling into mine.
+
+It has often been asked what were my earliest impressions of the world
+in which I found myself. But one who thinks at all of his first
+impressions knows what a riddle this is. Our impressions grow and change
+unnoticed, so that what we suppose we thought as children may be quite
+different from what we actually experienced in our childhood. I only
+know that after my education began the world which came within my reach
+was all alive. I spelled to my blocks and my dogs. I sympathized with
+plants when the flowers were picked, because I thought it hurt them,
+and that they grieved for their lost blossoms. It was two years before I
+could be made to believe that my dogs did not understand what I said,
+and I always apologized to them when I ran into or stepped on them.
+
+As my experiences broadened and deepened, the indeterminate, poetic
+feelings of childhood began to fix themselves in definite thoughts.
+Nature--the world I could touch--was folded and filled with myself. I am
+inclined to believe those philosophers who declare that we know nothing
+but our own feelings and ideas. With a little ingenious reasoning one
+may see in the material world simply a mirror, an image of permanent
+mental sensations. In either sphere self-knowledge is the condition and
+the limit of our consciousness. That is why, perhaps, many people know
+so little about what is beyond their short range of experience. They
+look within themselves--and find nothing! Therefore they conclude that
+there is nothing outside themselves, either.
+
+However that may be, I came later to look for an image of my emotions
+and sensations in others. I had to learn the outward signs of inward
+feelings. The start of fear, the suppressed, controlled tensity of pain,
+the beat of happy muscles in others, had to be perceived and compared
+with my own experiences before I could trace them back to the intangible
+soul of another. Groping, uncertain, I at last found my identity, and
+after seeing my thoughts and feelings repeated in others, I gradually
+constructed my world of men and of God. As I read and study, I find
+that this is what the rest of the race has done. Man looks within
+himself and in time finds the measure and the meaning of the universe.
+
+
+
+
+THE LARGER SANCTIONS
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+THE LARGER SANCTIONS
+
+
+SO, in the midst of life, eager, imperious life, the deaf-blind child,
+fettered to the bare rock of circumstance, spider-like, sends out
+gossamer threads of thought into the measureless void that surrounds
+him. Patiently he explores the dark, until he builds up a knowledge of
+the world he lives in, and his soul meets the beauty of the world, where
+the sun shines always, and the birds sing. To the blind child the dark
+is kindly. In it he finds nothing extraordinary or terrible. It is his
+familiar world; even the groping from place to place, the halting
+steps, the dependence upon others, do not seem strange to him. He does
+not know how many countless pleasures the dark shuts out from him. Not
+until he weighs his life in the scale of others' experience does he
+realize what it is to live forever in the dark. But the knowledge that
+teaches him this bitterness also brings its consolation--spiritual
+light, the promise of the day that shall be.
+
+The blind child--the deaf-blind child--has inherited the mind of seeing
+and hearing ancestors--a mind measured to five senses. Therefore he must
+be influenced, even if it be unknown to himself, by the light, colour,
+song which have been transmitted through the language he is taught, for
+the chambers of the mind are ready to receive that language. The brain
+of the race is so permeated with colour that it dyes even the speech of
+the blind. Every object I think of is stained with the hue that belongs
+to it by association and memory. The experience of the deaf-blind
+person, in a world of seeing, hearing people, is like that of a sailor
+on an island where the inhabitants speak a language unknown to him,
+whose life is unlike that he has lived. He is one, they are many; there
+is no chance of compromise. He must learn to see with their eyes, to
+hear with their ears, to think their thoughts, to follow their ideals.
+
+If the dark, silent world which surrounds him were essentially different
+from the sunlit, resonant world, it would be incomprehensible to his
+kind, and could never be discussed. If his feelings and sensations were
+fundamentally different from those of others, they would be
+inconceivable except to those who had similar sensations and feelings.
+If the mental consciousness of the deaf-blind person were absolutely
+dissimilar to that of his fellows, he would have no means of imagining
+what they think. Since the mind of the sightless is essentially the same
+as that of the seeing in that it admits of no lack, it must supply some
+sort of equivalent for missing physical sensations. It must perceive a
+likeness between things outward and things inward, a correspondence
+between the seen and the unseen. I make use of such a correspondence in
+many relations, and no matter how far I pursue it to things I cannot
+see, it does not break under the test.
+
+As a working hypothesis, correspondence is adequate to all life, through
+the whole range of phenomena. The flash of thought and its swiftness
+explain the lightning flash and the sweep of a comet through the
+heavens. My mental sky opens to me the vast celestial spaces, and I
+proceed to fill them with the images of my spiritual stars. I recognize
+truth by the clearness and guidance that it gives my thought, and,
+knowing what that clearness is, I can imagine what light is to the eye.
+It is not a convention of language, but a forcible feeling of the
+reality, that at times makes me start when I say, "Oh, I see my
+mistake!" or "How dark, cheerless is his life!" I know these are
+metaphors. Still, I must prove with them, since there is nothing in our
+language to replace them. Deaf-blind metaphors to correspond do not
+exist and are not necessary. Because I can understand the word "reflect"
+figuratively, a mirror has never perplexed me. The manner in which my
+imagination perceives absent things enables me to see how glasses can
+magnify things, bring them nearer, or remove them farther.
+
+Deny me this correspondence, this internal sense, confine me to the
+fragmentary, incoherent touch-world, and lo, I become as a bat which
+wanders about on the wing. Suppose I omitted all words of seeing,
+hearing, colour, light, landscape, the thousand phenomena, instruments
+and beauties connected with them. I should suffer a great diminution of
+the wonder and delight in attaining knowledge; also--more dreadful
+loss--my emotions would be blunted, so that I could not be touched by
+things unseen.
+
+Has anything arisen to disprove the adequacy of correspondence? Has any
+chamber of the blind man's brain been opened and found empty? Has any
+psychologist explored the mind of the sightless and been able to say,
+"There is no sensation here"?
+
+I tread the solid earth; I breathe the scented air. Out of these two
+experiences I form numberless associations and correspondences. I
+observe, I feel, I think, I imagine. I associate the countless varied
+impressions, experiences, concepts. Out of these materials Fancy, the
+cunning artisan of the brain, welds an image which the sceptic would
+deny me, because I cannot see with my physical eyes the changeful,
+lovely face of my thought-child. He would break the mind's mirror. This
+spirit-vandal would humble my soul and force me to bite the dust of
+material things. While I champ the bit of circumstance, he scourges and
+goads me with the spur of fact. If I heeded him, the sweet-visaged earth
+would vanish into nothing, and I should hold in my hand nought but an
+aimless, soulless lump of dead matter. But although the body physical is
+rooted alive to the Promethean rock, the spirit-proud huntress of the
+air will still pursue the shining, open highways of the universe.
+
+Blindness has no limiting effect upon mental vision. My intellectual
+horizon is infinitely wide. The universe it encircles is immeasurable.
+Would they who bid me keep within the narrow bound of my meagre senses
+demand of Herschel that he roof his stellar universe and give us back
+Plato's solid firmament of glassy spheres? Would they command Darwin
+from the grave and bid him blot out his geological time, give us back a
+paltry few thousand years? Oh, the supercilious doubters! They ever
+strive to clip the upward daring wings of the spirit.
+
+A person deprived of one or more senses is not, as many seem to think,
+turned out into a trackless wilderness without landmark or guide. The
+blind man carries with him into his dark environment all the faculties
+essential to the apprehension of the visible world whose door is closed
+behind him. He finds his surroundings everywhere homogeneous with those
+of the sunlit world; for there is an inexhaustible ocean of likenesses
+between the world within, and the world without, and these likenesses,
+these correspondences, he finds equal to every exigency his life offers.
+
+The necessity of some such thing as correspondence or symbolism appears
+more and more urgent as we consider the duties that religion and
+philosophy enjoin upon us.
+
+The blind are expected to read the Bible as a means of attaining
+spiritual happiness. Now, the Bible is filled throughout with references
+to clouds, stars, colours, and beauty, and often the mention of these is
+essential to the meaning of the parable or the message in which they
+occur. Here one must needs see the inconsistency of people who believe
+in the Bible, and yet deny us a right to talk about what we do not see,
+and for that matter what _they_ do not see, either. Who shall forbid my
+heart to sing: "Yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind. He made
+darkness his secret place; his pavilion round about him were dark waters
+and thick clouds of the skies"?
+
+Philosophy constantly points out the untrustworthiness of the five
+senses and the important work of reason which corrects the errors of
+sight and reveals its illusions. If we cannot depend on five senses, how
+much less may we rely on three! What ground have we for discarding
+light, sound, and colour as an integral part of our world? How are we to
+know that they have ceased to exist for us? We must take their reality
+for granted, even as the philosopher assumes the reality of the world
+without being able to see it physically as a whole.
+
+Ancient philosophy offers an argument which seems still valid. There is
+in the blind as in the seeing an Absolute which gives truth to what we
+know to be true, order to what is orderly, beauty to the beautiful,
+touchableness to what is tangible. If this is granted, it follows that
+this Absolute is not imperfect, incomplete, partial. It must needs go
+beyond the limited evidence of our sensations, and also give light to
+what is invisible, music to the musical that silence dulls. Thus mind
+itself compels us to acknowledge that we are in a world of intellectual
+order, beauty, and harmony. The essences, or absolutes of these ideas,
+necessarily dispel their opposites which belong with evil, disorder and
+discord. Thus deafness and blindness do not exist in the immaterial
+mind, which is philosophically the real world, but are banished with the
+perishable material senses. Reality, of which visible things are the
+symbol, shines before my mind. While I walk about my chamber with
+unsteady steps, my spirit sweeps skyward on eagle wings and looks out
+with unquenchable vision upon the world of eternal beauty.
+
+
+
+
+THE DREAM WORLD
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+THE DREAM WORLD
+
+
+EVERYBODY takes his own dreams seriously, but yawns at the
+breakfast-table when somebody else begins to tell the adventures of the
+night before. I hesitate, therefore, to enter upon an account of my
+dreams; for it is a literary sin to bore the reader, and a scientific
+sin to report the facts of a far country with more regard to point and
+brevity than to complete and literal truth. The psychologists have
+trained a pack of theories and facts which they keep in leash, like so
+many bulldogs, and which they let loose upon us whenever we depart from
+the straight and narrow path of dream probability. One may not even tell
+an entertaining dream without being suspected of having liberally edited
+it,--as if editing were one of the seven deadly sins, instead of a
+useful and honourable occupation! Be it understood, then, that I am
+discoursing at my own breakfast-table, and that no scientific man is
+present to trip the autocrat.
+
+I used to wonder why scientific men and others were always asking me
+about my dreams. But I am not surprised now, since I have discovered
+what some of them believe to be the ordinary waking experience of one
+who is both deaf and blind. They think that I can know very little about
+objects even a few feet beyond the reach of my arms. Everything outside
+of myself, according to them, is a hazy blur. Trees, mountains, cities,
+the ocean, even the house I live in are but fairy fabrications, misty
+unrealities. Therefore it is assumed that my dreams should have peculiar
+interest for the man of science. In some undefined way it is expected
+that they should reveal the world I dwell in to be flat, formless,
+colourless, without perspective, with little thickness and less
+solidity--a vast solitude of soundless space. But who shall put into
+words limitless, visionless, silent void? One should be a disembodied
+spirit indeed to make anything out of such insubstantial experiences. A
+world, or a dream for that matter, to be comprehensible to us, must, I
+should think, have a warp of substance woven into the woof of fantasy.
+We cannot imagine even in dreams an object which has no counterpart in
+reality. Ghosts always resemble somebody, and if they do not appear
+themselves, their presence is indicated by circumstances with which we
+are perfectly familiar.
+
+During sleep we enter a strange, mysterious realm which science has thus
+far not explored. Beyond the border-line of slumber the investigator may
+not pass with his common-sense rule and test. Sleep with softest touch
+locks all the gates of our physical senses and lulls to rest the
+conscious will--the disciplinarian of our waking thoughts. Then the
+spirit wrenches itself free from the sinewy arms of reason and like a
+winged courser spurns the firm green earth and speeds away upon wind
+and cloud, leaving neither trace nor footprint by which science may
+track its flight and bring us knowledge of the distant, shadowy country
+that we nightly visit. When we come back from the dream-realm, we can
+give no reasonable report of what we met there. But once across the
+border, we feel at home as if we had always lived there and had never
+made any excursions into this rational daylight world.
+
+My dreams do not seem to differ very much from the dreams of other
+people. Some of them are coherent and safely hitched to an event or a
+conclusion. Others are inconsequent and fantastic. All attest that in
+Dreamland there is no such thing as repose. We are always up and doing
+with a mind for any adventure. We act, strive, think, suffer and are
+glad to no purpose. We leave outside the portals of Sleep all
+troublesome incredulities and vexatious speculations as to probability.
+I float wraith-like upon clouds in and out among the winds, without the
+faintest notion that I am doing anything unusual. In Dreamland I find
+little that is altogether strange or wholly new to my experience. No
+matter what happens, I am not astonished, however extraordinary the
+circumstances may be. I visit a foreign land where I have not been in
+reality, and I converse with peoples whose language I have never heard.
+Yet we manage to understand each other perfectly. Into whatsoever
+situation or society my wanderings bring me, there is the same
+homogeneity. If I happen into Vagabondia, I make merry with the jolly
+folk of the road or the tavern.
+
+I do not remember ever to have met persons with whom I could not at once
+communicate, or to have been shocked or surprised at the doings of my
+dream-companions. In its strange wanderings in those dusky groves of
+Slumberland my soul takes everything for granted and adapts itself to
+the wildest phantoms. I am seldom confused. Everything is as clear as
+day. I know events the instant they take place, and wherever I turn my
+steps, Mind is my faithful guide and interpreter.
+
+I suppose every one has had in a dream the exasperating, profitless
+experience of seeking something urgently desired at the moment, and the
+aching, weary sensation that follows each failure to track the thing to
+its hiding-place. Sometimes with a singing dizziness in my head I climb
+and climb, I know not where or why. Yet I cannot quit the torturing,
+passionate endeavour, though again and again I reach out blindly for an
+object to hold to. Of course according to the perversity of dreams there
+is no object near. I clutch empty air, and then I fall downward, and
+still downward, and in the midst of the fall I dissolve into the
+atmosphere upon which I have been floating so precariously.
+
+Some of my dreams seem to be traced one within another like a series of
+concentric circles. In sleep I think I cannot sleep. I toss about in the
+toils of tasks unfinished. I decide to get up and read for a while. I
+know the shelf in my library where I keep the book I want. The book has
+no name, but I find it without difficulty. I settle myself comfortably
+in the morris-chair, the great book open on my knee. Not a word can I
+make out, the pages are utterly blank. I am not surprised, but keenly
+disappointed. I finger the pages, I bend over them lovingly, the tears
+fall on my hands. I shut the book quickly as the thought passes through
+my mind, "The print will be all rubbed out if I get it wet." Yet there
+is no print tangible on the page!
+
+This morning I thought that I awoke. I was certain that I had overslept.
+I seized my watch, and sure enough, it pointed to an hour after my
+rising time. I sprang up in the greatest hurry, knowing that breakfast
+was ready. I called my mother, who declared that my watch must be
+wrong. She was positive it could not be so late. I looked at my watch
+again, and lo! the hands wiggled, whirled, buzzed and disappeared. I
+awoke more fully as my dismay grew, until I was at the antipodes of
+sleep. Finally my eyes opened actually, and I knew that I had been
+dreaming. I had only waked into sleep. What is still more bewildering,
+there is no difference between the consciousness of the sham waking and
+that of the real one.
+
+It is fearful to think that all that we have ever seen, felt, read, and
+done may suddenly rise to our dream-vision, as the sea casts up objects
+it has swallowed. I have held a little child in my arms in the midst of
+a riot and spoken vehemently, imploring the Russian soldiers not to
+massacre the Jews. I have re-lived the agonizing scenes of the Sepoy
+Rebellion and the French Revolution. Cities have burned before my eyes,
+and I have fought the flames until I fell exhausted. Holocausts overtake
+the world, and I struggle in vain to save my friends.
+
+Once in a dream a message came speeding over land and sea that winter
+was descending upon the world from the North Pole, that the Arctic zone
+was shifting to our mild climate. Far and wide the message flew. The
+ocean was congealed in midsummer. Ships were held fast in the ice by
+thousands, the ships with large, white sails were held fast. Riches of
+the Orient and the plenteous harvests of the Golden West might no more
+pass between nation and nation. For some time the trees and flowers
+grew on, despite the intense cold. Birds flew into the houses for
+safety, and those which winter had overtaken lay on the snow with wings
+spread in vain flight. At last the foliage and blossoms fell at the feet
+of Winter. The petals of the flowers were turned to rubies and
+sapphires. The leaves froze into emeralds. The trees moaned and tossed
+their branches as the frost pierced them through bark and sap, pierced
+into their very roots. I shivered myself awake, and with a tumult of joy
+I breathed the many sweet morning odours wakened by the summer sun.
+
+One need not visit an African jungle or an Indian forest to hunt the
+tiger. One can lie in bed amid downy pillows and dream tigers as
+terrible as any in the pathless wild. I was a little girl when one night
+I tried to cross the garden in front of my aunt's house in Alabama. I
+was in pursuit of a large cat with a great bushy tail. A few hours
+before he had clawed my little canary out of its cage and crunched it
+between his cruel teeth. I could not see the cat. But the thought in my
+mind was distinct: "He is making for the high grass at the end of the
+garden. I'll get there first!" I put my hand on the box border and ran
+swiftly along the path. When I reached the high grass, there was the cat
+gliding into the wavy tangle. I rushed forward and tried to seize him
+and take the bird from between his teeth. To my horror a huge beast, not
+the cat at all, sprang out from the grass, and his sinewy shoulder
+rubbed against me with palpitating strength! His ears stood up and
+quivered with anger. His eyes were hot. His nostrils were large and wet.
+His lips moved horribly. I knew it was a tiger, a real live tiger, and
+that I should be devoured--my little bird and I. I do not know what
+happened after that. The next important thing seldom happens in dreams.
+
+Some time earlier I had a dream which made a vivid impression upon me.
+My aunt was weeping because she could not find me. But I took an impish
+pleasure in the thought that she and others were searching for me, and
+making great noise which I felt through my feet. Suddenly the spirit of
+mischief gave way to uncertainty and fear. I felt cold. The air smelt
+like ice and salt. I tried to run; but the long grass tripped me, and I
+fell forward on my face. I lay very still, feeling with all my body.
+After a while my sensations seemed to be concentrated in my fingers, and
+I perceived that the grass blades were sharp as knives, and hurt my
+hands cruelly. I tried to get up cautiously, so as not to cut myself on
+the sharp grass. I put down a tentative foot, much as my kitten treads
+for the first time the primeval forest in the backyard. All at once I
+felt the stealthy patter of something creeping, creeping, creeping
+purposefully toward me. I do not know how at that time the idea was in
+my mind; I had no words for intention or purpose. Yet it was precisely
+the evil intent, and not the creeping animal that terrified me. I had
+no fear of living creatures. I loved my father's dogs, the frisky little
+calf, the gentle cows, the horses and mules that ate apples from my
+hand, and none of them had ever harmed me. I lay low, waiting in
+breathless terror for the creature to spring and bury its long claws in
+my flesh. I thought, "They will feel like turkey-claws." Something warm
+and wet touched my face. I shrieked, struck out frantically, and awoke.
+Something was still struggling in my arms. I held on with might and main
+until I was exhausted, then I loosed my hold. I found dear old Belle,
+the setter, shaking herself and looking at me reproachfully. She and I
+had gone to sleep together on the rug, and had naturally wandered to the
+dream-forest where dogs and little girls hunt wild game and have
+strange adventures. We encountered hosts of elfin foes, and it required
+all the dog tactics at Belle's command to acquit herself like the lady
+and huntress that she was. Belle had her dreams too. We used to lie
+under the trees and flowers in the old garden, and I used to laugh with
+delight when the magnolia leaves fell with little thuds, and Belle
+jumped up, thinking she had heard a partridge. She would pursue the
+leaf, point it, bring it back to me and lay it at my feet with a
+humorous wag of her tail as much as to say, "This is the kind of bird
+that waked me." I made a chain for her neck out of the lovely blue
+Paulownia flowers and covered her with great heart-shaped leaves.
+
+Dear old Belle, she has long been dreaming among the lotus-flowers and
+poppies of the dogs' paradise.
+
+Certain dreams have haunted me since my childhood. One which recurs
+often proceeds after this wise: A spirit seems to pass before my face. I
+feel an extreme heat like the blast from an engine. It is the embodiment
+of evil. I must have had it first after the day that I nearly got burnt.
+
+Another spirit which visits me often brings a sensation of cool
+dampness, such as one feels on a chill November night when the window is
+open. The spirit stops just beyond my reach, sways back and forth like a
+creature in grief. My blood is chilled, and seems to freeze in my veins.
+I try to move, but my body is still, and I cannot even cry out. After a
+while the spirit passes on, and I say to myself shudderingly, "That was
+Death. I wonder if he has taken her." The pronoun stands for my Teacher.
+
+In my dreams I have sensations, odours, tastes and ideas which I do not
+remember to have had in reality. Perhaps they are the glimpses which my
+mind catches through the veil of sleep of my earliest babyhood. I have
+heard "the trampling of many waters." Sometimes a wonderful light visits
+me in sleep. Such a flash and glory as it is! I gaze and gaze until it
+vanishes. I smell and taste much as in my waking hours; but the sense of
+touch plays a less important part. In sleep I almost never grope. No one
+guides me. Even in a crowded street I am self-sufficient, and I enjoy
+an independence quite foreign to my physical life. Now I seldom spell on
+my fingers, and it is still rarer for others to spell into my hand. My
+mind acts independent of my physical organs. I am delighted to be thus
+endowed, if only in sleep; for then my soul dons its winged sandals and
+joyfully joins the throng of happy beings who dwell beyond the reaches
+of bodily sense.
+
+The moral inconsistency of dreams is glaring. Mine grow less and less
+accordant with my proper principles. I am nightly hurled into an
+unethical medley of extremes. I must either defend another to the last
+drop of my blood or condemn him past all repenting. I commit murder,
+sleeping, to save the lives of others. I ascribe to those I love best
+acts and words which it mortifies me to remember, and I cast reproach
+after reproach upon them. It is fortunate for our peace of mind that
+most wicked dreams are soon forgotten. Death, sudden and awful, strange
+loves and hates remorselessly pursued, cunningly plotted revenge, are
+seldom more than dim haunting recollections in the morning, and during
+the day they are erased by the normal activities of the mind. Sometimes
+immediately on waking, I am so vexed at the memory of a dream-fracas, I
+wish I may dream no more. With this wish distinctly before me I drop off
+again into a new turmoil of dreams.
+
+Oh, dreams, what opprobrium I heap upon you--you, the most pointless
+things imaginable, saucy apes, brewers of odious contrasts, haunting
+birds of ill omen, mocking echoes, unseasonable reminders,
+oft-returning vexations, skeletons in my morris-chair, jesters in the
+tomb, death's-heads at the wedding feast, outlaws of the brain that
+every night defy the mind's police service, thieves of my Hesperidean
+apples, breakers of my domestic peace, murderers of sleep. "Oh, dreadful
+dreams that do fright my spirit from her propriety!" No wonder that
+Hamlet preferred the ills he knew rather than run the risk of one
+dream-vision.
+
+Yet remove the dream-world, and the loss is inconceivable. The magic
+spell which binds poetry together is broken. The splendour of art and
+the soaring might of imagination are lessened because no phantom of
+fadeless sunsets and flowers urges onward to a goal. Gone is the mute
+permission or connivance which emboldens the soul to mock the limits of
+time and space, forecast and gather in harvests of achievement for ages
+yet unborn. Blot out dreams, and the blind lose one of their chief
+comforts; for in the visions of sleep they behold their belief in the
+seeing mind and their expectation of light beyond the blank, narrow
+night justified. Nay, our conception of immortality is shaken. Faith,
+the motive-power of human life, flickers out. Before such vacancy and
+bareness the shocks of wrecked worlds were indeed welcome. In truth,
+dreams bring us the thought independently of us and in spite of us that
+the soul
+
+                                "may right
+          Her nature, shoot large sail on lengthening cord,
+          And rush exultant on the Infinite."
+
+
+
+
+DREAMS AND REALITY
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+DREAMS AND REALITY
+
+
+IT is astonishing to think how our real wide-awake world revolves around
+the shadowy unrealities of Dreamland. Despite all that we say about the
+inconsequence of dreams, we often reason by them. We stake our greatest
+hopes upon them. Nay, we build upon them the fabric of an ideal world. I
+can recall few fine, thoughtful poems, few noble works of art or any
+system of philosophy in which there is not evidence that dream-fantasies
+symbolize truths concealed by phenomena.
+
+The fact that in dreams confusion reigns, and illogical connections
+occur gives plausibility to the theory which Sir Arthur Mitchell and
+other scientific men hold, that our dream-thinking is uncontrolled and
+undirected by the will. The will--the inhibiting and guiding
+power--finds rest and refreshment in sleep, while the mind, like a
+barque without rudder or compass, drifts aimlessly upon an uncharted
+sea. But curiously enough, these fantasies and inter-twistings of
+thought are to be found in great imaginative poems like Spenser's "Færie
+Queene." Lamb was impressed by the analogy between our dream-thinking
+and the work of the imagination. Speaking of the episode in the cave of
+Mammon, Lamb wrote:
+
+"It is not enough to say that the whole episode is a copy of the mind's
+conceptions in sleep; it is--in some sort, but what a copy! Let the most
+romantic of us that has been entertained all night with the spectacle of
+some wild and magnificent vision, re-combine it in the morning and try
+it by his waking judgment. That which appeared so shifting and yet so
+coherent, when it came under cool examination, shall appear so
+reasonless and so unlinked, that we are ashamed to have been so deluded,
+and to have taken, though but in sleep, a monster for a god. The
+transitions in this episode are every whit as violent as in the most
+extravagant dream, and yet the waking judgment ratifies them."
+
+Perhaps I feel more than others the analogy between the world of our
+waking life and the world of dreams because before I was taught, I lived
+in a sort of perpetual dream. The testimony of parents and friends who
+watched me day after day is the only means that I have of knowing the
+actuality of those early, obscure years of my childhood. The physical
+acts of going to bed and waking in the morning alone mark the transition
+from reality to Dreamland. As near as I can tell, asleep or awake I only
+felt with my body. I can recollect no process which I should now dignify
+with the term of thought. It is true that my bodily sensations were
+extremely acute; but beyond a crude connection with physical wants they
+are not associated or directed. They had little relation to each other,
+to me or the experience of others. Idea--that which gives identity and
+continuity to experience--came into my sleeping and waking existence at
+the same moment with the awakening of self-consciousness. Before that
+moment my mind was in a state of anarchy in which meaningless sensations
+rioted, and if thought existed, it was so vague and inconsequent, it
+cannot be made a part of discourse. Yet before my education began, I
+dreamed. I know that I must have dreamed because I recall no break in my
+tactual experiences. Things fell suddenly, heavily. I felt my clothing
+afire, or I fell into a tub of cold water. Once I smelt bananas, and the
+odour in my nostrils was so vivid that in the morning, before I was
+dressed, I went to the sideboard to look for the bananas. There were no
+bananas, and no odour of bananas anywhere! My life was in fact a dream
+throughout.
+
+The likeness between my waking state and the sleeping one is still
+marked. In both states I see, but not with my eyes. I hear, but not with
+my ears. I speak, and am spoken to, without the sound of a voice. I am
+moved to pleasure by visions of ineffable beauty which I have never
+beheld in the physical world. Once in a dream I held in my hand a pearl.
+The one I saw in my dreams must, therefore, have been a creation of my
+imagination. It was a smooth, exquisitely moulded crystal. As I gazed
+into its shimmering deeps, my soul was flooded with an ecstasy of
+tenderness, and I was filled with wonder as one who should for the
+first time look into the cool, sweet heart of a rose. My pearl was dew
+and fire, the velvety green of moss, the soft whiteness of lilies, and
+the distilled hues and sweetness of a thousand roses. It seemed to me,
+the soul of beauty was dissolved in its crystal bosom. This beauteous
+vision strengthens my conviction that the world which the mind builds up
+out of countless subtle experiences and suggestions is fairer than the
+world of the senses. The splendour of the sunset my friends gaze at
+across the purpling hills is wonderful. But the sunset of the inner
+vision brings purer delight because it is the worshipful blending of all
+the beauty that we have known and desired.
+
+I believe that I am more fortunate in my dreams than most people; for
+as I think back over my dreams, the pleasant ones seem to predominate,
+although we naturally recall most vividly and tell most eagerly the
+grotesque and fantastic adventures in Slumberland. I have friends,
+however, whose dreams are always troubled and disturbed. They wake
+fatigued and bruised, and they tell me that they would give a kingdom
+for one dreamless night. There is one friend who declares that she has
+never had a felicitous dream in her life. The grind and worry of the day
+invade the sweet domain of sleep and weary her with incessant,
+profitless effort. I feel very sorry for this friend, and perhaps it is
+hardly fair to insist upon the pleasure of dreaming in the presence of
+one whose dream-experience is so unhappy. Still, it is true that my
+dreams have uses as many and sweet as those of adversity. All my
+yearning for the strange, the weird, the ghostlike is gratified in
+dreams. They carry me out of the accustomed and commonplace. In a flash,
+in the winking of an eye they snatch the burden from my shoulder, the
+trivial task from my hand and the pain and disappointment from my heart,
+and I behold the lovely face of my dream. It dances round me with merry
+measure and darts hither and thither in happy abandon. Sudden, sweet
+fancies spring forth from every nook and corner, and delightful
+surprises meet me at every turn. A happy dream is more precious than
+gold and rubies.
+
+I like to think that in dreams we catch glimpses of a life larger than
+our own. We see it as a little child, or as a savage who visits a
+civilized nation. Thoughts are imparted to us far above our ordinary
+thinking. Feelings nobler and wiser than any we have known thrill us
+between heart-beats. For one fleeting night a princelier nature captures
+us, and we become as great as our aspirations. I daresay we return to
+the little world of our daily activities with as distorted a half-memory
+of what we have seen as that of the African who visited England, and
+afterwards said he had been in a huge hill which carried him over great
+waters. The comprehensiveness of our thought, whether we are asleep or
+awake, no doubt depends largely upon our idiosyncrasies, constitution,
+habits, and mental capacity. But whatever may be the nature of our
+dreams, the mental processes that characterize them are analogous to
+those which go on when the mind is not held to attention by the will.
+
+
+
+
+A WAKING DREAM
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+A WAKING DREAM
+
+
+I HAVE sat for hours in a sort of reverie, letting my mind have its way
+without inhibition and direction, and idly noted down the incessant beat
+of thought upon thought, image upon image. I have observed that my
+thoughts make all kinds of connections, wind in and out, trace
+concentric circles, and break up in eddies of fantasy, just as in
+dreams. One day I had a literary frolic with a certain set of thoughts
+which dropped in for an afternoon call. I wrote for three or four hours
+as they arrived, and the resulting record is much like a dream. I found
+that the most disconnected, dissimilar thoughts came in arm-in-arm--I
+dreamed a wide-awake dream. The difference is that in waking dreams I
+can look back upon the endless succession of thoughts, while in the
+dreams of sleep I can recall but few ideas and images. I catch broken
+threads from the warp and woof of a pattern I cannot see, or glowing
+leaves which have floated on a slumber-wind from a tree that I cannot
+identify. In this reverie I held the key to the company of ideas. I give
+my record of them to show what analogies exist between thoughts when
+they are not directed and the behaviour of real dream-thinking.
+
+I had an essay to write. I wanted my mind fresh and obedient, and all
+its handmaidens ready to hold up my hands in the task. I intended to
+discourse learnedly upon my educational experiences, and I was unusually
+anxious to do my best. I had a working plan in my head for the essay,
+which was to be grave, wise, and abounding in ideas. Moreover, it was to
+have an academic flavour suggestive of sheepskin, and the reader was to
+be duly impressed with the austere dignity of cap and gown. I shut
+myself up in the study, resolved to beat out on the keys of my
+typewriter this immortal chapter of my life-history. Alexander was no
+more confident of conquering Asia with the splendid army which his
+father Philip had disciplined than I was of finding my mental house in
+order and my thoughts obedient. My mind had had a long vacation, and I
+was now coming back to it in an hour that it looked not for me. My
+situation was similar to that of the master who went into a far country
+and expected on his home coming to find everything as he left it. But
+returning he found his servants giving a party. Confusion was rampant.
+There was fiddling and dancing and the babble of many tongues, so that
+the voice of the master could not be heard. Though he shouted and beat
+upon the gate, it remained closed.
+
+So it was with me. I sounded the trumpet loud and long; but the vassals
+of thought would not rally to my standard. Each had his arm round the
+waist of a fair partner, and I know not what wild tunes "put life and
+mettle into their heels." There was nothing to do. I looked about
+helplessly upon my great retinue, and realized that it is not the
+possession of a thing but the ability to use it which is of value. I
+settled back in my chair to watch the pageant. It was rather pleasant
+sitting there, "idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean," watching
+my own thoughts at play. It was like thinking fine things to say without
+taking the trouble to write them. I felt like Alice in Wonderland when
+she ran at full speed with the red queen and never passed anything or
+got anywhere.
+
+The merry frolic went on madly. The dancers were all manner of thoughts.
+There were sad thoughts and happy thoughts, thoughts suited to every
+clime and weather, thoughts bearing the mark of every age and nation,
+silly thoughts and wise thoughts, thoughts of people, of things, and of
+nothing, good thoughts, impish thoughts, and large, gracious thoughts.
+There they went swinging hand-in-hand in corkscrew fashion. An antic
+jester in green and gold led the dance. The guests followed no order or
+precedent. No two thoughts were related to each other even by the
+fortieth cousinship. There was not so much as an international alliance
+between them. Each thought behaved like a newly created poet.
+
+          "His mouth he could not ope,
+           But there flew out a trope."
+
+Magical lyrics--oh, if I only had written them down! Pell-mell they came
+down the sequestered avenues of my mind, this merry throng. With
+bacchanal song and shout they came, and eye hath not since beheld
+confusion worse confounded.
+
+Shut your eyes, and see them come--the knights and ladies of my revel.
+Plumed and turbaned they come, clad in mail and silken broideries,
+gentle maids in Quaker gray, gay princes in scarlet cloaks, coquettes
+with roses in their hair, monks in cowls that might have covered the
+tall Minster Tower, demure little girls hugging paper dolls, and
+rollicking school-boys with ruddy morning faces, an absent-minded
+professor carrying his shoes under his arms and looking wise, followed
+by cronies, fairies, goblins, and all the troops just loosed from Noah's
+storm-tossed ark. They walked, they strutted, they soared, they swam,
+and some came in through fire. One sprite climbed up to the moon on a
+ladder made of leaves and frozen dew-drops. A peacock with a great
+hooked bill flew in and out among the branches of a pomegranate-tree
+pecking the rosy fruit. He screamed so loud that Apollo turned in his
+chariot of flame and from his burnished bow shot golden arrows at him.
+This did not disturb the peacock in the least; for he spread his
+gem-like wings and flourished his wonderful, fire-tipped tail in the
+very face of the sun-god! Then came Venus--an exact copy of my own
+plaster cast--serene, calm-eyed, dancing "high and disposedly" like
+Queen Elizabeth, surrounded by a troop of lovely Cupids mounted on
+rose-tinted clouds, blown hither and thither by sweet winds, while all
+around danced flowers and streams and queer little Japanese cherry-trees
+in pots! They were followed by jovial Pan with green hair and jewelled
+sandals, and by his side--I could scarcely believe my eyes!--walked a
+modest nun counting her beads. At a little distance were seen three
+dancers arm-in-arm, a lean, starved platitude, a rosy, dimpled joke, and
+a steel-ribbed sermon on predestination. Close upon them came a whole
+string of Nights with wind-blown hair and Days with faggots on their
+backs. All at once I saw the ample figure of Life rise above the
+whirling mass holding a naked child in one hand and in the other a
+gleaming sword. A bear crouched at her feet, and all about her swirled
+and glowed a multitudinous host of tiny atoms which sang all together,
+"We are the will of God." Atom wedded atom, and chemical married
+chemical, and the cosmic dance went on in changing, changeless measure,
+until my head sang like a buzz-saw.
+
+Just as I was thinking I would leave this scene of phantoms and take a
+stroll in the quiet groves of Slumber I noticed a commotion near one of
+the entrances to my enchanted palace. It was evident from the whispering
+and buzzing that went round that more celebrities had arrived. The first
+personage I saw was Homer, blind no more, leading by a golden chain the
+white-beaked ships of the Achaians bobbing their heads and squawking
+like so many white swans. Plato and Mother Goose with the numerous
+children of the shoe came next. Simple Simon, Jill, and Jack who had had
+his head mended, and the cat that fell into the cream--all these danced
+in a giddy reel, while Plato solemnly discoursed on the laws of
+Topsyturvy Land. Then followed grim-visaged Calvin and "violet-crowned,
+sweet-smiling Sappho" who danced a Schottische. Aristophanes and Molière
+joined for a measure, both talking at once, Molière in Greek and
+Aristophanes in German. I thought this odd, because it occurred to me
+that German was a dead language before Aristophanes was born.
+Bright-eyed Shelley brought in a fluttering lark which burst into the
+song of Chaucer's chanticleer. Henry Esmond gave his hand in a stately
+minuet to Diana of the Crossways. He evidently did not understand her
+nineteenth century wit; for he did not laugh. Perhaps he had lost his
+taste for clever women. Anon Dante and Swedenborg came together
+conversing earnestly about things remote and mystical. Swedenborg said
+it was very warm. Dante replied that it might rain in the night.
+
+Suddenly there was a great clamour, and I found that "The Battle of the
+Books" had begun raging anew. Two figures entered in lively dispute. One
+was dressed in plain homespun and the other wore a scholar's gown over a
+suit of motley. I gathered from their conversation that they were Cotton
+Mather and William Shakspere. Mather insisted that the witches in
+"Macbeth" should be caught and hanged. Shakspere replied that the
+witches had already suffered enough at the hands of commentators. They
+were pushed aside by the twelve knights of the Round Table, who marched
+in bearing on a salver the goose that laid golden eggs. "The Pope's
+Mule" and "The Golden Bull" had a combat of history and fiction such as
+I had read of in books, but never before witnessed. These little animals
+were put to rout by a huge elephant which lumbered in with Rudyard
+Kipling riding high on its trunk. The elephant changed suddenly to "a
+rakish craft." (I do not know what a rakish craft is; but this was very
+rakish and very crafty.) It must have been abandoned long ago by wild
+pirates of the southern seas; for clinging to the rigging, and jovially
+cheering as the ship went down, I made out a man with blazing eyes, clad
+in a velveteen jacket. As the ship disappeared from sight, Falstaff
+rushed to the rescue of the lonely navigator--and stole his purse! But
+Miranda persuaded him to give it back. Stevenson said, "Who steals my
+purse steals trash." Falstaff laughed and called this a good joke, as
+good as any he had heard in his day.
+
+This was the signal for a rushing swarm of quotations. They surged to
+and fro, an inchoate throng of half finished phrases, mutilated
+sentences, parodied sentiments, and brilliant metaphors. I could not
+distinguish any phrases or ideas of my own making. I saw a poor, ragged,
+shrunken sentence that might have been mine own catch the wings of a
+fair idea with the light of genius shining like a halo about its head.
+
+Ever and anon the dancers changed partners without invitation or
+permission. Thoughts fell in love at sight, married in a measure, and
+joined hands without previous courtship. An incongruity is the wedding
+of two thoughts which have had no reasonable courtship, and marriages
+without wooing are apt to lead to domestic discord, even to the breaking
+up of an ancient, time-honoured family. Among the wedded couples were
+certain similes hitherto inviolable in their bachelorhood and
+spinsterhood, and held in great respect. Their extraordinary proceedings
+nearly broke up the dance. But the fatuity of their union was evident to
+them, and they parted. Other similes seemed to have the habit of living
+in discord. They had been many times married and divorced. They belonged
+to the notorious society of Mixed Metaphors.
+
+A company of phantoms floated in and out wearing tantalizing garments
+of oblivion. They seemed about to dance, then vanished. They reappeared
+half a dozen times, but never unveiled their faces. The imp Curiosity
+pulled Memory by the sleeve and said, "Why do they run away? 'Tis
+strange knavery!" Out ran Memory to capture them. After a great deal of
+racing and puffing and collision it apprehended some of the fugitives
+and brought them in. But when it tore off their masks, lo! some were
+disappointingly commonplace, and others were gipsy quotations trying to
+conceal the punctuation marks that belonged to them. Memory was much
+chagrined to have had such a hard chase only to catch this sorry lot of
+graceless rogues.
+
+Into the rabble strode four stately giants who called themselves
+History, Philosophy, Law, and Medicine. They seemed too solemn and
+imposing to join in a masque. But even as I gazed at these formidable
+guests, they all split into fragments which went whirling, dancing in
+divisions, subdivisions, re-subdivisions of scientific nonsense! History
+split into philology, ethnology, anthropology, and mythology, and these
+again split finer than the splitting of hairs. Each speciality hugged
+its bit of knowledge and waltzed it round and round. The rest of the
+company began to nod, and I felt drowsy myself. To put an end to the
+solemn gyrations, a troop of fairies mercifully waved poppies over us
+all, the masque faded, my head fell, and I started. Sleep had wakened
+me. At my elbow I found my old friend Bottom.
+
+"Bottom," I said, "I have had a dream past the wit of man to say what
+dream it was. Methought I was--there is no man can tell what. The eye of
+man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, his hand is not able
+to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report what my dream
+was."
+
+
+
+
+A CHANT OF DARKNESS
+
+
+
+
+A CHANT OF DARKNESS
+
+          "_My wings are folded o'er mine ears,
+            My wings are crossèd o'er mine eyes,
+            Yet through their silver shade appears,
+            And through their lulling plumes arise,
+            A Shape, a throng of sounds._"
+
+                     _Shelley's "Prometheus Unbound."_
+
+
+          I DARE not ask why we are reft of light,
+          Banished to our solitary isles amid the unmeasured seas,
+          Or how our sight was nurtured to glorious vision,
+          To fade and vanish and leave us in the dark alone.
+          The secret of God is upon our tabernacle;
+          Into His mystery I dare not pry. Only this I know:
+          With Him is strength, with Him is wisdom,
+          And His wisdom hath set darkness in our paths.
+         _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          O Dark! thou awful, sweet, and holy Dark!
+          In thy solemn spaces, beyond the human eye,
+          God fashioned His universe; laid the foundations of the earth,
+          Laid the measure thereof, and stretched the line upon it;
+          Shut up the sea with doors, and made the glory
+          Of the clouds a covering for it;
+          Commanded His morning, and, behold! chaos fled
+          Before the uplifted face of the sun;
+          Divided a water-course for the overflowing of waters;
+          Sent rain upon the earth--
+          Upon the wilderness wherein there was no man,
+          Upon the desert where grew no tender herb,
+          And, lo! there was greenness upon the plains,
+          And the hills were clothed with beauty!
+         _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          O Dark! thou secret and inscrutable Dark!
+          In thy silent depths, the springs whereof man hath not fathomed,
+          God wrought the soul of man.
+          O Dark! compassionate, all-knowing Dark!
+          Tenderly, as shadows to the evening, comes thy message to man.
+          Softly thou layest thy hand on his tired eyelids,
+          And his soul, weary and homesick, returns
+          Unto thy soothing embrace.
+         _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          O Dark! wise, vital, thought-quickening Dark!
+          In thy mystery thou hidest the light
+          That is the soul's life.
+          Upon thy solitary shores I walk unafraid;
+          I dread no evil; though I walk in the valley of the shadow,
+          I shall not know the ecstasy of fear
+          When gentle Death leads me through life's open door,
+          When the bands of night are sundered,
+          And the day outpours its light.
+         _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          The timid soul, fear-driven, shuns the dark;
+          But upon the cheeks of him who must abide in shadow
+          Breathes the wind of rushing angel-wings,
+          And round him falls a light from unseen fires.
+          Magical beams glow athwart the darkness;
+          Paths of beauty wind through his black world
+          To another world of light,
+          Where no veil of sense shuts him out from Paradise.
+          _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          O Dark! thou blessèd, quiet Dark!
+          To the lone exile who must dwell with thee
+          Thou art benign and friendly;
+          From the harsh world thou dost shut him in;
+          To him thou whisperest the secrets of the wondrous night;
+          Upon him thou bestowest regions wide and boundless as his spirit;
+          Thou givest a glory to all humble things;
+          With thy hovering pinions thou coverest all unlovely objects;
+          Under thy brooding wings there is peace.
+          _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+
+II
+
+          Once in regions void of light I wandered;
+          In blank darkness I stumbled,
+          And fear led me by the hand;
+          My feet pressed earthward,
+          Afraid of pitfalls.
+          By many shapeless terrors of the night affrighted,
+          To the wakeful day
+          I held out beseeching arms.
+
+          Then came Love, bearing in her hand
+          The torch that is the light unto my feet,
+          And softly spoke Love: "Hast thou
+          Entered into the treasures of darkness?
+          Hast thou entered into the treasures of the night?
+          Search out thy blindness. It holdeth
+          Riches past computing."
+
+          The words of Love set my spirit aflame.
+          My eager fingers searched out the mysteries,
+          The splendours, the inmost sacredness, of things,
+          And in the vacancies discerned
+          With spiritual sense the fullness of life;
+          And the gates of Day stood wide.
+
+          I am shaken with gladness;
+          My limbs tremble with joy;
+          My heart and the earth
+          Tremble with happiness;
+          The ecstasy of life
+          Is abroad in the world.
+
+          Knowledge hath uncurtained heaven;
+          On the uttermost shores of darkness there is light;
+          Midnight hath sent forth a beam!
+          The blind that stumbled in darkness without light
+          Behold a new day!
+          In the obscurity gleams the star of Thought;
+          Imagination hath a luminous eye,
+          And the mind hath a glorious vision.
+
+
+III
+
+          "The man is blind. What is life to him?
+          A closed book held up against a sightless face.
+          Would that he could see
+          Yon beauteous star, and know
+          For one transcendent moment
+          The palpitating joy of sight!"
+
+          All sight is of the soul.
+          Behold it in the upward flight
+          Of the unfettered spirit! Hast thou seen
+          Thought bloom in the blind child's face?
+          Hast thou seen his mind grow,
+          Like the running dawn, to grasp
+          The vision of the Master?
+          It was the miracle of inward sight.
+
+          In the realms of wonderment where I dwell
+          I explore life with my hands;
+          I recognize, and am happy;
+          My fingers are ever athirst for the earth,
+          And drink up its wonders with delight,
+          Draw out earth's dear delights;
+          My feet are charged with the murmur,
+          The throb, of all things that grow.
+
+          This is touch, this quivering,
+          This flame, this ether,
+          This glad rush of blood,
+          This daylight in my heart,
+          This glow of sympathy in my palms!
+          Thou blind, loving, all-prying touch,
+          Thou openest the book of life to me.
+
+          The noiseless little noises of the earth
+          Come with softest rustle;
+          The shy, sweet feet of life;
+          The silky mutter of moth-wings
+          Against my restraining palm;
+          The strident beat of insect-wings,
+          The silvery trickle of water;
+          Little breezes busy in the summer grass;
+          The music of crisp, whisking, scurrying leaves,
+          The swirling, wind-swept, frost-tinted leaves;
+          The crystal splash of summer rain,
+          Saturate with the odours of the sod.
+
+          With alert fingers I listen
+          To the showers of sound
+          That the wind shakes from the forest.
+          I bathe in the liquid shade
+          Under the pines, where the air hangs cool
+          After the shower is done.
+          My saucy little friend the squirrel
+          Flips my shoulder with his tail,
+          Leaps from leafy billow to leafy billow,
+          Returns to eat his breakfast from my hand.
+          Between us there is glad sympathy;
+          He gambols; my pulses dance;
+          I am exultingly full of the joy of life!
+
+          Have not my fingers split the sand
+          On the sun-flooded beach?
+          Hath not my naked body felt the water sing
+          When the sea hath enveloped it
+          With rippling music?
+          Have I not felt
+          The lilt of waves beneath my boat,
+          The flap of sail,
+          The strain of mast,
+          The wild rush
+          Of the lightning-charged winds?
+          Have I not smelt the swift, keen flight
+          Of winged odours before the tempest?
+          Here is joy awake, aglow;
+          Here is the tumult of the heart.
+
+          My hands evoke sight and sound out of feeling,
+          Intershifting the senses endlessly;
+          Linking motion with sight, odour with sound
+          They give colour to the honeyed breeze,
+          The measure and passion of a symphony
+          To the beat and quiver of unseen wings.
+          In the secrets of earth and sun and air
+          My fingers are wise;
+          They snatch light out of darkness,
+          They thrill to harmonies breathed in silence.
+
+          I walked in the stillness of the night,
+          And my soul uttered her gladness.
+          O Night, still, odorous Night, I love thee!
+          O wide, spacious Night, I love thee!
+          O steadfast, glorious Night!
+          I touch thee with my hands;
+          I lean against thy strength;
+          I am comforted.
+
+          O fathomless, soothing Night!
+          Thou art a balm to my restless spirit,
+          I nestle gratefully in thy bosom,
+          Dark, gracious mother!
+          Like a dove, I rest in thy bosom.
+          _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+
+
+
+                  PRINTED BY
+          WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.
+                   PLYMOUTH
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+Page 223, "similies" changed to "similes" (Other similes seemed)
+
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 27683 ***
diff --git a/27683-h/27683-h.htm b/27683-h/27683-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..403936d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-h/27683-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,4595 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=UTF-8" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The World I Live In, by Helen Keller</title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+/*<![CDATA[  XML blockout */
+<!--
+    p {margin-top: .75em;
+       text-align: justify;
+       text-indent: 1.25em;
+       margin-bottom: .75em;
+        }
+    img {border: 0;}
+    .tnote      {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em;
+                  padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;}
+    ins {text-decoration:none;  border-bottom: thin dotted gray;}
+    h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {
+         text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
+         clear: both;
+         }
+    hr { width: 33%;
+	 margin-top: 2em;
+	 margin-bottom: 2em;
+         margin-left: auto;
+         margin-right: auto;
+         clear: both;
+       }
+
+    table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;}
+
+    body{margin-left: 10%;
+         margin-right: 10%;
+        }
+
+    .pagenum  { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
+            /*  visibility: hidden;  */
+                position: absolute;
+                left: 92%;
+                font-size: smaller;
+                text-align: right;
+              } /* page numbers */
+     .copyright {text-align: center; font-size: 70%;}
+    .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;}
+
+    .bbox     {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em;
+                  padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;}
+
+    .center   {text-align: center;}
+    .smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
+
+    .caption  {font-weight: bold;}
+
+    .figcenter   {margin: auto; text-align: center;}
+
+    .figleft     {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top:
+                 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;}
+
+    .figright    {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;
+                 margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;}
+
+    .unindent {margin-top: .75em;
+       text-align: justify;
+       margin-bottom: .75em;
+        }
+    .right    {text-align: right;}
+    .poem      {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem2   {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;}
+    .sig    {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;}
+    .u        {text-decoration: underline;}
+    .linenum  {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */
+    .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em;
+               padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em;
+               float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em;
+               font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;}
+
+    .footnotes        {border: dashed 1px;}
+    .footnote         {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;}
+    .fnanchor         {vertical-align:baseline;
+        position: relative;
+        bottom: 0.33em;
+        font-size: .8em;
+        text-decoration: none;}
+    .hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;}
+.cap:first-letter {float: left; clear: left;
+  margin: -0.2em 0.1em  0; margin-top: 0%;
+  padding: 0;
+  line-height: .75em; font-size: 300%; text-align: justify;}
+  .cap {text-align: justify;}
+
+    hr.full { width: 100%;
+              margin-top: 3em;
+              margin-bottom: 0em;
+              margin-left: auto;
+              margin-right: auto;
+              height: 4px;
+              border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */
+              border-style: solid;
+              border-color: #000000;
+              clear: both; }
+    pre      {font-size: 85%;}
+    // -->
+    /* XML end  ]]>*/
+    </style>
+</head>
+<body>
+<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 27683 ***</div>
+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The World I Live In, by Helen Keller</h1>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p>
+
+<h1>THE WORLD I LIVE IN</h1>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p>
+<div class='bbox'>
+<h3>HELEN KELLER</h3>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"The autobiography of Helen Keller is unquestionably
+one of the most remarkable records ever
+published."&mdash;<i>British Weekly.</i></p>
+
+<p>"This book is a human document of intense
+interest, and without a parallel, we suppose, in
+the history of literature."&mdash;<i>Yorkshire Post.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Miss Keller's autobiography, well written and
+full of practical interest in all sides of life, literary,
+artistic and social, records an extraordinary victory
+over physical disabilities."&mdash;<i>Times.</i></p>
+
+<p>"This book is a record of the miraculous. No
+one can read it without being profoundly touched
+by the patience and devotion which brought the
+blind, deaf-mute child into touch with human life,
+without being filled with wonder at the quick
+intelligence which made such communication with
+the outside world possible."&mdash;<i>Queen.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class='center'>
+<i>Illustrated, price 7s. 6d.</i><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Popular Edition</span>, <i>net, 1s.</i><br />
+</div>
+
+<h3>The Story of My Life</h3>
+<div class='center'>
+By HELEN KELLER<br />
+&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />
+<big>The Practice of Optimism</big><br />
+<br />
+<i>Cloth, net, 1s. 6d.; paper, net, 1s.</i><br />
+&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />
+<span class="smcap">London: Hodder &amp; Stoughton, E.C.</span><br /></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 377px;"><a name="front" id="front"></a>
+<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="377" height="500" alt="Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio Helen Keller in Her Study" title="" />
+<span class="caption">Helen Keller in Her Study</span>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h2>THE WORLD I LIVE IN</h2>
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+
+<h2>HELEN KELLER</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>AUTHOR OF "THE STORY OF MY LIFE," ETC.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+ILLUSTRATED<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+HODDER AND STOUGHTON<br />
+LONDON &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; NEW YORK &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; TORONTO</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='copyright'><i>Copyright 1904, 1908, by The Century Co.</i></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='copyright'>
+TO<br />
+<br />
+<big>HENRY H. ROGERS</big><br />
+<br />
+MY DEAR FRIEND OF<br />
+<br />
+MANY YEARS<br /></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>PREFACE</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THE essays and the poem in this book
+appeared originally in the "Century
+Magazine," the essays under the
+titles "A Chat About the Hand," "Sense
+and Sensibility," and "My Dreams."
+Mr. Gilder suggested the articles, and I
+thank him for his kind interest and encouragement.
+But he must also accept
+the responsibility which goes with my
+gratitude. For it is owing to his wish
+and that of other editors that I talk so
+much about myself.</div>
+
+<p>Every book is in a sense autobiographical.
+But while other self-recording
+creatures are permitted at least to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span>
+seem to change the subject, apparently
+nobody cares what I think of the tariff,
+the conservation of our natural resources,
+or the conflicts which revolve
+about the name of Dreyfus. If I offer
+to reform the education system of the
+world, my editorial friends say, "That is
+interesting. But will you please tell us
+what idea you had of goodness and
+beauty when you were six years old?"
+First they ask me to tell the life of the
+child who is mother to the woman.
+Then they make me my own daughter
+and ask for an account of grown-up
+sensations. Finally I am requested to
+write about my dreams, and thus I become
+an anachronical grandmother; for
+it is the special privilege of old age to
+relate dreams. The editors are so kind
+that they are no doubt right in thinking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span>
+that nothing I have to say about the
+affairs of the universe would be interesting.
+But until they give me opportunity
+to write about matters that are not-me,
+the world must go on uninstructed and
+unreformed, and I can only do my best
+with the one small subject upon which I
+am allowed to discourse.</p>
+
+<p>In "The Chant of Darkness" I did not
+intend to set up as a poet. I thought I
+was writing prose, except for the magnificent
+passage from Job which I was
+paraphrasing. But this part seemed to
+my friends to separate itself from the
+exposition, and I made it into a kind of
+poem.</p>
+
+<div class='sig'>
+H. K.<br /></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER I</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&nbsp;</td><td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Seeing Hand</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER II</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Hands of Others</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER III</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Hand of the Race</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER IV</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Power of Touch</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER V</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span><span class="smcap">The Finer Vibrations</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER VI</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Smell, the Fallen Angel</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER VII</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Relative Values of the Senses</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER VIII</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Five-sensed World</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER IX</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Inward Visions</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER X</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Analogies in Sense Perception</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER XI</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Before the Soul Dawn</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER XII</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span><span class="smcap">The Larger Sanctions</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER XIII</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Dream World</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER XIV</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Dreams and Reality</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER XV</td><td></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Waking Dream</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><br />A CHANT OF DARKNESS</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations">
+<tr><td align='left'>HELEN KELLER IN HER STUDY</td><td align='right' colspan='3'><a href="#front"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE MEDALLION</td><td align='right'><i>Facing</i>&nbsp;</td><td align='right'><i>page</i>&nbsp;</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"LISTENING" TO THE TREES</td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE LITTLE BOY NEXT DOOR</td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>THE SEEING HAND</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
+<h2>I</h2>
+
+<h3>THE SEEING HAND</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;HAVE just touched my dog. He was
+rolling on the grass, with pleasure in
+every muscle and limb. I wanted to
+catch a picture of him in my fingers, and
+I touched him as lightly as I would cobwebs;
+but lo, his fat body revolved,
+stiffened and solidified into an upright
+position, and his tongue gave my hand a
+lick! He pressed close to me, as if he
+were fain to crowd himself into my
+hand. He loved it with his tail, with his
+paw, with his tongue. If he could
+speak, I believe he would say with me
+that paradise is attained by touch; for
+in touch is all love and intelligence.</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>This small incident started me on a
+chat about hands, and if my chat is
+fortunate I have to thank my dog-star.
+In any case, it is pleasant to have something
+to talk about that no one else has
+monopolized; it is like making a new
+path in the trackless woods, blazing the
+trail where no foot has pressed before.
+I am glad to take you by the hand and
+lead you along an untrodden way into a
+world where the hand is supreme. But
+at the very outset we encounter a difficulty.
+You are so accustomed to light,
+I fear you will stumble when I try to
+guide you through the land of darkness
+and silence. The blind are not supposed
+to be the best of guides. Still, though I
+cannot warrant not to lose you, I promise
+that you shall not be led into fire or
+water, or fall into a deep pit. If you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
+will follow me patiently, you will find
+that "there's a sound so fine, nothing
+lives 'twixt it and silence," and that
+there is more meant in things than meets
+the eye.</p>
+
+<p>My hand is to me what your hearing
+and sight together are to you. In large
+measure we travel the same highways,
+read the same books, speak the same
+language, yet our experiences are different.
+All my comings and goings
+turn on the hand as on a pivot. It is the
+hand that binds me to the world of men
+and women. The hand is my feeler with
+which I reach through isolation and
+darkness and seize every pleasure, every
+activity that my fingers encounter. With
+the dropping of a little word from
+another's hand into mine, a slight flutter
+of the fingers, began the intelligence,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
+the joy, the fullness of my life. Like
+Job, I feel as if a hand had made me,
+fashioned me together round about and
+moulded my very soul.</p>
+
+<p>In all my experiences and thoughts I
+am conscious of a hand. Whatever
+moves me, whatever thrills me, is as a
+hand that touches me in the dark, and
+that touch is my reality. You might as
+well say that a sight which makes you
+glad, or a blow which brings the stinging
+tears to your eyes, is unreal as to say
+that those impressions are unreal which
+I have accumulated by means of touch.
+The delicate tremble of a butterfly's
+wings in my hand, the soft petals of
+violets curling in the cool folds of their
+leaves or lifting sweetly out of the
+meadow-grass, the clear, firm outline of
+face and limb, the smooth arch of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
+horse's neck and the velvety touch of his
+nose&mdash;all these, and a thousand resultant
+combinations, which take shape in
+my mind, constitute my world.</p>
+
+<p>Ideas make the world we live in, and
+impressions furnish ideas. My world is
+built of touch-sensations, devoid of
+physical colour and sound; but without
+colour and sound it breathes and throbs
+with life. Every object is associated in
+my mind with tactual qualities which,
+combined in countless ways, give me a
+sense of power, of beauty, or of incongruity:
+for with my hands I can feel the
+comic as well as the beautiful in the
+outward appearance of things. Remember
+that you, dependent on your
+sight, do not realize how many things
+are tangible. All palpable things are
+mobile or rigid, solid or liquid, big or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
+small, warm or cold, and these qualities
+are variously modified. The coolness of
+a water-lily rounding into bloom is different
+from the coolness of an evening
+wind in summer, and different again
+from the coolness of the rain that soaks
+into the hearts of growing things and
+gives them life and body. The velvet
+of the rose is not that of a ripe peach
+or of a baby's dimpled cheek. The
+hardness of the rock is to the hardness
+of wood what a man's deep bass
+is to a woman's voice when it is low.
+What I call beauty I find in certain
+combinations of all these qualities, and
+is largely derived from the flow of
+curved and straight lines which is over
+all things.</p>
+
+<p>"What does the straight line mean to
+you?" I think you will ask.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It <i>means</i> several things. It symbolizes
+duty. It seems to have the quality
+of inexorableness that duty has. When
+I have something to do that must not be
+set aside, I feel as if I were going forward
+in a straight line, bound to arrive
+somewhere, or go on forever without
+swerving to the right or to the left.</p>
+
+<p>That is what it means. To escape this
+moralizing you should ask, "How does
+the straight line feel?" It feels, as I
+suppose it looks, straight&mdash;a dull
+thought drawn out endlessly. Eloquence
+to the touch resides not in
+straight lines, but in unstraight lines, or
+in many curved and straight lines
+together. They appear and disappear,
+are now deep, now shallow, now broken
+off or lengthened or swelling. They
+rise and sink beneath my fingers, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
+are full of sudden starts and pauses, and
+their variety is inexhaustible and wonderful.
+So you see I am not shut out
+from the region of the beautiful, though
+my hand cannot perceive the brilliant
+colours in the sunset or on the mountain,
+or reach into the blue depths of the sky.</p>
+
+<p>Physics tells me that I am well
+off in a world which, I am told, knows
+neither cold nor sound, but is made in
+terms of size, shape, and inherent
+qualities; for at least every object
+appears to my fingers standing solidly
+right side up, and is not an inverted
+image on the retina which, I understand,
+your brain is at infinite though
+unconscious labour to set back on
+its feet. A tangible object passes complete
+into my brain with the warmth of
+life upon it, and occupies the same place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
+that it does in space; for, without egotism,
+the mind is as large as the universe.
+When I think of hills, I think of the upward
+strength I tread upon. When
+water is the object of my thought, I feel
+the cool shock of the plunge and the
+quick yielding of the waves that crisp
+and curl and ripple about my body. The
+pleasing changes of rough and smooth,
+pliant and rigid, curved and straight in
+the bark and branches of a tree give the
+truth to my hand. The immovable rock,
+with its juts and warped surface, bends
+beneath my fingers into all manner of
+grooves and hollows. The bulge of a
+watermelon and the puffed-up rotundities
+of squashes that sprout, bud, and
+ripen in that strange garden planted
+somewhere behind my finger-tips are
+the ludicrous in my tactual memory and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
+imagination. My fingers are tickled to
+delight by the soft ripple of a baby's
+laugh, and find amusement in the lusty
+crow of the barnyard autocrat. Once I
+had a pet rooster that used to perch on
+my knee and stretch his neck and crow.
+A bird in my hand was then worth two
+in the&mdash;barnyard.</p>
+
+<p>My fingers cannot, of course, get the
+impression of a large whole at a glance;
+but I feel the parts, and my mind puts
+them together. I move around my
+house, touching object after object in
+order, before I can form an idea of the
+entire house. In other people's houses I
+can touch only what is shown to me&mdash;the
+chief objects of interest, carvings on the
+wall, or a curious architectural feature,
+exhibited like the family album. Therefore
+a house with which I am not familiar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
+has for me, at first, no general effect
+or harmony of detail. It is not a complete
+conception, but a collection of
+object-impressions which, as they come
+to me, are disconnected and isolated.
+But my mind is full of associations, sensations,
+theories, and with them it constructs
+the house. The process reminds
+me of the building of Solomon's temple,
+where was neither saw, nor hammer, nor
+any tool heard while the stones were
+being laid one upon another. The
+silent worker is imagination which decrees
+reality out of chaos.</p>
+
+<p>Without imagination what a poor
+thing my world would be! My garden
+would be a silent patch of earth strewn
+with sticks of a variety of shapes and
+smells. But when the eye of my mind
+is opened to its beauty, the bare ground<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
+brightens beneath my feet, and the
+hedge-row bursts into leaf, and the rose-tree
+shakes its fragrance everywhere. I
+know how budding trees look, and I
+enter into the amorous joy of the mating
+birds, and this is the miracle of imagination.</p>
+
+<p>Twofold is the miracle when, through
+my fingers, my imagination reaches
+forth and meets the imagination of an
+artist which he has embodied in a sculptured
+form. Although, compared with
+the life-warm, mobile face of a friend,
+the marble is cold and pulseless and unresponsive,
+yet it is beautiful to my
+hand. Its flowing curves and bendings
+are a real pleasure; only breath is
+wanting; but under the spell of the
+imagination the marble thrills and becomes
+the divine reality of the ideal.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+Imagination puts a sentiment into every
+line and curve, and the statue in my touch
+is indeed the goddess herself who breathes
+and moves and enchants.</p>
+
+<p>It is true, however, that some sculptures,
+even recognized masterpieces, do
+not please my hand. When I touch
+what there is of the Winged Victory,
+it reminds me at first of a headless, limbless
+dream that flies towards me in an
+unrestful sleep. The garments of the
+Victory thrust stiffly out behind, and do
+not resemble garments that I have felt
+flying, fluttering, folding, spreading in
+the wind. But imagination fulfils these
+imperfections, and straightway the Victory
+becomes a powerful and spirited
+figure with the sweep of sea-winds in
+her robes and the splendour of conquest
+in her wings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I find in a beautiful statue perfection
+of bodily form, the qualities
+of balance and completeness. The
+Minerva, hung with a web of poetical
+allusion, gives me a sense of exhilaration
+that is almost physical; and I like the
+luxuriant, wavy hair of Bacchus and
+Apollo, and the wreath of ivy, so suggestive
+of pagan holidays.</p>
+
+<p>So imagination crowns the experience
+of my hands. And they learned their
+cunning from the wise hand of another,
+which, itself guided by imagination, led
+me safely in paths that I knew not,
+made darkness light before me, and
+made crooked ways straight.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE HANDS OF OTHERS</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
+<h2>II</h2>
+
+<h3>THE HANDS OF OTHERS</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THE warmth and protectiveness of
+the hand are most homefelt to me
+who have always looked to it for aid and
+joy. I understand perfectly how the
+Psalmist can lift up his voice with
+strength and gladness, singing, "I put
+my trust in the Lord at all times, and
+his hand shall uphold me, and I shall
+dwell in safety." In the strength of the
+human hand, too, there is something
+divine. I am told that the glance of a
+beloved eye thrills one from a distance;
+but there is no distance in the touch of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
+a beloved hand. Even the letters I receive
+are&mdash;</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Kind letters that betray the heart's deep history,<br />
+In which we feel the presence of a hand.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p>It is interesting to observe the differences
+in the hands of people. They
+show all kinds of vitality, energy, stillness,
+and cordiality. I never realized
+how living the hand is until I saw those
+chill plaster images in Mr. Hutton's
+collection of casts. The hand I know in
+life has the fullness of blood in its veins,
+and is elastic with spirit. How different
+dear Mr. Hutton's hand was from its
+dull, insensate image! To me the cast
+lacks the very form of the hand. Of
+the many casts in Mr. Hutton's collection
+I did not recognize any, not even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
+my own. But a loving hand I never
+forget. I remember in my fingers the
+large hands of Bishop Brooks, brimful
+of tenderness and a strong man's joy.
+If you were deaf and blind, and could
+have held Mr. Jefferson's hand, you
+would have seen in it a face and heard a
+kind voice unlike any other you have
+known. Mark Twain's hand is full of
+whimsies and the drollest humours, and
+while you hold it the drollery changes to
+sympathy and championship.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 285px;">
+<img src="images/fp22.jpg" width="285" height="500" alt="Copyright, 1907, by the Whitman Studio The Medallion The bas-relief on the wall is a portrait of the Queen Dowager of Spain, which Her Majesty had made for Miss Keller To face page 22" title="" />
+<span class="caption">The Medallion<br />The bas-relief on the wall is a portrait of the Queen Dowager of Spain, which Her Majesty had made for Miss Keller<br /><small><span style="margin-left: 12em;">To face page 22</span></small></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>I am told that the words I have just
+written do not "describe" the hands of
+my friends, but merely endow them with
+the kindly human qualities which I
+know they possess, and which language
+conveys in abstract words. The criticism
+implies that I am not giving the
+primary truth of what I feel; but how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
+otherwise do descriptions in books I
+read, written by men who can see, render
+the visible look of a face? I read
+that a face is strong, gentle; that it is
+full of patience, of intellect; that it is
+fine, sweet, noble, beautiful. Have I
+not the same right to use these words in
+describing what I feel as you have in
+describing what you see? They express
+truly what I feel in the hand. I am seldom
+conscious of physical qualities, and
+I do not remember whether the fingers
+of a hand are short or long, or the skin
+is moist or dry. No more can you, without
+conscious effort, recall the details of
+a face, even when you have seen it many
+times. If you do recall the features,
+and say that an eye is blue, a chin sharp,
+a nose short, or a cheek sunken, I fancy
+that you do not succeed well in giving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
+the impression of the person,&mdash;not so
+well as when you interpret at once to the
+heart the essential moral qualities of
+the face&mdash;its humour, gravity, sadness,
+spirituality. If I should tell you in physical
+terms how a hand feels, you would
+be no wiser for my account than a blind
+man to whom you describe a face in detail.
+Remember that when a blind man
+recovers his sight, he does not recognize
+the commonest thing that has been familiar
+to his touch, the dearest face intimate
+to his fingers, and it does not help
+him at all that things and people have
+been described to him again and again.
+So you, who are untrained of touch, do
+not recognize a hand by the grasp; and
+so, too, any description I might give
+would fail to make you acquainted with
+a friendly hand which my fingers have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
+often folded about, and which my affection
+translates to my memory.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot describe hands under any
+class or type; there is no democracy of
+hands. Some hands tell me that they do
+everything with the maximum of bustle
+and noise. Other hands are fidgety and
+unadvised, with nervous, fussy fingers
+which indicate a nature sensitive to the
+little pricks of daily life. Sometimes I
+recognize with foreboding the kindly
+but stupid hand of one who tells with
+many words news that is no news. I
+have met a bishop with a jocose hand, a
+humourist with a hand of leaden gravity,
+a man of pretentious valour with a
+timorous hand, and a quiet, apologetic
+man with a fist of iron. When I was
+a little girl I was taken to see<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> a woman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
+who was blind and paralysed. I shall
+never forget how she held out her small,
+trembling hand and pressed sympathy
+into mine. My eyes fill with tears as I
+think of her. The weariness, pain, darkness,
+and sweet patience were all to be
+felt in her thin, wasted, groping, loving
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>Few people who do not know me will
+understand, I think, how much I get of
+the mood of a friend who is engaged in
+oral conversation with somebody else.
+My hand follows his motions; I touch
+his hand, his arm, his face. I can tell
+when he is full of glee over a good joke
+which has not been repeated to me, or
+when he is telling a lively story. One<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
+of my friends is rather aggressive, and
+his hand always announces the coming
+of a dispute. By his impatient jerk I
+know he has argument ready for some
+one. I have felt him start as a sudden
+recollection or a new idea shot through
+his mind. I have felt grief in his hand.
+I have felt his soul wrap itself in darkness
+majestically as in a garment. Another
+friend has positive, emphatic hands
+which show great pertinacity of opinion.
+She is the only person I know who
+emphasizes her spelled words and accents
+them as she emphasizes and accents
+her spoken words when I read her lips. I
+like this varied emphasis better than
+the monotonous pound of unmodulated
+people who hammer their meaning into
+my palm.</p>
+
+<p>Some hands, when they clasp yours,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
+beam and bubble over with gladness.
+They throb and expand with life.
+Strangers have clasped my hand like
+that of a long-lost sister. Other people
+shake hands with me as if with the fear
+that I may do them mischief. Such persons
+hold out civil finger-tips which they
+permit you to touch, and in the moment
+of contract they retreat, and inwardly
+you hope that you will not be called
+upon again to take that hand of "dormouse
+valour." It betokens a prudish
+mind, ungracious pride, and not seldom
+mistrust. It is the antipode to the
+hand of those who have large, lovable
+natures.</p>
+
+<p>The handshake of some people makes
+you think of accident and sudden death.
+Contrast this ill-boding hand with the
+quick, skilful, quiet hand of a nurse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
+whom I remember with affection because
+she took the best care of my
+teacher. I have clasped the hands of
+some rich people that spin not and toil
+not, and yet are not beautiful. Beneath
+their soft, smooth roundness what a
+chaos of undeveloped character!</p>
+
+<p>I am sure there is no hand comparable
+to the physician's in patient skill, merciful
+gentleness and splendid certainty.
+No wonder that Ruskin finds in the sure
+strokes of the surgeon the perfection of
+control and delicate precision for the
+artist to emulate. If the physician is a
+man of great nature, there will be healing
+for the spirit in his touch. This
+magic touch of well-being was in the
+hand of a dear friend of mine who was
+our doctor in sickness and health. His
+happy cordial spirit did his patients<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
+good whether they needed medicine or
+not.</p>
+
+<p>As there are many beauties of the face,
+so the beauties of the hand are many.
+Touch has its ecstasies. The hands
+of people of strong individuality and
+sensitiveness are wonderfully mobile.
+In a glance of their finger-tips they
+express many shades of thought. Now
+and again I touch a fine, graceful,
+supple-wristed hand which spells with
+the same beauty and distinction that you
+must see in the handwriting of some
+highly cultivated people. I wish you
+could see how prettily little children
+spell in my hand. They are wild flowers
+of humanity, and their finger motions
+wild flowers of speech.</p>
+
+<p>All this is my private science of
+palmistry, and when I tell your fortune<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
+it is by no mysterious intuition or gipsy
+witchcraft, but by natural, explicable
+recognition of the embossed character in
+your hand. Not only is the hand as easy
+to recognize as the face, but it reveals its
+secrets more openly and unconsciously.
+People control their countenances, but
+the hand is under no such restraint. It
+relaxes and becomes listless when the
+spirit is low and dejected; the muscles
+tighten when the mind is excited or the
+heart glad; and permanent qualities
+stand written on it all the time.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE HAND OF THE RACE</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
+<h2>III</h2>
+
+<h3>THE HAND OF THE RACE</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>LOOK in your "Century Dictionary," or
+if you are blind, ask your teacher
+to do it for you, and learn how many
+idioms are made on the idea of hand,
+and how many words are formed from
+the Latin root <i>manus</i>&mdash;enough words to
+name all the essential affairs of life.
+"Hand," with quotations and compounds,
+occupies twenty-four columns,
+eight pages of this dictionary. The
+hand is defined as "the organ of apprehension."
+How perfectly the definition
+fits my case in both senses of the word
+"apprehend"! With my hand I seize<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
+and hold all that I find in the three
+worlds&mdash;physical, intellectual, and spiritual.</div>
+
+<p>Think how man has regarded the
+world in terms of the hand. All life is
+divided between what lies <i>on one hand</i>
+and on the other. The products of skill
+are <i>manu</i>factures. The conduct of affairs
+is <i>man</i>agement. History seems to
+be the record&mdash;alas for our chronicles of
+war!&mdash;of the <i>man</i>&#339;uvres of armies.
+But the history of peace, too, the narrative
+of labour in the field, the forest, and
+the vineyard, is written in the victorious
+sign <i>manual</i>&mdash;the sign of the hand that
+has conquered the wilderness. The
+labourer himself is called a <i>hand</i>. In
+<i>man</i>acle and <i>manu</i>mission we read the
+story of human slavery and freedom.</p>
+
+<p>The minor idioms are myriad; but I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
+will not recall too many, lest you cry,
+"Hands off!" I cannot desist, however,
+from this word-game until I have set
+down a few. Whatever is not one's own
+by first possession is <i>second-hand</i>. That
+is what I am told my knowledge is. But
+my well-meaning friends come to my
+defence, and, not content with endowing
+me with natural <i>first-hand</i> knowledge
+which is rightfully mine, ascribe to me
+a preternatural sixth sense and credit to
+miracles and heaven-sent compensations
+all that I have won and discovered with
+my good right hand. And with my left
+hand too; for with that I read, and it is
+as true and honourable as the other. By
+what half-development of human power
+has the left hand been neglected?
+When we arrive at the acme of civilization
+shall we not all be ambidextrous,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
+and in our <i>hand-to-hand</i> contests against
+difficulties shall we not be doubly triumphant?
+It occurs to me, by the way,
+that when my teacher was training my
+unreclaimed spirit, her struggle against
+the powers of darkness, with the stout
+arm of discipline and the light of the
+manual alphabet, was in two senses a
+hand-to-hand conflict.</p>
+
+<p>No essay would be complete without
+quotations from Shakspere. In the
+field which, in the presumption of my
+youth, I thought was my own he has
+reaped before me. In almost every
+play there are passages where the hand
+plays a part. Lady Macbeth's heart-broken
+soliloquy over her little hand,
+from which all the perfumes of Arabia
+will not wash the stain, is the most pitiful
+moment in the tragedy. Mark Antony<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+rewards Scarus, the bravest of his soldiers,
+by asking Cleopatra to give him her hand:
+"Commend unto his lips thy favouring
+hand." In a different mood he
+is enraged because Thyreus, whom he
+despises, has presumed to kiss the
+hand of the queen, "my playfellow,
+the kingly seal of high hearts."
+When Cleopatra is threatened with the
+humiliation of gracing C&aelig;sar's triumph,
+she snatches a dagger, exclaiming,
+"I will trust my resolution and my
+good hands." With the same swift instinct,
+Cassius trusts to his hands when
+he stabs C&aelig;sar: "Speak, hands, for me!"
+"Let me kiss your hand," says the blind
+Gloster to Lear. "Let me wipe it first,"
+replies the broken old king; "it smells of
+mortality." How charged is this single
+touch with sad meaning! How it opens<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+our eyes to the fearful purging Lear
+has undergone, to learn that royalty is
+no defence against ingratitude and
+cruelty! Gloster's exclamation about
+his son, "Did I but live to see thee in my
+touch, I'd say I had eyes again," is as
+true to a pulse within me as the grief he
+feels. The ghost in "Hamlet" recites the
+wrongs from which springs the tragedy:</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand.<br />
+At once of life, of crown, of queen dispatch'd.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p>How that passage in "Othello" stops
+your breath&mdash;that passage full of bitter
+double intention in which Othello's suspicion
+tips with evil what he says about
+Desdemona's hand; and she in innocence
+answers only the innocent meaning of
+his words: "For 'twas that hand that
+gave away my heart."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Not all Shakspere's great passages
+about the hand are tragic. Remember
+the light play of words in "Romeo and
+Juliet" where the dialogue, flying nimbly
+back and forth, weaves a pretty
+sonnet about the hand. And who knows
+the hand, if not the lover?</p>
+
+<p>The touch of the hand is in every
+chapter of the Bible. Why, you could
+almost rewrite Exodus as the story of
+the hand. Everything is done by the
+hand of the Lord and of Moses. The
+oppression of the Hebrews is translated
+thus: "The hand of Pharaoh was heavy
+upon the Hebrews." Their departure
+out of the land is told in these vivid
+words: "The Lord brought the children
+of Israel out of the house of bondage
+with a strong hand and a stretched-out
+arm." At the stretching out of the hand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+of Moses the waters of the Red Sea part
+and stand all on a heap. When the
+Lord lifts his hand in anger, thousands
+perish in the wilderness. Every act,
+every decree in the history of Israel, as
+indeed in the history of the human race,
+is sanctioned by the hand. Is it not used
+in the great moments of swearing, blessing,
+cursing, smiting, agreeing, marrying,
+building, destroying? Its sacredness
+is in the law that no sacrifice is valid
+unless the sacrificer lay his hand upon
+the head of the victim. The congregation
+lay their hands on the heads of those
+who are sentenced to death. How
+terrible the dumb condemnation of their
+hands must be to the condemned!
+When Moses builds the altar on Mount
+Sinai, he is commanded to use no tool,
+but rear it with his own hands. Earth,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+sea, sky, man, and all lower animals are
+holy unto the Lord because he has
+formed them with his hand. When the
+Psalmist considers the heavens and the
+earth, he exclaims: "What is man, O
+Lord, that thou art mindful of him?
+For thou hast made him to have dominion
+over the works of thy hands." The supplicating
+gesture of the hand always accompanies
+the spoken prayer, and with
+clean hands goes the pure heart.</p>
+
+<p>Christ comforted and blessed and
+healed and wrought many miracles with
+his hands. He touched the eyes of the
+blind, and they were opened. When
+Jairus sought him, overwhelmed with
+grief, Jesus went and laid his hands on
+the ruler's daughter, and she awoke
+from the sleep of death to her father's
+love. You also remember how he healed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
+the crooked woman. He said to her,
+"Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity,"
+and he laid his hands on her,
+and immediately she was made straight,
+and she glorified God.</p>
+
+<p>Look where we will, we find the hand
+in time and history, working, building,
+inventing, bringing civilization out of
+barbarism. The hand symbolizes power
+and the excellence of work. The mechanic's
+hand, that minister of elemental
+forces, the hand that hews, saws, cuts,
+builds, is useful in the world equally
+with the delicate hand that paints a wild
+flower or moulds a Grecian urn, or the
+hand of a statesman that writes a law.
+The eye cannot say to the hand, "I have
+no need of thee." Blessed be the hand!
+Thrice blessed be the hands that work!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE POWER OF TOUCH</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p>
+<h2>IV</h2>
+
+<h3>THE POWER OF TOUCH</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>SOME months ago, in a newspaper
+which announced the publication of
+the "Matilda Ziegler Magazine for the
+Blind," appeared the following paragraph:</div>
+
+<p>"Many poems and stories must be
+omitted because they deal with sight.
+Allusion to moonbeams, rainbows, starlight,
+clouds, and beautiful scenery may
+not be printed, because they serve to
+emphasize the blind man's sense of his
+affliction."</p>
+
+<p>That is to say, I may not talk about
+beautiful mansions and gardens because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
+I am poor. I may not read about Paris
+and the West Indies because I cannot
+visit them in their territorial reality. I
+may not dream of heaven because it is
+possible that I may never go there. Yet
+a venturesome spirit impels me to use
+words of sight and sound whose meaning
+I can guess only from analogy and
+fancy. This hazardous game is half the
+delight, the frolic, of daily life. I glow
+as I read of splendours which the eye
+alone can survey. Allusions to moonbeams
+and clouds do not emphasize the
+sense of my affliction: they carry my
+soul beyond affliction's narrow actuality.</p>
+
+<p>Critics delight to tell us what we cannot
+do. They assume that blindness and
+deafness sever us completely from the
+things which the seeing and the hearing
+enjoy, and hence they assert we have no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+moral right to talk about beauty, the
+skies, mountains, the song of birds, and
+colours. They declare that the very sensations
+we have from the sense of touch
+are "vicarious," as though our friends
+felt the sun for us! They deny <i>a priori</i>
+what they have not seen and I have felt.
+Some brave doubters have gone so far
+even as to deny my existence. In order,
+therefore, that I may know that I exist,
+I resort to Descartes's method: "I
+think, therefore I am." Thus I am metaphysically
+established, and I throw upon
+the doubters the burden of proving my
+non-existence. When we consider how
+little has been found out about the mind,
+is it not amazing that any one should presume
+to define what one can know or
+cannot know? I admit that there are
+innumerable marvels in the visible universe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
+unguessed by me. Likewise, O
+confident critic, there are a myriad sensations
+perceived by me of which you do
+not dream.</p>
+
+<p>Necessity gives to the eye a precious
+power of seeing, and in the same way it
+gives a precious power of feeling to the
+whole body. Sometimes it seems as if
+the very substance of my flesh were so
+many eyes looking out at will upon a
+world new created every day. The
+silence and darkness which are said to
+shut me in, open my door most hospitably
+to countless sensations that distract,
+inform, admonish, and amuse.
+With my three trusty guides, touch,
+smell, and taste, I make many excursions
+into the borderland of experience
+which is in sight of the city of Light.
+Nature accommodates itself to every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
+man's necessity. If the eye is maimed,
+so that it does not see the beauteous face
+of day, the touch becomes more poignant
+and discriminating. Nature proceeds
+through practice to strengthen
+and augment the remaining senses.
+For this reason the blind often hear with
+greater ease and distinctness than other
+people. The sense of smell becomes
+almost a new faculty to penetrate the
+tangle and vagueness of things. Thus,
+according to an immutable law, the
+senses assist and reinforce one another.</p>
+
+<p>It is not for me to say whether we see
+best with the hand or the eye. I only
+know that the world I see with my
+fingers is alive, ruddy, and satisfying.
+Touch brings the blind many sweet certainties
+which our more fortunate fellows
+miss, because their sense of touch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
+is uncultivated. When they look at
+things, they put their hands in their
+pockets. No doubt that is one reason
+why their knowledge is often so vague,
+inaccurate, and useless. It is probable,
+too, that our knowledge of phenomena
+beyond the reach of the hand is equally
+imperfect. But, at all events, we behold
+them through a golden mist of fantasy.</p>
+
+<p>There is nothing, however, misty or
+uncertain about what we can touch.
+Through the sense of touch I know the
+faces of friends, the illimitable variety
+of straight and curved lines, all surfaces,
+the exuberance of the soil, the delicate
+shapes of flowers, the noble forms of
+trees, and the range of mighty winds.
+Besides objects, surfaces, and atmospherical
+changes, I perceive countless
+vibrations. I derive much knowledge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
+of everyday matter from the jars and
+jolts which are to be felt everywhere in
+the house.</p>
+
+<p>Footsteps, I discover, vary tactually
+according to the age, the sex, and the
+manners of the walker. It is impossible
+to mistake a child's patter for the tread
+of a grown person. The step of the
+young man, strong and free, differs
+from the heavy, sedate tread of the
+middle-aged, and from the step of the old
+man, whose feet drag along the floor, or
+beat it with slow, faltering accents. On
+a bare floor a girl walks with a rapid,
+elastic rhythm which is quite distinct
+from the graver step of the elderly
+woman. I have laughed over the creak
+of new shoes and the clatter of a stout
+maid performing a jig in the kitchen.
+One day, in the dining-room of an hotel,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
+a tactual dissonance arrested my attention.
+I sat still and listened with my
+feet. I found that two waiters were
+walking back and forth, but not with
+the same gait. A band was playing,
+and I could feel the music-waves along
+the floor. One of the waiters walked in
+time to the band, graceful and light,
+while the other disregarded the music
+and rushed from table to table to the
+beat of some discord in his own
+mind. Their steps reminded me of a
+spirited war-steed harnessed with a cart-horse.</p>
+
+<p>Often footsteps reveal in some measure
+the character and the mood of the
+walker. I feel in them firmness and indecision,
+hurry and deliberation, activity
+and laziness, fatigue, carelessness, timidity,
+anger, and sorrow. I am most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+conscious of these moods and traits in
+persons with whom I am familiar.</p>
+
+<p>Footsteps are frequently interrupted
+by certain jars and jerks, so that I know
+when one kneels, kicks, shakes something,
+sits down, or gets up. Thus I
+follow to some extent the actions of people
+about me and the changes of their
+postures. Just now a thick, soft patter
+of bare, padded feet and a slight jolt
+told me that my dog had jumped on the
+chair to look out of the window. I do
+not, however, allow him to go uninvestigated;
+for occasionally I feel the same
+motion, and find him, not on the chair,
+but trespassing on the sofa.</p>
+
+<p>When a carpenter works in the house
+or in the barn near by, I know by the
+slanting, up-and-down, toothed vibration,
+and the ringing concussion of blow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
+upon blow, that he is sawing or hammering.
+If I am near enough, a certain
+vibration, travelling back and forth
+along a wooden surface, brings me the
+information that he is using a plane.</p>
+
+<p>A slight flutter on the rug tells me
+that a breeze has blown my papers off
+the table. A round thump is a signal
+that a pencil has rolled on the floor. If
+a book falls, it gives a flat thud. A
+wooden rap on the balustrade announces
+that dinner is ready. Many of these
+vibrations are obliterated out of doors.
+On a lawn or the road, I can feel only
+running, stamping, and the rumble of
+wheels.</p>
+
+<p>By placing my hand on a person's lips
+and throat, I gain an idea of many specific
+vibrations, and interpret them: a
+boy's chuckle, a man's "Whew!" of surprise,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
+the "Hem!" of annoyance or perplexity,
+the moan of pain, a scream, a
+whisper, a rasp, a sob, a choke, and a
+gasp. The utterances of animals, though
+wordless, are eloquent to me&mdash;the cat's
+purr, its mew, its angry, jerky, scolding
+spit; the dog's bow-wow of
+warning or of joyous welcome, its yelp
+of despair, and its contented snore; the
+cow's moo; a monkey's chatter; the
+snort of a horse; the lion's roar, and the
+terrible snarl of the tiger. Perhaps I
+ought to add, for the benefit of the critics
+and doubters who may peruse this essay,
+that with my own hands I have felt all
+these sounds. From my childhood to
+the present day I have availed myself
+of every opportunity to visit zoological
+gardens, menageries, and the circus, and
+all the animals, except the tiger, have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
+talked into my hand. I have touched
+the tiger only in a museum, where he is
+as harmless as a lamb. I have, however,
+heard him talk by putting my hand on
+the bars of his cage. I have touched
+several lions in the flesh, and felt them
+roar royally, like a cataract over rocks.</p>
+
+<p>To continue, I know the <i>plop</i> of liquid
+in a pitcher. So if I spill my milk, I
+have not the excuse of ignorance. I am
+also familiar with the pop of a cork, the
+sputter of a flame, the tick-tack of the
+clock, the metallic swing of the windmill,
+the laboured rise and fall of the
+pump, the voluminous spurt of the hose,
+the deceptive tap of the breeze at door
+and window, and many other vibrations
+past computing.</p>
+
+<p>There are tactual vibrations which do
+not belong to skin-touch. They penetrate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
+the skin, the nerves, the bones, like
+pain, heat, and cold. The beat of a
+drum smites me through from the chest
+to the shoulder-blades. The din of the
+train, the bridge, and grinding machinery
+retains its "old-man-of-the-sea"
+grip upon me long after its cause has
+been left behind. If vibration and motion
+combine in my touch for any length
+of time, the earth seems to run away
+while I stand still. When I step off the
+train, the platform whirls round, and I
+find it difficult to walk steadily.</p>
+
+<p>Every atom of my body is a vibroscope.
+But my sensations are not infallible.
+I reach out, and my fingers
+meet something furry, which jumps
+about, gathers itself together as if to
+spring, and acts like an animal. I pause
+a moment for caution. I touch it again<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
+more firmly, and find it is a fur coat fluttering
+and flapping in the wind. To
+me, as to you, the earth seems motionless,
+and the sun appears to move; for
+the rays of the afternoon withdraw more
+and more, as they touch my face, until
+the air becomes cool. From this I
+understand how it is that the shore seems
+to recede as you sail away from it.
+Hence I feel no incredulity when you
+say that parallel lines appear to converge,
+and the earth and sky to meet.
+My few senses long ago revealed to me
+their imperfections and deceptivity.</p>
+
+<p>Not only are the senses deceptive, but
+numerous usages in our language indicate
+that people who have five senses
+find it difficult to keep their functions
+distinct. I understand that we hear
+views, see tones, taste music. I am told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+that voices have colour. Tact, which I
+have supposed to be a matter of nice perception,
+turns out to be a matter of
+taste. Judging from the large use of
+the word, taste appears to be the most
+important of all the senses. Taste governs
+the great and small conventions of
+life. Certainly the language of the
+senses is full of contradictions, and my
+fellows who have five doors to their house
+are not more surely at home in themselves
+than I. May I not, then, be
+excused if this account of my sensations
+lacks precision?</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE FINER VIBRATIONS</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
+<h2>V</h2>
+
+<h3>THE FINER VIBRATIONS</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;HAVE spoken of the numerous jars
+and jolts which daily minister to my
+faculties. The loftier and grander vibrations
+which appeal to my emotions
+are varied and abundant. I listen with
+awe to the roll of the thunder and the
+muffled avalanche of sound when the sea
+flings itself upon the shore. And I love
+the instrument by which all the diapasons
+of the ocean are caught and released in
+surging floods&mdash;the many-voiced organ.
+If music could be seen, I could point
+where the organ-notes go, as they rise
+and fall, climb up and up, rock and
+sway, now loud and deep, now high and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
+stormy, anon soft and solemn, with
+lighter vibrations interspersed between
+and running across them. I should say
+that organ-music fills to an ecstasy the act
+of feeling.</div>
+
+<p>There is tangible delight in other instruments,
+too. The violin seems beautifully
+alive as it responds to the lightest
+wish of the master. The distinction between
+its notes is more delicate than
+between the notes of the piano.</p>
+
+<p>I enjoy the music of the piano most
+when I touch the instrument. If I keep
+my hand on the piano-case, I detect tiny
+quavers, returns of melody, and the hush
+that follows. This explains to me how
+sound can die away to the listening ear:</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">... How thin and clear,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thinner, clearer, farther going!</span><br />
+O sweet and far from cliff and scar<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!</span><br />
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='unindent'>I am able to follow the dominant spirit
+and mood of the music. I catch the
+joyous dance as it bounds over the keys,
+the slow dirge, the reverie. I thrill to
+the fiery sweep of notes crossed by
+thunderous tones in the "Walk&uuml;re,"
+where <i>Wotan</i> kindles the dread flames
+that guard the sleeping <i>Brunhild</i>.
+How wonderful is the instrument on
+which a great musician sings with his
+hands! I have never succeeded in distinguishing
+one composition from another.
+I think this is impossible; but the
+concentration and strain upon my attention
+would be so great that I doubt if
+the pleasure derived would be commensurate
+to the effort.</div>
+
+<p>Nor can I distinguish easily a tune
+that is sung. But by placing my hand
+on another's throat and cheek, I enjoy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
+the changes of the voice. I know when
+it is low or high, clear or muffled, sad or
+cheery. The thin, quavering sensation
+of an old voice differs in my touch from
+the sensation of a young voice. A
+Southerner's drawl is quite unlike the
+Yankee twang. Sometimes the flow
+and ebb of a voice is so enchanting that
+my fingers quiver with exquisite pleasure,
+even if I do not understand a word
+that is spoken.</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand, I am exceedingly
+sensitive to the harshness of noises like
+grinding, scraping, and the hoarse creak
+of rusty locks. Fog-whistles are my vibratory
+nightmares. I have stood near
+a bridge in process of construction, and
+felt the tactual din, the rattle of heavy
+masses of stone, the roll of loosened
+earth, the rumble of engines, the dumping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+of dirt-cars, the triple blows of vulcan
+hammers. I can also smell the fire-pots,
+the tar and cement. So I have a
+vivid idea of mighty labours in steel and
+stone, and I believe that I am acquainted
+with all the fiendish noises which can be
+made by man or machinery. The whack
+of heavy falling bodies, the sudden
+shivering splinter of chopped logs, the
+crystal shatter of pounded ice, the crash
+of a tree hurled to the earth by a hurricane,
+the irrational, persistent chaos of
+noise made by switching freight-trains,
+the explosion of gas, the blasting of stone,
+and the terrific grinding of rock upon
+rock which precedes the collapse&mdash;all
+these have been in my touch-experience,
+and contribute to my idea of Bedlam, of a
+battle, a waterspout, an earthquake, and
+other enormous accumulations of sound.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Touch brings me into contact with the
+traffic and manifold activity of the city.
+Besides the bustle and crowding of people
+and the nondescript grating and electric
+howling of street-cars, I am conscious
+of exhalations from many different kinds
+of shops; from automobiles, drays,
+horses, fruit stands, and many varieties
+of smoke.</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Odours strange and musty,<br />
+The air sharp and dusty<br />
+With lime and with sand,<br />
+That no one can stand,<br />
+Make the street impassable,<br />
+The people irascible,<br />
+Until every one cries,<br />
+As he trembling goes<br />
+With the sight of his eyes<br />
+And the scent of his nose<br />
+Quite stopped&mdash;or at least much diminished&mdash;<br />
+"Gracious! when will this city be finished?"<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a><br />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figright" style="width: 318px;">
+<img src="images/fp70.jpg" width="318" height="500" alt="Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio &quot;Listening&quot; to the Trees" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;Listening&quot; to the Trees<br /><small><span style="margin-left: 12em;">To face page 70</span></small></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>The city is interesting; but the tactual
+silence of the country is always most
+welcome after the din of town and
+the irritating concussions of the train.
+How noiseless and undisturbing are the
+demolition, the repairs and the alterations,
+of nature! With no sound of
+hammer or saw or stone severed from
+stone, but a music of rustles and ripe
+thumps on the grass come the fluttering
+leaves and mellow fruits which the wind
+tumbles all day from the branches.
+Silently all droops, all withers, all is
+poured back into the earth that it may
+recreate; all sleeps while the busy architects
+of day and night ply their silent
+work elsewhere. The same serenity
+reigns when all at once the soil yields
+up a newly wrought creation. Softly
+the ocean of grass, moss, and flowers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
+rolls surge upon surge across the earth.
+Curtains of foliage drape the bare
+branches. Great trees make ready in
+their sturdy hearts to receive again birds
+which occupy their spacious chambers
+to the south and west. Nay, there is no
+place so lowly that it may not lodge
+some happy creature. The meadow
+brook undoes its icy fetters with rippling
+notes, gurgles, and runs free.
+And all this is wrought in less than two
+months to the music of nature's orchestra,
+in the midst of balmy incense.</p>
+
+<p>The thousand soft voices of the earth
+have truly found their way to me&mdash;the
+small rustle in tufts of grass, the
+silky swish of leaves, the buzz of insects,
+the hum of bees in blossoms I have
+plucked, the flutter of a bird's wings
+after his bath, and the slender rippling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
+vibration of water running over pebbles.
+Once having been felt, these loved voices
+rustle, buzz, hum, flutter, and ripple in
+my thought forever, an undying part of
+happy memories.</p>
+
+<p>Between my experiences and the experiences
+of others there is no gulf of
+mute space which I may not bridge.
+For I have endlessly varied, instructive
+contacts with all the world, with life,
+with the atmosphere whose radiant activity
+enfolds us all. The thrilling
+energy of the all-encasing air is warm
+and rapturous. Heat-waves and sound-waves
+play upon my face in infinite
+variety and combination, until I am able
+to surmise what must be the myriad
+sounds that my senseless ears have not
+heard.</p>
+
+<p>The air varies in different regions, at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
+different seasons of the year, and even
+different hours of the day. The odorous,
+fresh sea-breezes are distinct from
+the fitful breezes along river banks,
+which are humid and freighted with inland
+smells. The bracing, light, dry air
+of the mountains can never be mistaken
+for the pungent salt air of the ocean.
+The air of winter is dense, hard, compressed.
+In the spring it has new vitality.
+It is light, mobile, and laden with a
+thousand palpitating odours from earth,
+grass, and sprouting leaves. The air of
+midsummer is dense, saturated, or dry
+and burning, as if it came from a furnace.
+When a cool breeze brushes the
+sultry stillness, it brings fewer odours
+than in May, and frequently the odour
+of a coming tempest. The avalanche of
+coolness which sweeps through the low-hanging<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
+air bears little resemblance to
+the stinging coolness of winter.</p>
+
+<p>The rain of winter is raw, without
+odour, and dismal. The rain of spring is
+brisk, fragrant, charged with life-giving
+warmth. I welcome it delightedly as
+it visits the earth, enriches the streams,
+waters the hills abundantly, makes the
+furrows soft with showers for the seed,
+elicits a perfume which I cannot breathe
+deep enough. Spring rain is beautiful,
+impartial, lovable. With pearly drops
+it washes every leaf on tree and bush,
+ministers equally to salutary herbs and
+noxious growths, searches out every
+living thing that needs its beneficence.</p>
+
+<p>The senses assist and reinforce each
+other to such an extent that I am not
+sure whether touch or smell tells me the
+most about the world. Everywhere the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
+river of touch is joined by the brooks
+of odour-perception. Each season has its
+distinctive odours. The spring is earthy
+and full of sap. July is rich with the
+odour of ripening grain and hay. As the
+season advances, a crisp, dry, mature
+odour predominates, and golden-rod,
+tansy, and everlastings mark the onward
+march of the year. In autumn,
+soft, alluring scents fill the air, floating
+from thicket, grass, flower, and tree,
+and they tell me of time and change, of
+death and life's renewal, desire and its
+fulfilment.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VI</h2>
+
+<h3>SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>FOR some inexplicable reason the
+sense of smell does not hold the
+high position it deserves among its sisters.
+There is something of the fallen
+angel about it. When it woos us with
+woodland scents and beguiles us with
+the fragrance of lovely gardens, it is admitted
+frankly to our discourse. But
+when it gives us warning of something
+noxious in our vicinity, it is treated as if
+the demon had got the upper hand of
+the angel, and is relegated to outer
+darkness, punished for its faithful service.
+It is most difficult to keep the true<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
+significance of words when one discusses
+the prejudices of mankind, and I find it
+hard to give an account of odour-perceptions
+which shall be at once dignified
+and truthful.</div>
+
+<p>In my experience smell is most important,
+and I find that there is high
+authority for the nobility of the sense
+which we have neglected and disparaged.
+It is recorded that the Lord
+commanded that incense be burnt before
+him continually with a sweet savour.
+I doubt if there is any sensation arising
+from sight more delightful than the odours
+which filter through sun-warmed, wind-tossed
+branches, or the tide of scents
+which swells, subsides, rises again wave
+on wave, filling the wide world with invisible
+sweetness. A whiff of the universe
+makes us dream of worlds we have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
+never seen, recalls in a flash entire
+epochs of our dearest experience. I
+never smell daisies without living over
+again the ecstatic mornings that my
+teacher and I spent wandering in the
+fields, while I learned new words and
+the names of things. Smell is a potent
+wizard that transports us across a thousand
+miles and all the years we have
+lived. The odour of fruits wafts me
+to my Southern home, to my childish
+frolics in the peach orchard. Other
+odours, instantaneous and fleeting, cause
+my heart to dilate joyously or contract
+with remembered grief. Even as I
+think of smells, my nose is full of scents
+that start awake sweet memories of
+summers gone and ripening grain fields
+far away.</p>
+
+<p>The faintest whiff from a meadow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
+where the new-mown hay lies in the hot
+sun displaces the here and the now. I
+am back again in the old red barn. My
+little friends and I are playing in the haymow.
+A huge mow it is, packed with
+crisp, sweet hay, from the top of which
+the smallest child can reach the straining
+rafters. In their stalls beneath are the
+farm animals. Here is Jerry, unresponsive,
+unbeautiful Jerry, crunching
+his oats like a true pessimist, resolved to
+find his feed not good&mdash;at least not so
+good as it ought to be. Again I touch
+Brownie, eager, grateful little Brownie,
+ready to leave the juiciest fodder for a
+pat, straining his beautiful, slender neck
+for a caress. Near by stands Lady
+Belle, with sweet, moist mouth, lazily
+extracting the sealed-up cordial from
+timothy and clover, and dreaming of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
+deep June pastures and murmurous
+streams.</p>
+
+<p>The sense of smell has told me of a
+coming storm hours before there was
+any sign of it visible. I notice first a
+throb of expectancy, a slight quiver, a
+concentration in my nostrils. As the
+storm draws nearer, my nostrils dilate
+the better to receive the flood of earth-odours
+which seem to multiply and extend,
+until I feel the splash of rain
+against my cheek. As the tempest
+departs, receding farther and farther,
+the odours fade, become fainter and
+fainter, and die away beyond the bar
+of space.</p>
+
+<p>I know by smell the kind of house we
+enter. I have recognized an old-fashioned
+country house because it has several
+layers of odours, left by a succession of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
+families, of plants, perfumes, and draperies.</p>
+
+<p>In the evening quiet there are fewer
+vibrations than in the daytime, and then
+I rely more largely upon smell. The
+sulphuric scent of a match tells me
+that the lamps are being lighted. Later
+I note the wavering trail of odour that
+flits about and disappears. It is the
+curfew signal; the lights are out for the
+night.</p>
+
+<p>Out of doors I am aware by smell and
+touch of the ground we tread and the
+places we pass. Sometimes, when there
+is no wind, the odours are so grouped
+that I know the character of the country,
+and can place a hayfield, a country
+store, a garden, a barn, a grove of pines,
+a farmhouse with the windows open.</p>
+
+<p>The other day I went to walk toward a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
+familiar wood. Suddenly a disturbing
+odour made me pause in dismay. Then
+followed a peculiar, measured jar, followed
+by dull, heavy thunder. I understood
+the odour and the jar only too well.
+The trees were being cut down. We
+climbed the stone wall to the left. It
+borders the wood which I have loved so
+long that it seems to be my peculiar possession.
+But to-day an unfamiliar rush
+of air and an unwonted outburst of sun
+told me that my tree friends were gone.
+The place was empty, like a deserted
+dwelling. I stretched out my hand.
+Where once stood the steadfast pines,
+great, beautiful, sweet, my hand touched
+raw, moist stumps. All about lay
+broken branches, like the antlers of
+stricken deer. The fragrant, piled-up
+sawdust swirled and tumbled about me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+An unreasoning resentment flashed
+through me at this ruthless destruction
+of the beauty that I love. But there is
+no anger, no resentment in nature. The
+air is equally charged with the odours of
+life and of destruction, for death equally
+with growth forever ministers to all-conquering
+life. The sun shines as ever, and
+the winds riot through the newly opened
+spaces. I know that a new forest will
+spring where the old one stood, as beautiful,
+as beneficent.</p>
+
+<p>Touch sensations are permanent and
+definite. Odours deviate and are fugitive,
+changing in their shades, degrees,
+and location. There is something else
+in odour which gives me a sense of distance.
+I should call it horizon&mdash;the line
+where odour and fancy meet at the
+farthest limit of scent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Smell gives me more idea than touch
+or taste of the manner in which sight
+and hearing probably discharge their
+functions. Touch seems to reside in the
+object touched, because there is a contact
+of surfaces. In smell there is no
+notion of relievo, and odour seems to reside
+not in the object smelt, but in the
+organ. Since I smell a tree at a distance,
+it is comprehensible to me that a person
+sees it without touching it. I am
+not puzzled over the fact that he receives
+it as an image on his retina without
+relievo, since my smell perceives the
+tree as a thin sphere with no fullness or
+content. By themselves, odours suggest
+nothing. I must learn by association to
+judge from them of distance, of place,
+and of the actions or the surroundings
+which are the usual occasions for them,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
+just as I am told people judge from
+colour, light, and sound.</p>
+
+<p>From exhalations I learn much about
+people. I often know the work they are
+engaged in. The odours of wood, iron,
+paint, and drugs cling to the garments
+of those that work in them. Thus I can
+distinguish the carpenter from the ironworker,
+the artist from the mason or the
+chemist. When a person passes quickly
+from one place to another I get a scent
+impression of where he has been&mdash;the
+kitchen, the garden, or the sick-room. I
+gain pleasurable ideas of freshness and
+good taste from the odours of soap, toilet
+water, clean garments, woollen and silk
+stuffs, and gloves.</p>
+
+<p>I have not, indeed, the all-knowing
+scent of the hound or the wild animal.
+None but the halt and the blind need<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+fear my skill in pursuit; for there are
+other things besides water, stale trails,
+confusing cross tracks to put me at
+fault. Nevertheless, human odours are
+as varied and capable of recognition as
+hands and faces. The dear odours of
+those I love are so definite, so unmistakable,
+that nothing can quite obliterate
+them. If many years should elapse before
+I saw an intimate friend again, I
+think I should recognize his odour instantly
+in the heart of Africa, as
+promptly as would my brother that
+barks.</p>
+
+<p>Once, long ago, in a crowded railway
+station, a lady kissed me as she hurried
+by. I had not touched even her dress.
+But she left a scent with her kiss
+which gave me a glimpse of her.
+The years are many since she kissed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
+me. Yet her odour is fresh in my
+memory.</p>
+
+<p>It is difficult to put into words the thing
+itself, the elusive person-odour. There
+seems to be no adequate vocabulary
+of smells, and I must fall back on
+approximate phrase and metaphor.</p>
+
+<p>Some people have a vague, unsubstantial
+odour that floats about, mocking
+every effort to identify it. It is the will-o'-the-wisp
+of my olfactive experience.
+Sometimes I meet one who lacks a distinctive
+person-scent, and I seldom find
+such a one lively or entertaining. On
+the other hand, one who has a pungent
+odour often possesses great vitality, energy,
+and vigour of mind.</p>
+
+<p>Masculine exhalations are as a rule
+stronger, more vivid, more widely differentiated
+than those of women. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
+the odour of young men there is something
+elemental, as of fire, storm, and
+salt sea. It pulsates with buoyancy and
+desire. It suggests all things strong
+and beautiful and joyous, and gives me
+a sense of physical happiness. I wonder
+if others observe that all infants have
+the same scent&mdash;pure, simple, undecipherable
+as their dormant personality.
+It is not until the age of six or seven
+that they begin to have perceptible individual
+odours. These develop and mature
+along with their mental and bodily
+powers.</p>
+
+<p>What I have written about smell, especially
+person-smell, will perhaps be
+regarded as the abnormal sentiment of
+one who can have no idea of the "world
+of reality and beauty which the eye perceives."
+There are people who are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
+colour-blind, people who are tone-deaf.
+Most people are smell-blind-and-deaf.
+We should not condemn a musical composition
+on the testimony of an ear
+which cannot distinguish one chord from
+another, or judge a picture by the verdict
+of a colour-blind critic. The sensations
+of smell which cheer, inform, and
+broaden my life are not less pleasant
+merely because some critic who treads
+the wide, bright pathway of the eye has
+not cultivated his olfactive sense. Without
+the shy, fugitive, often unobserved
+sensations and the certainties which taste,
+smell, and touch give me, I should be
+obliged to take my conception of the
+universe wholly from others. I should
+lack the alchemy by which I now infuse
+into my world light, colour, and the
+Protean spark. The sensuous reality<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
+which interthreads and supports all the
+gropings of my imagination would be
+shattered. The solid earth would melt
+from under my feet and disperse itself
+in space. The objects dear to my
+hands would become formless, dead
+things, and I should walk among them as
+among invisible ghosts.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
+<h2>RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VII</h2>
+
+<h3>RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;WAS once without the sense of smell
+and taste for several days. It seemed
+incredible, this utter detachment from
+odours, to breathe the air in and observe
+never a single scent. The feeling was
+probably similar, though less in degree,
+to that of one who first loses sight
+and cannot but expect to see the light
+again any day, any minute. I knew I
+should smell again some time. Still,
+after the wonder had passed off, a loneliness
+crept over me as vast as the air
+whose myriad odours I missed. The
+multitudinous subtle delights that smell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
+makes mine became for a time wistful
+memories. When I recovered the lost
+sense, my heart bounded with gladness.
+It is a fine dramatic touch that Hans
+Andersen gives to the story of Kay and
+Gerda in the passage about flowers.
+Kay, whom the wicked magician's glass
+has blinded to human love, rushes away
+fiercely from home when he discovers
+that the roses have lost their sweetness.</div>
+
+<p>The loss of smell for a few days gave
+me a clearer idea than I had ever had
+what it is to be blinded suddenly, helplessly.
+With a little stretch of the imagination
+I knew then what it must be
+when the great curtain shuts out suddenly
+the light of day, the stars, and
+the firmament itself. I see the blind
+man's eyes strain for the light, as he
+fearfully tries to walk his old rounds,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
+until the unchanging blank that everywhere
+spreads before him stamps the
+reality of the dark upon his consciousness.</p>
+
+<p>My temporary loss of smell proved
+to me, too, that the absence of a sense
+need not dull the mental faculties and
+does not distort one's view of the world,
+and so I reason that blindness and
+deafness need not pervert the inner
+order of the intellect. I know that if
+there were no odours for me I should
+still possess a considerable part of the
+world. Novelties and surprises would
+abound, adventures would thicken in the
+dark.</p>
+
+<p>In my classification of the senses,
+smell is a little the ear's inferior, and
+touch is a great deal the eye's superior.
+I find that great artists and philosophers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+agree with me in this. Diderot
+says:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Je trouvais que de tous les sens, l'&#339;il &eacute;tait
+le plus superficiel; l'oreille, le plus orgueilleux;
+l'odorat, le plus voluptueux; le go&ucirc;t,
+le plus superstitieux et le plus inconstant; le
+toucher, le plus profond et le plus philosophe.<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a></p></div>
+
+<p>A friend whom I have never seen
+sends me a quotation from Symonds's
+"Renaissance in Italy":</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Lorenzo Ghiberti, after describing a piece
+of antique sculpture he saw in Rome adds,
+"To express the perfection of learning,
+mastery, and art displayed in it is beyond
+the power of language. Its more exquisite
+beauties could not be discovered by the sight,
+but only by the touch of the hand passed over
+it." Of another classic marble at Padua he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
+says, "This statue, when the Christian faith
+triumphed, was hidden in that place by some
+gentle soul, who, seeing it so perfect, fashioned
+with art so wonderful, and with such power
+of genius, and being moved to reverent pity,
+caused a sepulchre of bricks to be built, and
+there within buried the statue, and covered
+it with a broad slab of stone, that it might
+not in any way be injured. It has very
+many sweet beauties which the eyes alone
+can comprehend not, either by strong or
+tempered light; only the hand by touching
+them finds them out."</p></div>
+
+<p>Hold out your hands to feel the luxury
+of the sunbeams. Press the soft blossoms
+against your cheek, and finger their
+graces of form, their delicate mutability
+of shape, their pliancy and freshness.
+Expose your face to the aerial floods
+that sweep the heavens, "inhale great
+draughts of space," wonder, wonder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
+at the wind's unwearied activity.
+Pile note on note the infinite music
+that flows increasingly to your soul
+from the tactual sonorities of a thousand
+branches and tumbling waters.
+How can the world be shrivelled when
+this most profound, emotional sense,
+touch, is faithful to its service? I
+am sure that if a fairy bade me choose
+between the sense of light and that of
+touch, I would not part with the warm,
+endearing contact of human hands or
+the wealth of form, the nobility and
+fullness that press into my palms.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VIII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THE poets have taught us how full
+of wonders is the night; and the
+night of blindness has its wonders, too.
+The only lightless dark is the night of
+ignorance and insensibility. We differ,
+blind and seeing, one from another, not
+in our senses, but in the use we make of
+them, in the imagination and courage
+with which we seek wisdom beyond our
+senses.</div>
+
+<p>It is more difficult to teach ignorance
+to think than to teach an intelligent
+blind man to see the grandeur of Niagara.
+I have walked with people whose eyes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
+are full of light, but who see nothing
+in wood, sea, or sky, nothing in city
+streets, nothing in books. What a witless
+masquerade is this seeing! It were
+better far to sail forever in the night of
+blindness, with sense and feeling and
+mind, than to be thus content with the
+mere act of seeing. They have the sunset,
+the morning skies, the purple of distant
+hills, yet their souls voyage through
+this enchanted world with a barren
+stare.</p>
+
+<p>The calamity of the blind is immense,
+irreparable. But it does not take away
+our share of the things that count&mdash;service,
+friendship, humour, imagination,
+wisdom. It is the secret inner will that
+controls one's fate. We are capable of
+willing to be good, of loving and being
+loved, of thinking to the end that we may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
+be wiser. We possess these spirit-born
+forces equally with all God's children.
+Therefore we, too, see the lightnings
+and hear the thunders of Sinai. We,
+too, march through the wilderness and
+the solitary place that shall be glad for us,
+and as we pass, God maketh the desert
+to blossom like the rose. We, too, go
+in unto the Promised Land to possess
+the treasures of the spirit, the unseen
+permanence of life and nature.</p>
+
+<p>The blind man of spirit faces the unknown
+and grapples with it, and what
+else does the world of seeing men do?
+He has imagination, sympathy, humanity,
+and these ineradicable existences
+compel him to share by a sort of proxy
+in a sense he has not. When he meets
+terms of colour, light, physiognomy, he
+guesses, divines, puzzles out their meaning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
+by analogies drawn from the senses
+he has. I naturally tend to think, reason,
+draw inferences as if I had five senses
+instead of three. This tendency is beyond
+my control; it is involuntary, habitual,
+instinctive. I cannot compel my mind
+to say "I feel" instead of "I see"
+or "I hear." The word "feel" proves
+on examination to be no less a convention
+than "see" and "hear" when I seek
+for words accurately to describe the
+outward things that affect my three
+bodily senses. When a man loses a leg,
+his brain persists in impelling him to
+use what he has not and yet feels to be
+there. Can it be that the brain is so constituted
+that it will continue the activity
+which animates the sight and the
+hearing, after the eye and the ear have
+been destroyed?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It might seem that the five senses
+would work intelligently together only
+when resident in the same body. Yet
+when two or three are left unaided, they
+reach out for their complements in another
+body, and find that they yoke
+easily with the borrowed team. When
+my hand aches from overtouching, I
+find relief in the sight of another.
+When my mind lags, wearied with the
+strain of forcing out thoughts about
+dark, musicless, colourless, detached substance,
+it recovers its elasticity as soon
+as I resort to the powers of another
+mind which commands light, harmony,
+colour. Now, if the five senses will not
+remain disassociated, the life of the
+deaf-blind cannot be severed from the
+life of the seeing, hearing race.</p>
+
+<p>The deaf-blind person may be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
+plunged and replunged like Schiller's
+diver into seas of the unknown. But,
+unlike the doomed hero, he returns triumphant,
+grasping the priceless truth
+that his mind is not crippled, not limited
+to the infirmity of his senses. The
+world of the eye and the ear becomes to
+him a subject of fateful interest. He
+seizes every word of sight and hearing
+because his sensations compel it. Light
+and colour, of which he has no tactual evidence,
+he studies fearlessly, believing that
+all humanly knowable truth is open
+to him. He is in a position similar to
+that of the astronomer who, firm, patient,
+watches a star night after night
+for many years and feels rewarded if he
+discovers a single fact about it. The
+man deaf-blind to ordinary outward
+things, and the man deaf-blind to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
+immeasurable universe, are both limited
+by time and space; but they have made
+a compact to wring service from their
+limitations.</p>
+
+<p>The bulk of the world's knowledge is
+an imaginary construction. History is
+but a mode of imagining, of making us
+see civilizations that no longer appear
+upon the earth. Some of the most significant
+discoveries in modern science
+owe their origin to the imagination of
+men who had neither accurate knowledge
+nor exact instruments to demonstrate
+their beliefs. If astronomy had
+not kept always in advance of the telescope,
+no one would ever have thought
+a telescope worth making. What great
+invention has not existed in the inventor's
+mind long before he gave it tangible
+shape?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>A more splendid example of imaginative
+knowledge is the unity with which
+philosophers start their study of the
+world. They can never perceive the
+world in its entire reality. Yet their
+imagination, with its magnificent allowance
+for error, its power of treating uncertainty
+as negligible, has pointed the
+way for empirical knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>In their highest creative moments the
+great poet, the great musician cease to
+use the crude instruments of sight and
+hearing. They break away from their
+sense-moorings, rise on strong, compelling
+wings of spirit far above our misty
+hills and darkened valleys into the region
+of light, music, intellect.</p>
+
+<p>What eye hath seen the glories of the
+New Jerusalem? What ear hath heard
+the music of the spheres, the steps of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
+time, the strokes of chance, the blows of
+death? Men have not heard with their
+physical sense the tumult of sweet voices
+above the hills of Judea nor seen the
+heavenly vision; but millions have
+listened to that spiritual message
+through many ages.</p>
+
+<p>Our blindness changes not a whit the
+course of inner realities. Of us it is
+as true as it is of the seeing that the
+most beautiful world is always entered
+through the imagination. If you wish
+to be something that you are not,&mdash;something
+fine, noble, good,&mdash;you shut
+your eyes, and for one dreamy moment
+you are that which you long to be.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
+<h2>INWARD VISIONS</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
+<h2>IX</h2>
+
+<h3>INWARD VISIONS</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>ACCORDING to all art, all nature, all
+coherent human thought, we know
+that order, proportion, form, are essential
+elements of beauty. Now order,
+proportion, and form, are palpable to
+the touch. But beauty and rhythm are
+deeper than sense. They are like love
+and faith. They spring out of a spiritual
+process only slightly dependent upon
+sensations. Order, proportion, form,
+cannot generate in the mind the abstract
+idea of beauty, unless there is already
+a soul intelligence to breathe life into the
+elements. Many persons, having perfect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
+eyes, are blind in their perceptions.
+Many persons, having perfect ears, are
+emotionally deaf. Yet these are the very
+ones who dare to set limits to the vision
+of those who, lacking a sense or two, have
+will, soul, passion, imagination. Faith
+is a mockery if it teaches us not that
+we may construct a world unspeakably
+more complete and beautiful than the
+material world. And I, too, may construct
+my better world, for I am a child of God,
+an inheritor of a fragment of the Mind
+that created all worlds.</div>
+
+<p>There is a consonance of all things, a
+blending of all that we know about the
+material world and the spiritual. It
+consists for me of all the impressions, vibrations,
+heat, cold, taste, smell, and the
+sensations which these convey to the
+mind, infinitely combined, interwoven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
+with associated ideas and acquired
+knowledge. No thoughtful person will
+believe that what I said about the meaning
+of footsteps is strictly true of mere
+jolts and jars. It is an array of the
+spiritual in certain natural elements,
+tactual beats, and an acquired knowledge
+of physical habits and moral traits of
+highly organized human beings. What
+would odours signify if they were not associated
+with the time of the year, the
+place I live in, and the people I know?</p>
+
+<p>The result of such a blending is sometimes
+a discordant trying of strings far
+removed from a melody, very far from
+a symphony. (For the benefit of those
+who must be reassured, I will say that I
+have felt a musician tuning his violin,
+that I have read about a symphony, and
+so have a fair intellectual perception of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
+my metaphor.) But with training and
+experience the faculties gather up the
+stray notes and combine them into a
+full, harmonious whole. If the person
+who accomplishes this task is peculiarly
+gifted, we call him a poet. The blind
+and the deaf are not great poets, it is
+true. Yet now and again you find one
+deaf and blind who has attained to his
+royal kingdom of beauty.</p>
+
+<p>I have a little volume of poems by
+a deaf-blind lady, Madame Bertha Galeron.
+Her poetry has versatility of
+thought. Now it is tender and sweet,
+now full of tragic passion and the sternness
+of destiny. Victor Hugo called
+her "La Grande Voyante." She has
+written several plays, two of which
+have been acted in Paris. The French
+Academy has crowned her work.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The infinite wonders of the universe
+are revealed to us in exact measure as
+we are capable of receiving them. The
+keenness of our vision depends not on
+how much we can see, but on how much
+we feel. Nor yet does mere knowledge
+create beauty. Nature sings her
+most exquisite songs to those who love
+her. She does not unfold her secrets to
+those who come only to gratify their desire
+of analysis, to gather facts, but to
+those who see in her manifold phenomena
+suggestions of lofty, delicate sentiments.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 338px;">
+<img src="images/fp120.jpg" width="338" height="500" alt="Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio The Little Boy Next Door" title="" />
+<span class="caption">The Little Boy Next Door<br /><small><span style="margin-left: 12em;">To face page 120</span></small></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Am I to be denied the use of such adjectives
+as "freshness" and "sparkle,"
+"dark" and "gloomy"? I have walked
+in the fields at early morning. I have
+felt a rose-bush laden with dew and
+fragrance. I have felt the curves and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
+graces of my kitten at play. I have
+known the sweet, shy ways of little children.
+I have known the sad opposites
+of all these, a ghastly touch picture.
+Remember, I have sometimes travelled
+over a dusty road as far as my feet could
+go. At a sudden turn I have stepped
+upon starved, ignoble weeds, and reaching
+out my hands, I have touched a fair
+tree out of which a parasite had taken
+the life like a vampire. I have touched
+a pretty bird whose soft wings hung limp,
+whose little heart beat no more. I have
+wept over the feebleness and deformity
+of a child, lame, or born blind, or, worse
+still, mindless. If I had the genius of
+Thomson, I, too, could depict a "City
+of Dreadful Night" from mere touch
+sensations. From contrasts so irreconcilable
+can we fail to form an idea of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
+beauty and know surely when we meet
+with loveliness?</p>
+
+<p>Here is a sonnet eloquent of a blind
+man's power of vision:</p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br /><br />THE MOUNTAIN TO THE PINE<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Thou tall, majestic monarch of the wood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That standest where no wild vines dare to creep,</span><br />
+Men call thee old, and say that thou hast stood<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A century upon my rugged steep;</span><br />
+Yet unto me thy life is but a day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I recall the things that I have seen,&mdash;</span><br />
+The forest monarchs that have passed away<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the spot where first I saw thy green;</span><br />
+For I am older than the age of man,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or all the living things that crawl or creep,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or birds of air, or creatures of the deep;</span><br />
+I was the first dim outline of God's plan:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Only the waters of the restless sea</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the infinite stars in heaven are old to me.</span><br />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I am glad my friend Mr. Stedman
+knew that poem while he was making
+his Anthology, for knowing it, so fine a
+poet and critic could not fail to give it a
+place in his treasure-house of American
+poetry. The poet, Mr. Clarence Hawkes,
+has been blind since childhood; yet he
+finds in nature hints of combinations
+for his mental pictures. Out of the
+knowledge and impressions that come
+to him he constructs a masterpiece
+which hangs upon the walls of his
+thought. And into the poet's house
+come all the true spirits of the world.</p>
+
+<p>It was a rare poet who thought of the
+mountain as "the first dim outline of
+God's plan." That is the real wonder
+of the poem, and not that a blind man
+should speak so confidently of sky and
+sea. Our ideas of the sky are an accumulation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
+of touch-glimpses, literary allusions,
+and the observations of others,
+with an emotional blending of all. My
+face feels only a tiny portion of the atmosphere;
+but I go through continuous
+space and feel the air at every point,
+every instant. I have been told about
+the distances from our earth to the sun,
+to the other planets, and to the fixed
+stars. I multiply a thousand times the
+utmost height and width that my touch
+compasses, and thus I gain a deep sense
+of the sky's immensity.</p>
+
+<p>Move me along constantly over
+water, water, nothing but water, and
+you give me the solitude, the vastness
+of ocean which fills the eye. I have
+been in a little sail-boat on the sea, when
+the rising tide swept it toward the
+shore. May I not understand the poet's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
+figure: "The green of spring overflows
+the earth like a tide"? I have felt the
+flame of a candle blow and flutter in the
+breeze. May I not, then, say: "Myriads
+of fireflies flit hither and thither in
+the dew-wet grass like little fluttering
+tapers"?</p>
+
+<p>Combine the endless space of air, the
+sun's warmth, the clouds that are described
+to my understanding spirit, the
+frequent breaking through the soil of a
+brook or the expanse of the wind-ruffled
+lake, the tactual undulation of the hills,
+which I recall when I am far away from
+them, the towering trees upon trees as I
+walk by them, the bearings that I try to
+keep while others tell me the directions of
+the various points of the scenery, and you
+will begin to feel surer of my mental
+landscape. The utmost bound to which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
+my thought will go with clearness is the
+horizon of my mind. From this horizon
+I imagine the one which the eye marks.</p>
+
+<p>Touch cannot bridge distance,&mdash;it is
+fit only for the contact of surfaces,&mdash;but
+thought leaps the chasm. For this
+reason I am able to use words descriptive
+of objects distant from my senses.
+I have felt the rondure of the infant's
+tender form. I can apply this perception
+to the landscape and to the far-off
+hills.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
+<h2>X</h2>
+
+<h3>ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;HAVE not touched the outline of a
+star nor the glory of the moon, but
+I believe that God has set two lights in
+mind, the greater to rule by day and
+the lesser by night, and by them I know
+that I am able to navigate my life-bark,
+as certain of reaching the haven as he
+who steers by the North Star. Perhaps
+my sun shines not as yours. The colours
+that glorify my world, the blue of the
+sky, the green of the fields, may not correspond
+exactly with those you delight
+in; but they are none the less colour to
+me. The sun does not shine for my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
+physical eyes, nor does the lightning
+flash, nor do the trees turn green in the
+spring; but they have not therefore
+ceased to exist, any more than the landscape
+is annihilated when you turn your
+back on it.</div>
+
+<p>I understand how scarlet can differ
+from crimson because I know that the
+smell of an orange is not the smell of
+a grape-fruit. I can also conceive that
+colours have shades, and guess what
+shades are. In smell and taste there are
+varieties not broad enough to be fundamental;
+so I call them shades. There
+are half a dozen roses near me. They
+all have the unmistakable rose scent; yet
+my nose tells me that they are not the
+same. The American Beauty is distinct
+from the Jacqueminot and La
+France. Odours in certain grasses fade<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
+as really to my sense as certain colours do
+to yours in the sun. The freshness of a
+flower in my hand is analogous to the
+freshness I taste in an apple newly
+picked. I make use of analogies like
+these to enlarge my conceptions of
+colours. Some analogies which I draw
+between qualities in surface and vibration,
+taste and smell, are drawn by
+others between sight, hearing, and touch.
+This fact encourages me to persevere,
+to try and bridge the gap between the
+eye and the hand.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly I get far enough to sympathize
+with the delight that my kind feel
+in beauty they see and harmony they
+hear. This bond between humanity and
+me is worth keeping, even if the idea on
+which I base it prove erroneous.</p>
+
+<p>Sweet, beautiful vibrations exist for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
+my touch, even though they travel
+through other substances than air to
+reach me. So I imagine sweet, delightful
+sounds, and the artistic arrangement
+of them which is called music, and I remember
+that they travel through the air
+to the ear, conveying impressions somewhat
+like mine. I also know what tones
+are, since they are perceptible tactually
+in a voice. Now, heat varies greatly in
+the sun, in the fire, in hands, and in the
+fur of animals; indeed, there is such a
+thing for me as a cold sun. So I think
+of the varieties of light that touch the
+eye, cold and warm, vivid and dim, soft
+and glaring, but always light, and I
+imagine their passage through the air
+to an extensive sense, instead of to a
+narrow one like touch. From the experience
+I have had with voices I guess<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
+how the eye distinguishes shades in the
+midst of light. While I read the lips of
+a woman whose voice is soprano, I note
+a low tone or a glad tone in the midst of
+a high, flowing voice. When I feel my
+cheeks hot, I know that I am red. I
+have talked so much and read so much
+about colours that through no will of my
+own I attach meanings to them, just as
+all people attach certain meanings to
+abstract terms like hope, idealism, monotheism,
+intellect, which cannot be represented
+truly by visible objects, but
+which are understood from analogies between
+immaterial concepts and the
+ideas they awaken of external things.
+The force of association drives me to
+say that white is exalted and pure, green
+is exuberant, red suggests love or shame
+or strength. Without the colour or its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
+equivalent, life to me would be dark,
+barren, a vast blackness.</p>
+
+<p>Thus through an inner law of completeness
+my thoughts are not permitted
+to remain colourless. It strains my mind
+to separate colour and sound from objects.
+Since my education began I have
+always had things described to me with
+their colours and sounds by one with keen
+senses and a fine feeling for the significant.
+Therefore I habitually think of
+things as coloured and resonant. Habit
+accounts for part. The soul sense accounts
+for another part. The brain with
+its five-sensed construction asserts its
+right and accounts for the rest. Inclusive
+of all, the unity of the world demands
+that colour be kept in it, whether I
+have cognizance of it or not. Rather
+than be shut out, I take part in it by discussing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
+it, imagining it, happy in the
+happiness of those near me who gaze at
+the lovely hues of the sunset or the rainbow.</p>
+
+<p>My hand has its share in this multiple
+knowledge, but it must never be forgotten
+that with the fingers I see only a
+very small portion of a surface, and that
+I must pass my hand continually over it
+before my touch grasps the whole. It
+is still more important, however, to remember
+that my imagination is not
+tethered to certain points, locations, and
+distances. It puts all the parts together
+simultaneously as if it saw or knew instead
+of feeling them. Though I feel
+only a small part of my horse at a time,&mdash;my
+horse is nervous and does not submit
+to manual explorations,&mdash;yet, because
+I have many times felt hock, nose,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
+hoof and mane, I can see the steeds of
+Ph&#339;bus Apollo coursing the heavens.</p>
+
+<p>With such a power active it is impossible
+that my thought should be vague,
+indistinct. It must needs be potent,
+definite. This is really a corollary of
+the philosophical truth that the real
+world exists only for the mind. That is
+to say, I can never touch the world in its
+entirety; indeed, I touch less of it than
+the portion that others see or hear. But
+all creatures, all objects, pass into my
+brain entire, and occupy the same extent
+there that they do in material space. I
+declare that for me branched thoughts,
+instead of pines, wave, sway, rustle,
+make musical the ridges of mountains
+rising summit upon summit. Mention
+a rose too far away for me to smell it.
+Straightway a scent steals into my nostril,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
+a form presses against my palm in
+all its dilating softness, with rounded
+petals, slightly curled edges, curving
+stem, leaves drooping. When I would
+fain view the world as a whole, it rushes
+into vision&mdash;man, beast, bird, reptile,
+fly, sky, ocean, mountains, plain, rock,
+pebble. The warmth of life, the reality
+of creation is over all&mdash;the throb of
+human hands, glossiness of fur, lithe
+windings of long bodies, poignant buzzing
+of insects, the ruggedness of the
+steeps as I climb them, the liquid mobility
+and boom of waves upon the rocks.
+Strange to say, try as I may, I cannot
+force my touch to pervade this universe
+in all directions. The moment I try, the
+whole vanishes; only small objects or
+narrow portions of a surface, mere
+touch-signs, a chaos of things scattered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
+at random, remain. No thrill, no delight
+is excited thereby. Restore to the
+artistic, comprehensive internal sense its
+rightful domain, and you give me joy
+which best proves the reality.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN</h2><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XI</h2>
+
+<h3>BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>BEFORE my teacher came to me, I
+did not know that I am. I lived in
+a world that was a no-world. I cannot
+hope to describe adequately that unconscious,
+yet conscious time of nothingness.
+I did not know that I knew
+aught, or that I lived or acted or desired.
+I had neither will nor intellect.
+I was carried along to objects and acts
+by a certain blind natural impetus. I
+had a mind which caused me to feel
+anger, satisfaction, desire. These two
+facts led those about me to suppose that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
+I willed and thought. I can remember
+all this, not because I knew that it was
+so, but because I have tactual memory.
+It enables me to remember that I never
+contracted my forehead in the act of
+thinking. I never viewed anything beforehand
+or chose it. I also recall tactually
+the fact that never in a start of the
+body or a heart-beat did I feel that I
+loved or cared for anything. My inner
+life, then, was a blank without past,
+present, or future, without hope or anticipation,
+without wonder or joy or
+faith.</div>
+
+<div class='poem'><br />
+It was not night&mdash;it was not day.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><b>.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  .&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  .&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  .&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  .</b></span><br />
+But vacancy absorbing space,<br />
+And fixedness, without a place;<br />
+There were no stars&mdash;no earth&mdash;no time&mdash;<br />
+No check&mdash;no change&mdash;no good&mdash;no crime.<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>My dormant being had no idea of
+God or immortality, no fear of death.</p>
+
+<p>I remember, also through touch, that
+I had a power of association. I felt
+tactual jars like the stamp of a foot, the
+opening of a window or its closing, the
+slam of a door. After repeatedly smelling
+rain and feeling the discomfort of
+wetness, I acted like those about me: I
+ran to shut the window. But that was
+not thought in any sense. It was the
+same kind of association that makes animals
+take shelter from the rain. From
+the same instinct of aping others, I
+folded the clothes that came from the
+laundry, and put mine away, fed the
+turkeys, sewed bead-eyes on my doll's
+face, and did many other things of
+which I have the tactual remembrance.
+When I wanted anything I liked,&mdash;ice-cream,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
+for instance, of which I was very
+fond,&mdash;I had a delicious taste on my
+tongue (which, by the way, I never have
+now), and in my hand I felt the turning
+of the freezer. I made the sign, and my
+mother knew I wanted ice-cream. I
+"thought" and desired in my fingers.
+If I had made a man, I should certainly
+have put the brain and soul in his finger-tips.
+From reminiscences like these I
+conclude that it is the opening of the
+two faculties, freedom of will, or choice,
+and rationality, or the power of thinking
+from one thing to another, which
+makes it possible to come into being first
+as a child, afterwards as a man.</p>
+
+<p>Since I had no power of thought, I
+did not compare one mental state with
+another. So I was not conscious of any
+change or process going on in my brain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
+when my teacher began to instruct me.
+I merely felt keen delight in obtaining
+more easily what I wanted by means of
+the finger motions she taught me. I
+thought only of objects, and only objects
+I wanted. It was the turning of
+the freezer on a larger scale. When I
+learned the meaning of "I" and "me"
+and found that I was something, I
+began to think. Then consciousness
+first existed for me. Thus it was not
+the sense of touch that brought me
+knowledge. It was the awakening of
+my soul that first rendered my senses
+their value, their cognizance of objects,
+names, qualities, and properties.
+Thought made me conscious of love,
+joy, and all the emotions. I was eager
+to know, then to understand, afterward
+to reflect on what I knew and understood,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
+and the blind impetus, which had
+before driven me hither and thither at
+the dictates of my sensations, vanished
+forever.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot represent more clearly than
+any one else the gradual and subtle
+changes from first impressions to abstract
+ideas. But I know that my
+physical ideas, that is, ideas derived
+from material objects, appear to me
+first an idea similar to those of touch.
+Instantly they pass into intellectual
+meanings. Afterward the meaning finds
+expression in what is called "inner
+speech." When I was a child, my inner
+speech was inner spelling. Although I
+am even now frequently caught spelling
+to myself on my fingers, yet I talk
+to myself, too, with my lips, and it is
+true that when I first learned to speak,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
+my mind discarded the finger-symbols
+and began to articulate. However,
+when I try to recall what some one has
+said to me, I am conscious of a hand
+spelling into mine.</p>
+
+<p>It has often been asked what were
+my earliest impressions of the world in
+which I found myself. But one who
+thinks at all of his first impressions
+knows what a riddle this is. Our impressions
+grow and change unnoticed, so
+that what we suppose we thought as
+children may be quite different from
+what we actually experienced in our
+childhood. I only know that after my
+education began the world which came
+within my reach was all alive. I spelled
+to my blocks and my dogs. I sympathized
+with plants when the flowers were
+picked, because I thought it hurt them,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
+and that they grieved for their lost blossoms.
+It was two years before I could be
+made to believe that my dogs did not
+understand what I said, and I always
+apologized to them when I ran into or
+stepped on them.</p>
+
+<p>As my experiences broadened and
+deepened, the indeterminate, poetic feelings
+of childhood began to fix themselves
+in definite thoughts. Nature&mdash;the
+world I could touch&mdash;was folded
+and filled with myself. I am inclined to
+believe those philosophers who declare
+that we know nothing but our own feelings
+and ideas. With a little ingenious
+reasoning one may see in the material
+world simply a mirror, an image of permanent
+mental sensations. In either
+sphere self-knowledge is the condition
+and the limit of our consciousness. That<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
+is why, perhaps, many people know
+so little about what is beyond their
+short range of experience. They look
+within themselves&mdash;and find nothing!
+Therefore they conclude that there is
+nothing outside themselves, either.</p>
+
+<p>However that may be, I came later to
+look for an image of my emotions and
+sensations in others. I had to learn the
+outward signs of inward feelings. The
+start of fear, the suppressed, controlled
+tensity of pain, the beat of happy muscles
+in others, had to be perceived and
+compared with my own experiences before
+I could trace them back to the intangible
+soul of another. Groping, uncertain,
+I at last found my identity, and
+after seeing my thoughts and feelings
+repeated in others, I gradually constructed
+my world of men and of God.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
+As I read and study, I find that this is
+what the rest of the race has done. Man
+looks within himself and in time finds
+the measure and the meaning of the universe.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>THE LARGER SANCTIONS</h2><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE LARGER SANCTIONS</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>SO, in the midst of life, eager, imperious
+life, the deaf-blind child,
+fettered to the bare rock of circumstance,
+spider-like, sends out gossamer
+threads of thought into the measureless
+void that surrounds him. Patiently he
+explores the dark, until he builds up a
+knowledge of the world he lives in, and
+his soul meets the beauty of the world,
+where the sun shines always, and the
+birds sing. To the blind child the dark
+is kindly. In it he finds nothing extraordinary
+or terrible. It is his familiar
+world; even the groping from place to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
+place, the halting steps, the dependence
+upon others, do not seem strange to him.
+He does not know how many countless
+pleasures the dark shuts out from him.
+Not until he weighs his life in the scale
+of others' experience does he realize
+what it is to live forever in the dark.
+But the knowledge that teaches him this
+bitterness also brings its consolation&mdash;spiritual
+light, the promise of the day
+that shall be.</div>
+
+<p>The blind child&mdash;the deaf-blind child&mdash;has
+inherited the mind of seeing and
+hearing ancestors&mdash;a mind measured to
+five senses. Therefore he must be influenced,
+even if it be unknown to himself,
+by the light, colour, song which have been
+transmitted through the language he is
+taught, for the chambers of the mind
+are ready to receive that language. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
+brain of the race is so permeated with
+colour that it dyes even the speech of the
+blind. Every object I think of is
+stained with the hue that belongs to it
+by association and memory. The experience
+of the deaf-blind person, in a
+world of seeing, hearing people, is like
+that of a sailor on an island where the
+inhabitants speak a language unknown
+to him, whose life is unlike that he has
+lived. He is one, they are many; there
+is no chance of compromise. He must
+learn to see with their eyes, to hear with
+their ears, to think their thoughts, to
+follow their ideals.</p>
+
+<p>If the dark, silent world which surrounds
+him were essentially different
+from the sunlit, resonant world, it would
+be incomprehensible to his kind, and
+could never be discussed. If his feelings<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
+and sensations were fundamentally
+different from those of others, they
+would be inconceivable except to those
+who had similar sensations and feelings.
+If the mental consciousness of the deaf-blind
+person were absolutely dissimilar
+to that of his fellows, he would have no
+means of imagining what they think.
+Since the mind of the sightless is essentially
+the same as that of the seeing in
+that it admits of no lack, it must supply
+some sort of equivalent for missing physical
+sensations. It must perceive a likeness
+between things outward and things
+inward, a correspondence between the
+seen and the unseen. I make use of
+such a correspondence in many relations,
+and no matter how far I pursue
+it to things I cannot see, it does not
+break under the test.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>As a working hypothesis, correspondence
+is adequate to all life, through the
+whole range of phenomena. The flash of
+thought and its swiftness explain the
+lightning flash and the sweep of a comet
+through the heavens. My mental sky
+opens to me the vast celestial spaces, and
+I proceed to fill them with the images of
+my spiritual stars. I recognize truth by
+the clearness and guidance that it gives
+my thought, and, knowing what that
+clearness is, I can imagine what light is
+to the eye. It is not a convention of
+language, but a forcible feeling of the
+reality, that at times makes me start
+when I say, "Oh, I see my mistake!"
+or "How dark, cheerless is his life!" I
+know these are metaphors. Still, I must
+prove with them, since there is nothing
+in our language to replace them. Deaf-blind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
+metaphors to correspond do not
+exist and are not necessary. Because
+I can understand the word "reflect"
+figuratively, a mirror has never perplexed
+me. The manner in which my
+imagination perceives absent things enables
+me to see how glasses can magnify
+things, bring them nearer, or remove
+them farther.</p>
+
+<p>Deny me this correspondence, this internal
+sense, confine me to the fragmentary,
+incoherent touch-world, and lo, I
+become as a bat which wanders about on
+the wing. Suppose I omitted all words
+of seeing, hearing, colour, light, landscape,
+the thousand phenomena, instruments
+and beauties connected with them.
+I should suffer a great diminution of
+the wonder and delight in attaining
+knowledge; also&mdash;more dreadful loss&mdash;my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>
+emotions would be blunted, so that I
+could not be touched by things unseen.</p>
+
+<p>Has anything arisen to disprove the
+adequacy of correspondence? Has any
+chamber of the blind man's brain been
+opened and found empty? Has any
+psychologist explored the mind of the
+sightless and been able to say, "There is
+no sensation here"?</p>
+
+<p>I tread the solid earth; I breathe the
+scented air. Out of these two experiences
+I form numberless associations
+and correspondences. I observe, I feel,
+I think, I imagine. I associate the
+countless varied impressions, experiences,
+concepts. Out of these materials
+Fancy, the cunning artisan of the
+brain, welds an image which the sceptic
+would deny me, because I cannot see
+with my physical eyes the changeful,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
+lovely face of my thought-child. He
+would break the mind's mirror. This
+spirit-vandal would humble my soul and
+force me to bite the dust of material
+things. While I champ the bit of circumstance,
+he scourges and goads me
+with the spur of fact. If I heeded him,
+the sweet-visaged earth would vanish
+into nothing, and I should hold in my
+hand nought but an aimless, soulless
+lump of dead matter. But although the
+body physical is rooted alive to the Promethean
+rock, the spirit-proud huntress
+of the air will still pursue the shining,
+open highways of the universe.</p>
+
+<p>Blindness has no limiting effect upon
+mental vision. My intellectual horizon is
+infinitely wide. The universe it encircles
+is immeasurable. Would they
+who bid me keep within the narrow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
+bound of my meagre senses demand of
+Herschel that he roof his stellar universe
+and give us back Plato's solid firmament
+of glassy spheres? Would they command
+Darwin from the grave and bid
+him blot out his geological time, give
+us back a paltry few thousand years?
+Oh, the supercilious doubters! They
+ever strive to clip the upward daring
+wings of the spirit.</p>
+
+<p>A person deprived of one or more
+senses is not, as many seem to think,
+turned out into a trackless wilderness
+without landmark or guide. The blind
+man carries with him into his dark environment
+all the faculties essential to
+the apprehension of the visible world
+whose door is closed behind him. He
+finds his surroundings everywhere homogeneous
+with those of the sunlit world;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
+for there is an inexhaustible ocean of
+likenesses between the world within, and
+the world without, and these likenesses,
+these correspondences, he finds equal to
+every exigency his life offers.</p>
+
+<p>The necessity of some such thing as
+correspondence or symbolism appears
+more and more urgent as we consider
+the duties that religion and philosophy
+enjoin upon us.</p>
+
+<p>The blind are expected to read the
+Bible as a means of attaining spiritual
+happiness. Now, the Bible is filled
+throughout with references to clouds,
+stars, colours, and beauty, and often the
+mention of these is essential to the meaning
+of the parable or the message in
+which they occur. Here one must needs
+see the inconsistency of people who believe
+in the Bible, and yet deny us a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
+right to talk about what we do not see,
+and for that matter what <i>they</i> do not
+see, either. Who shall forbid my heart
+to sing: "Yea, he did fly upon the wings
+of the wind. He made darkness his
+secret place; his pavilion round about
+him were dark waters and thick clouds
+of the skies"?</p>
+
+<p>Philosophy constantly points out the
+untrustworthiness of the five senses and
+the important work of reason which corrects
+the errors of sight and reveals its
+illusions. If we cannot depend on five
+senses, how much less may we rely on
+three! What ground have we for discarding
+light, sound, and colour as an integral
+part of our world? How are we
+to know that they have ceased to exist
+for us? We must take their reality for
+granted, even as the philosopher assumes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
+the reality of the world without
+being able to see it physically as a whole.</p>
+
+<p>Ancient philosophy offers an argument
+which seems still valid. There is
+in the blind as in the seeing an Absolute
+which gives truth to what we know to be
+true, order to what is orderly, beauty to
+the beautiful, touchableness to what is
+tangible. If this is granted, it follows
+that this Absolute is not imperfect, incomplete,
+partial. It must needs go beyond
+the limited evidence of our sensations,
+and also give light to what is invisible,
+music to the musical that silence
+dulls. Thus mind itself compels us to
+acknowledge that we are in a world of
+intellectual order, beauty, and harmony.
+The essences, or absolutes of these ideas,
+necessarily dispel their opposites which
+belong with evil, disorder and discord.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
+Thus deafness and blindness do not exist
+in the immaterial mind, which is philosophically
+the real world, but are banished
+with the perishable material senses.
+Reality, of which visible things are the
+symbol, shines before my mind. While
+I walk about my chamber with unsteady
+steps, my spirit sweeps skyward on eagle
+wings and looks out with unquenchable
+vision upon the world of eternal
+beauty.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE DREAM WORLD</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XIII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE DREAM WORLD</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>EVERYBODY takes his own dreams
+seriously, but yawns at the breakfast-table
+when somebody else begins to
+tell the adventures of the night before. I
+hesitate, therefore, to enter upon an account
+of my dreams; for it is a literary
+sin to bore the reader, and a scientific sin
+to report the facts of a far country with
+more regard to point and brevity than
+to complete and literal truth. The psychologists
+have trained a pack of theories
+and facts which they keep in leash,
+like so many bulldogs, and which they
+let loose upon us whenever we depart<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
+from the straight and narrow path of
+dream probability. One may not even
+tell an entertaining dream without being
+suspected of having liberally edited
+it,&mdash;as if editing were one of the seven
+deadly sins, instead of a useful and
+honourable occupation! Be it understood,
+then, that I am discoursing at
+my own breakfast-table, and that no
+scientific man is present to trip the
+autocrat.</div>
+
+<p>I used to wonder why scientific men
+and others were always asking me about
+my dreams. But I am not surprised
+now, since I have discovered what some
+of them believe to be the ordinary waking
+experience of one who is both deaf and
+blind. They think that I can know very
+little about objects even a few feet beyond
+the reach of my arms. Everything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
+outside of myself, according to them,
+is a hazy blur. Trees, mountains, cities,
+the ocean, even the house I live in
+are but fairy fabrications, misty unrealities.
+Therefore it is assumed that my
+dreams should have peculiar interest for
+the man of science. In some undefined
+way it is expected that they should reveal
+the world I dwell in to be flat,
+formless, colourless, without perspective,
+with little thickness and less solidity&mdash;a
+vast solitude of soundless space. But
+who shall put into words limitless,
+visionless, silent void? One should be a
+disembodied spirit indeed to make anything
+out of such insubstantial experiences.
+A world, or a dream for that
+matter, to be comprehensible to us,
+must, I should think, have a warp of
+substance woven into the woof of fantasy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
+We cannot imagine even in
+dreams an object which has no counterpart
+in reality. Ghosts always resemble
+somebody, and if they do not appear
+themselves, their presence is indicated
+by circumstances with which we are perfectly
+familiar.</p>
+
+<p>During sleep we enter a strange,
+mysterious realm which science has
+thus far not explored. Beyond the
+border-line of slumber the investigator
+may not pass with his common-sense
+rule and test. Sleep with softest touch
+locks all the gates of our physical senses
+and lulls to rest the conscious will&mdash;the
+disciplinarian of our waking
+thoughts. Then the spirit wrenches itself
+free from the sinewy arms of reason
+and like a winged courser spurns
+the firm green earth and speeds away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
+upon wind and cloud, leaving neither
+trace nor footprint by which science
+may track its flight and bring us
+knowledge of the distant, shadowy
+country that we nightly visit. When
+we come back from the dream-realm,
+we can give no reasonable report of what
+we met there. But once across the
+border, we feel at home as if we had
+always lived there and had never made
+any excursions into this rational daylight
+world.</p>
+
+<p>My dreams do not seem to differ very
+much from the dreams of other people.
+Some of them are coherent and safely
+hitched to an event or a conclusion.
+Others are inconsequent and fantastic.
+All attest that in Dreamland there is no
+such thing as repose. We are always
+up and doing with a mind for any adventure.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
+We act, strive, think, suffer
+and are glad to no purpose. We leave
+outside the portals of Sleep all troublesome
+incredulities and vexatious speculations
+as to probability. I float wraith-like
+upon clouds in and out among the
+winds, without the faintest notion that I
+am doing anything unusual. In Dreamland
+I find little that is altogether strange
+or wholly new to my experience. No
+matter what happens, I am not astonished,
+however extraordinary the circumstances
+may be. I visit a foreign land
+where I have not been in reality, and I
+converse with peoples whose language I
+have never heard. Yet we manage to
+understand each other perfectly. Into
+whatsoever situation or society my wanderings
+bring me, there is the same
+homogeneity. If I happen into Vagabondia,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
+I make merry with the jolly
+folk of the road or the tavern.</p>
+
+<p>I do not remember ever to have met
+persons with whom I could not at once
+communicate, or to have been shocked
+or surprised at the doings of my dream-companions.
+In its strange wanderings
+in those dusky groves of Slumberland
+my soul takes everything for granted
+and adapts itself to the wildest phantoms.
+I am seldom confused. Everything
+is as clear as day. I know events
+the instant they take place, and wherever
+I turn my steps, Mind is my faithful
+guide and interpreter.</p>
+
+<p>I suppose every one has had in a
+dream the exasperating, profitless experience
+of seeking something urgently
+desired at the moment, and the aching,
+weary sensation that follows each failure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
+to track the thing to its hiding-place.
+Sometimes with a singing dizziness
+in my head I climb and climb, I
+know not where or why. Yet I cannot
+quit the torturing, passionate endeavour,
+though again and again I reach out
+blindly for an object to hold to. Of
+course according to the perversity of
+dreams there is no object near. I clutch
+empty air, and then I fall downward,
+and still downward, and in the midst of
+the fall I dissolve into the atmosphere
+upon which I have been floating so precariously.</p>
+
+<p>Some of my dreams seem to be traced
+one within another like a series of concentric
+circles. In sleep I think I cannot
+sleep. I toss about in the toils of
+tasks unfinished. I decide to get up
+and read for a while. I know the shelf in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
+my library where I keep the book I want.
+The book has no name, but I find
+it without difficulty. I settle myself
+comfortably in the morris-chair, the
+great book open on my knee. Not a
+word can I make out, the pages are utterly
+blank. I am not surprised, but
+keenly disappointed. I finger the pages,
+I bend over them lovingly, the tears fall
+on my hands. I shut the book quickly
+as the thought passes through my mind,
+"The print will be all rubbed out if I
+get it wet." Yet there is no print tangible
+on the page!</p>
+
+<p>This morning I thought that I awoke.
+I was certain that I had overslept.
+I seized my watch, and sure enough, it
+pointed to an hour after my rising time.
+I sprang up in the greatest hurry,
+knowing that breakfast was ready.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
+I called my mother, who declared that
+my watch must be wrong. She was
+positive it could not be so late. I
+looked at my watch again, and lo! the
+hands wiggled, whirled, buzzed and disappeared.
+I awoke more fully as my
+dismay grew, until I was at the antipodes
+of sleep. Finally my eyes opened actually,
+and I knew that I had been dreaming.
+I had only waked into sleep.
+What is still more bewildering, there is
+no difference between the consciousness
+of the sham waking and that of the
+real one.</p>
+
+<p>It is fearful to think that all that we
+have ever seen, felt, read, and done may
+suddenly rise to our dream-vision, as the
+sea casts up objects it has swallowed. I
+have held a little child in my arms in the
+midst of a riot and spoken vehemently,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
+imploring the Russian soldiers not to
+massacre the Jews. I have re-lived the
+agonizing scenes of the Sepoy Rebellion
+and the French Revolution. Cities have
+burned before my eyes, and I have
+fought the flames until I fell exhausted.
+Holocausts overtake the world, and I
+struggle in vain to save my friends.</p>
+
+<p>Once in a dream a message came
+speeding over land and sea that winter
+was descending upon the world from
+the North Pole, that the Arctic zone
+was shifting to our mild climate. Far
+and wide the message flew. The ocean
+was congealed in midsummer. Ships
+were held fast in the ice by thousands,
+the ships with large, white sails were held
+fast. Riches of the Orient and the
+plenteous harvests of the Golden West
+might no more pass between nation and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
+nation. For some time the trees and
+flowers grew on, despite the intense
+cold. Birds flew into the houses for
+safety, and those which winter had
+overtaken lay on the snow with wings
+spread in vain flight. At last the foliage
+and blossoms fell at the feet of Winter.
+The petals of the flowers were turned
+to rubies and sapphires. The leaves froze
+into emeralds. The trees moaned and
+tossed their branches as the frost pierced
+them through bark and sap, pierced
+into their very roots. I shivered
+myself awake, and with a tumult
+of joy I breathed the many sweet
+morning odours wakened by the summer
+sun.</p>
+
+<p>One need not visit an African jungle
+or an Indian forest to hunt the tiger.
+One can lie in bed amid downy pillows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
+and dream tigers as terrible as any in
+the pathless wild. I was a little girl
+when one night I tried to cross the garden
+in front of my aunt's house in
+Alabama. I was in pursuit of a large
+cat with a great bushy tail. A few
+hours before he had clawed my little
+canary out of its cage and crunched it
+between his cruel teeth. I could not see
+the cat. But the thought in my mind
+was distinct: "He is making for the
+high grass at the end of the garden.
+I'll get there first!" I put my hand on
+the box border and ran swiftly along
+the path. When I reached the high
+grass, there was the cat gliding into the
+wavy tangle. I rushed forward and
+tried to seize him and take the bird
+from between his teeth. To my horror
+a huge beast, not the cat at all, sprang<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
+out from the grass, and his sinewy
+shoulder rubbed against me with palpitating
+strength! His ears stood up and
+quivered with anger. His eyes were
+hot. His nostrils were large and wet.
+His lips moved horribly. I knew it was
+a tiger, a real live tiger, and that I
+should be devoured&mdash;my little bird and
+I. I do not know what happened after
+that. The next important thing seldom
+happens in dreams.</p>
+
+<p>Some time earlier I had a dream
+which made a vivid impression upon me.
+My aunt was weeping because she
+could not find me. But I took an impish
+pleasure in the thought that she and
+others were searching for me, and making
+great noise which I felt through my feet.
+Suddenly the spirit of mischief gave way
+to uncertainty and fear. I felt cold.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
+The air smelt like ice and salt. I tried
+to run; but the long grass tripped
+me, and I fell forward on my face.
+I lay very still, feeling with all my
+body. After a while my sensations
+seemed to be concentrated in my fingers,
+and I perceived that the grass blades
+were sharp as knives, and hurt my
+hands cruelly. I tried to get up cautiously,
+so as not to cut myself on the
+sharp grass. I put down a tentative
+foot, much as my kitten treads for the
+first time the primeval forest in the
+backyard. All at once I felt the stealthy
+patter of something creeping, creeping,
+creeping purposefully toward me. I do
+not know how at that time the idea
+was in my mind; I had no words for intention
+or purpose. Yet it was precisely
+the evil intent, and not the creeping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
+animal that terrified me. I had no
+fear of living creatures. I loved my
+father's dogs, the frisky little calf, the
+gentle cows, the horses and mules that
+ate apples from my hand, and none
+of them had ever harmed me. I lay
+low, waiting in breathless terror for the
+creature to spring and bury its long claws
+in my flesh. I thought, "They will
+feel like turkey-claws." Something warm
+and wet touched my face. I shrieked,
+struck out frantically, and awoke. Something
+was still struggling in my arms. I
+held on with might and main until I was
+exhausted, then I loosed my hold. I
+found dear old Belle, the setter, shaking
+herself and looking at me reproachfully.
+She and I had gone to sleep together
+on the rug, and had naturally wandered
+to the dream-forest where dogs and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
+little girls hunt wild game and have
+strange adventures. We encountered
+hosts of elfin foes, and it required
+all the dog tactics at Belle's command
+to acquit herself like the lady and
+huntress that she was. Belle had her
+dreams too. We used to lie under the
+trees and flowers in the old garden, and
+I used to laugh with delight when the
+magnolia leaves fell with little thuds,
+and Belle jumped up, thinking she had
+heard a partridge. She would pursue
+the leaf, point it, bring it back to
+me and lay it at my feet with a humorous
+wag of her tail as much as to say,
+"This is the kind of bird that waked
+me." I made a chain for her neck
+out of the lovely blue Paulownia
+flowers and covered her with great heart-shaped
+leaves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Dear old Belle, she has long been
+dreaming among the lotus-flowers and
+poppies of the dogs' paradise.</p>
+
+<p>Certain dreams have haunted me
+since my childhood. One which recurs
+often proceeds after this wise: A spirit
+seems to pass before my face. I feel an
+extreme heat like the blast from an engine.
+It is the embodiment of evil. I
+must have had it first after the day that
+I nearly got burnt.</p>
+
+<p>Another spirit which visits me often
+brings a sensation of cool dampness,
+such as one feels on a chill November
+night when the window is open. The
+spirit stops just beyond my reach, sways
+back and forth like a creature in grief.
+My blood is chilled, and seems to freeze
+in my veins. I try to move, but my body
+is still, and I cannot even cry out.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
+After a while the spirit passes on,
+and I say to myself shudderingly, "That
+was Death. I wonder if he has taken
+her." The pronoun stands for my
+Teacher.</p>
+
+<p>In my dreams I have sensations,
+odours, tastes and ideas which I do not
+remember to have had in reality. Perhaps
+they are the glimpses which my
+mind catches through the veil of sleep
+of my earliest babyhood. I have heard
+"the trampling of many waters." Sometimes
+a wonderful light visits me in
+sleep. Such a flash and glory as it is!
+I gaze and gaze until it vanishes. I
+smell and taste much as in my waking
+hours; but the sense of touch plays a
+less important part. In sleep I almost
+never grope. No one guides me. Even
+in a crowded street I am self-sufficient,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
+and I enjoy an independence quite foreign
+to my physical life. Now I seldom
+spell on my fingers, and it is still rarer
+for others to spell into my hand. My
+mind acts independent of my physical
+organs. I am delighted to be thus endowed,
+if only in sleep; for then my
+soul dons its winged sandals and joyfully
+joins the throng of happy beings who
+dwell beyond the reaches of bodily sense.</p>
+
+<p>The moral inconsistency of dreams is
+glaring. Mine grow less and less accordant
+with my proper principles. I
+am nightly hurled into an unethical
+medley of extremes. I must either defend
+another to the last drop of my blood
+or condemn him past all repenting.
+I commit murder, sleeping, to save
+the lives of others. I ascribe to those I
+love best acts and words which it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
+mortifies me to remember, and I cast
+reproach after reproach upon them.
+It is fortunate for our peace of mind
+that most wicked dreams are soon forgotten.
+Death, sudden and awful,
+strange loves and hates remorselessly
+pursued, cunningly plotted revenge, are
+seldom more than dim haunting recollections
+in the morning, and during the
+day they are erased by the normal activities
+of the mind. Sometimes immediately
+on waking, I am so vexed at the
+memory of a dream-fracas, I wish I
+may dream no more. With this wish
+distinctly before me I drop off again
+into a new turmoil of dreams.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, dreams, what opprobrium I heap
+upon you&mdash;you, the most pointless things
+imaginable, saucy apes, brewers of odious
+contrasts, haunting birds of ill omen,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
+mocking echoes, unseasonable reminders,
+oft-returning vexations, skeletons in my
+morris-chair, jesters in the tomb, death's-heads
+at the wedding feast, outlaws of
+the brain that every night defy the mind's
+police service, thieves of my Hesperidean
+apples, breakers of my domestic peace,
+murderers of sleep. "Oh, dreadful
+dreams that do fright my spirit from
+her propriety!" No wonder that Hamlet
+preferred the ills he knew rather
+than run the risk of one dream-vision.</p>
+
+<p>Yet remove the dream-world, and the
+loss is inconceivable. The magic spell
+which binds poetry together is broken.
+The splendour of art and the soaring
+might of imagination are lessened because
+no phantom of fadeless sunsets
+and flowers urges onward to a goal.
+Gone is the mute permission or connivance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
+which emboldens the soul to mock
+the limits of time and space, forecast
+and gather in harvests of achievement
+for ages yet unborn. Blot out dreams,
+and the blind lose one of their chief
+comforts; for in the visions of sleep
+they behold their belief in the seeing
+mind and their expectation of light beyond
+the blank, narrow night justified.
+Nay, our conception of immortality is
+shaken. Faith, the motive-power of
+human life, flickers out. Before such
+vacancy and bareness the shocks of
+wrecked worlds were indeed welcome.
+In truth, dreams bring us the thought
+independently of us and in spite of us
+that the soul</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 11em;">"may right</span><br />
+Her nature, shoot large sail on lengthening cord,<br />
+And rush exultant on the Infinite."<br /></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>DREAMS AND REALITY</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XIV</h2>
+
+<h3>DREAMS AND REALITY</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>IT is astonishing to think how our real
+wide-awake world revolves around
+the shadowy unrealities of Dreamland.
+Despite all that we say about the inconsequence
+of dreams, we often reason by
+them. We stake our greatest hopes
+upon them. Nay, we build upon them
+the fabric of an ideal world. I can recall
+few fine, thoughtful poems, few
+noble works of art or any system of
+philosophy in which there is not evidence
+that dream-fantasies symbolize
+truths concealed by phenomena.</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The fact that in dreams confusion
+reigns, and illogical connections occur
+gives plausibility to the theory which
+Sir Arthur Mitchell and other scientific
+men hold, that our dream-thinking is
+uncontrolled and undirected by the will.
+The will&mdash;the inhibiting and guiding
+power&mdash;finds rest and refreshment in
+sleep, while the mind, like a barque without
+rudder or compass, drifts aimlessly
+upon an uncharted sea. But curiously
+enough, these fantasies and inter-twistings
+of thought are to be found
+in great imaginative poems like
+Spenser's "F&aelig;rie Queene." Lamb was
+impressed by the analogy between
+our dream-thinking and the work of
+the imagination. Speaking of the
+episode in the cave of Mammon, Lamb
+wrote:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It is not enough to say that the whole
+episode is a copy of the mind's conceptions
+in sleep; it is&mdash;in some sort, but
+what a copy! Let the most romantic of
+us that has been entertained all night
+with the spectacle of some wild and
+magnificent vision, re-combine it in the
+morning and try it by his waking judgment.
+That which appeared so shifting
+and yet so coherent, when it came under
+cool examination, shall appear so reasonless
+and so unlinked, that we are
+ashamed to have been so deluded, and to
+have taken, though but in sleep, a monster
+for a god. The transitions in
+this episode are every whit as violent
+as in the most extravagant dream,
+and yet the waking judgment ratifies
+them."</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps I feel more than others the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
+analogy between the world of our waking
+life and the world of dreams because
+before I was taught, I lived in a
+sort of perpetual dream. The testimony
+of parents and friends who
+watched me day after day is the only
+means that I have of knowing the actuality
+of those early, obscure years of
+my childhood. The physical acts of going
+to bed and waking in the morning alone
+mark the transition from reality to
+Dreamland. As near as I can tell,
+asleep or awake I only felt with my
+body. I can recollect no process which
+I should now dignify with the term of
+thought. It is true that my bodily sensations
+were extremely acute; but beyond
+a crude connection with physical
+wants they are not associated or
+directed. They had little relation to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
+each other, to me or the experience
+of others. Idea&mdash;that which gives identity
+and continuity to experience&mdash;came
+into my sleeping and waking existence
+at the same moment with the awakening
+of self-consciousness. Before
+that moment my mind was in a
+state of anarchy in which meaningless
+sensations rioted, and if thought
+existed, it was so vague and inconsequent,
+it cannot be made a part of
+discourse. Yet before my education
+began, I dreamed. I know that I must
+have dreamed because I recall no break
+in my tactual experiences. Things fell
+suddenly, heavily. I felt my clothing
+afire, or I fell into a tub of cold water.
+Once I smelt bananas, and the odour in
+my nostrils was so vivid that in the
+morning, before I was dressed, I went<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
+to the sideboard to look for the bananas.
+There were no bananas, and no odour of
+bananas anywhere! My life was in fact
+a dream throughout.</p>
+
+<p>The likeness between my waking state
+and the sleeping one is still marked.
+In both states I see, but not with my
+eyes. I hear, but not with my ears. I
+speak, and am spoken to, without the
+sound of a voice. I am moved to
+pleasure by visions of ineffable beauty
+which I have never beheld in the physical
+world. Once in a dream I held in
+my hand a pearl. The one I saw in
+my dreams must, therefore, have been a
+creation of my imagination. It was a
+smooth, exquisitely moulded crystal.
+As I gazed into its shimmering deeps,
+my soul was flooded with an ecstasy of
+tenderness, and I was filled with wonder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
+as one who should for the first time
+look into the cool, sweet heart of a rose.
+My pearl was dew and fire, the velvety
+green of moss, the soft whiteness of
+lilies, and the distilled hues and sweetness
+of a thousand roses. It seemed to
+me, the soul of beauty was dissolved in
+its crystal bosom. This beauteous vision
+strengthens my conviction that the
+world which the mind builds up out of
+countless subtle experiences and suggestions
+is fairer than the world of the
+senses. The splendour of the sunset my
+friends gaze at across the purpling hills
+is wonderful. But the sunset of the
+inner vision brings purer delight because
+it is the worshipful blending of all
+the beauty that we have known and
+desired.</p>
+
+<p>I believe that I am more fortunate in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
+my dreams than most people; for as I
+think back over my dreams, the pleasant
+ones seem to predominate, although
+we naturally recall most vividly and tell
+most eagerly the grotesque and fantastic
+adventures in Slumberland. I have
+friends, however, whose dreams are always
+troubled and disturbed. They
+wake fatigued and bruised, and they
+tell me that they would give a kingdom
+for one dreamless night. There is one
+friend who declares that she has never
+had a felicitous dream in her life. The
+grind and worry of the day invade the
+sweet domain of sleep and weary her
+with incessant, profitless effort. I feel
+very sorry for this friend, and perhaps
+it is hardly fair to insist upon the pleasure
+of dreaming in the presence of one
+whose dream-experience is so unhappy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
+Still, it is true that my dreams have uses
+as many and sweet as those of adversity.
+All my yearning for the strange, the
+weird, the ghostlike is gratified in dreams.
+They carry me out of the accustomed and
+commonplace. In a flash, in the winking
+of an eye they snatch the burden
+from my shoulder, the trivial task from
+my hand and the pain and disappointment
+from my heart, and I behold
+the lovely face of my dream. It dances
+round me with merry measure and darts
+hither and thither in happy abandon.
+Sudden, sweet fancies spring forth from
+every nook and corner, and delightful
+surprises meet me at every turn. A happy
+dream is more precious than gold and
+rubies.</p>
+
+<p>I like to think that in dreams we
+catch glimpses of a life larger than our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
+own. We see it as a little child, or as a
+savage who visits a civilized nation.
+Thoughts are imparted to us far above
+our ordinary thinking. Feelings nobler
+and wiser than any we have known thrill
+us between heart-beats. For one fleeting
+night a princelier nature captures us,
+and we become as great as our aspirations.
+I daresay we return to the
+little world of our daily activities with
+as distorted a half-memory of what we
+have seen as that of the African who
+visited England, and afterwards said he
+had been in a huge hill which carried
+him over great waters. The comprehensiveness
+of our thought, whether we
+are asleep or awake, no doubt depends
+largely upon our idiosyncrasies, constitution,
+habits, and mental capacity.
+But whatever may be the nature of our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
+dreams, the mental processes that characterize
+them are analogous to those
+which go on when the mind is not held
+to attention by the will.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A WAKING DREAM</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XV</h2>
+
+<h3>A WAKING DREAM</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;HAVE sat for hours in a sort of reverie,
+letting my mind have its way
+without inhibition and direction, and
+idly noted down the incessant beat of
+thought upon thought, image upon image.
+I have observed that my thoughts
+make all kinds of connections, wind in
+and out, trace concentric circles, and
+break up in eddies of fantasy, just as in
+dreams. One day I had a literary frolic
+with a certain set of thoughts which
+dropped in for an afternoon call. I
+wrote for three or four hours as they arrived,
+and the resulting record is much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
+like a dream. I found that the most disconnected,
+dissimilar thoughts came in
+arm-in-arm&mdash;I dreamed a wide-awake
+dream. The difference is that in waking
+dreams I can look back upon the
+endless succession of thoughts, while in
+the dreams of sleep I can recall but few
+ideas and images. I catch broken
+threads from the warp and woof of a
+pattern I cannot see, or glowing leaves
+which have floated on a slumber-wind
+from a tree that I cannot identify. In
+this reverie I held the key to the company
+of ideas. I give my record of
+them to show what analogies exist between
+thoughts when they are not
+directed and the behaviour of real
+dream-thinking.</div>
+
+<p>I had an essay to write. I wanted my
+mind fresh and obedient, and all its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
+handmaidens ready to hold up my hands
+in the task. I intended to discourse
+learnedly upon my educational experiences,
+and I was unusually anxious to
+do my best. I had a working plan in
+my head for the essay, which was to be
+grave, wise, and abounding in ideas.
+Moreover, it was to have an academic
+flavour suggestive of sheepskin, and the
+reader was to be duly impressed with
+the austere dignity of cap and gown. I
+shut myself up in the study, resolved to
+beat out on the keys of my typewriter
+this immortal chapter of my life-history.
+Alexander was no more confident of
+conquering Asia with the splendid army
+which his father Philip had disciplined
+than I was of finding my mental house
+in order and my thoughts obedient.
+My mind had had a long vacation, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
+I was now coming back to it in an hour
+that it looked not for me. My situation
+was similar to that of the master
+who went into a far country and expected
+on his home coming to find
+everything as he left it. But returning he
+found his servants giving a party. Confusion
+was rampant. There was fiddling
+and dancing and the babble of many
+tongues, so that the voice of the master
+could not be heard. Though he shouted
+and beat upon the gate, it remained
+closed.</p>
+
+<p>So it was with me. I sounded the
+trumpet loud and long; but the vassals
+of thought would not rally to my standard.
+Each had his arm round the waist
+of a fair partner, and I know not what
+wild tunes "put life and mettle into
+their heels." There was nothing to do.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
+I looked about helplessly upon my
+great retinue, and realized that it is not
+the possession of a thing but the ability
+to use it which is of value. I settled
+back in my chair to watch the pageant.
+It was rather pleasant sitting there,
+"idle as a painted ship upon a painted
+ocean," watching my own thoughts at
+play. It was like thinking fine things
+to say without taking the trouble to write
+them. I felt like Alice in Wonderland
+when she ran at full speed with the
+red queen and never passed anything
+or got anywhere.</p>
+
+<p>The merry frolic went on madly.
+The dancers were all manner of
+thoughts. There were sad thoughts and
+happy thoughts, thoughts suited to
+every clime and weather, thoughts bearing
+the mark of every age and nation,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
+silly thoughts and wise thoughts,
+thoughts of people, of things, and of
+nothing, good thoughts, impish thoughts,
+and large, gracious thoughts. There
+they went swinging hand-in-hand in corkscrew
+fashion. An antic jester in green
+and gold led the dance. The guests
+followed no order or precedent. No
+two thoughts were related to each other
+even by the fortieth cousinship. There
+was not so much as an international
+alliance between them. Each thought
+behaved like a newly created poet.</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"His mouth he could not ope,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But there flew out a trope."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='unindent'>Magical lyrics&mdash;oh, if I only had written
+them down! Pell-mell they came down
+the sequestered avenues of my mind,
+this merry throng. With bacchanal
+song and shout they came, and eye<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
+hath not since beheld confusion worse
+confounded.</div>
+
+<p>Shut your eyes, and see them come&mdash;the
+knights and ladies of my revel.
+Plumed and turbaned they come, clad in
+mail and silken broideries, gentle maids
+in Quaker gray, gay princes in scarlet
+cloaks, coquettes with roses in their hair,
+monks in cowls that might have covered
+the tall Minster Tower, demure little
+girls hugging paper dolls, and rollicking
+school-boys with ruddy morning
+faces, an absent-minded professor carrying
+his shoes under his arms and looking
+wise, followed by cronies, fairies,
+goblins, and all the troops just loosed
+from Noah's storm-tossed ark. They
+walked, they strutted, they soared, they
+swam, and some came in through fire.
+One sprite climbed up to the moon on a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
+ladder made of leaves and frozen dew-drops.
+A peacock with a great hooked
+bill flew in and out among the branches
+of a pomegranate-tree pecking the rosy
+fruit. He screamed so loud that Apollo
+turned in his chariot of flame and from his
+burnished bow shot golden arrows at
+him. This did not disturb the peacock
+in the least; for he spread his gem-like
+wings and flourished his wonderful, fire-tipped
+tail in the very face of the sun-god!
+Then came Venus&mdash;an exact copy
+of my own plaster cast&mdash;serene, calm-eyed,
+dancing "high and disposedly"
+like Queen Elizabeth, surrounded by a
+troop of lovely Cupids mounted on
+rose-tinted clouds, blown hither and
+thither by sweet winds, while all around
+danced flowers and streams and queer
+little Japanese cherry-trees in pots!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
+They were followed by jovial Pan
+with green hair and jewelled sandals,
+and by his side&mdash;I could scarcely believe
+my eyes!&mdash;walked a modest nun counting
+her beads. At a little distance were seen
+three dancers arm-in-arm, a lean,
+starved platitude, a rosy, dimpled joke,
+and a steel-ribbed sermon on predestination.
+Close upon them came a whole
+string of Nights with wind-blown
+hair and Days with faggots on their
+backs. All at once I saw the ample figure
+of Life rise above the whirling mass
+holding a naked child in one hand and
+in the other a gleaming sword. A bear
+crouched at her feet, and all about her
+swirled and glowed a multitudinous host
+of tiny atoms which sang all together,
+"We are the will of God." Atom wedded
+atom, and chemical married chemical,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
+and the cosmic dance went on in
+changing, changeless measure, until my
+head sang like a buzz-saw.</p>
+
+<p>Just as I was thinking I would leave
+this scene of phantoms and take a stroll
+in the quiet groves of Slumber I noticed
+a commotion near one of the entrances
+to my enchanted palace. It was evident
+from the whispering and buzzing that
+went round that more celebrities had arrived.
+The first personage I saw was
+Homer, blind no more, leading by a
+golden chain the white-beaked ships of
+the Achaians bobbing their heads and
+squawking like so many white swans.
+Plato and Mother Goose with the numerous
+children of the shoe came next.
+Simple Simon, Jill, and Jack who had
+had his head mended, and the cat that
+fell into the cream&mdash;all these danced in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
+a giddy reel, while Plato solemnly discoursed
+on the laws of Topsyturvy
+Land. Then followed grim-visaged
+Calvin and "violet-crowned, sweet-smiling
+Sappho" who danced a Schottische.
+Aristophanes and Moli&egrave;re joined for a
+measure, both talking at once, Moli&egrave;re
+in Greek and Aristophanes in German.
+I thought this odd, because it occurred
+to me that German was a dead language
+before Aristophanes was born. Bright-eyed
+Shelley brought in a fluttering
+lark which burst into the song of
+Chaucer's chanticleer. Henry Esmond
+gave his hand in a stately minuet to
+Diana of the Crossways. He evidently
+did not understand her nineteenth century
+wit; for he did not laugh. Perhaps
+he had lost his taste for clever women.
+Anon Dante and Swedenborg came together<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
+conversing earnestly about things
+remote and mystical. Swedenborg said
+it was very warm. Dante replied that it
+might rain in the night.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly there was a great clamour,
+and I found that "The Battle of the
+Books" had begun raging anew. Two
+figures entered in lively dispute. One
+was dressed in plain homespun and the
+other wore a scholar's gown over a suit
+of motley. I gathered from their conversation
+that they were Cotton Mather
+and William Shakspere. Mather insisted
+that the witches in "Macbeth"
+should be caught and hanged. Shakspere
+replied that the witches had already
+suffered enough at the hands of
+commentators. They were pushed aside
+by the twelve knights of the Round
+Table, who marched in bearing on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
+a salver the goose that laid golden
+eggs. "The Pope's Mule" and "The
+Golden Bull" had a combat of history
+and fiction such as I had read of in
+books, but never before witnessed. These
+little animals were put to rout by a
+huge elephant which lumbered in with
+Rudyard Kipling riding high on its
+trunk. The elephant changed suddenly
+to "a rakish craft." (I do not know
+what a rakish craft is; but this was very
+rakish and very crafty.) It must have
+been abandoned long ago by wild
+pirates of the southern seas; for clinging
+to the rigging, and jovially cheering as
+the ship went down, I made out a man
+with blazing eyes, clad in a velveteen
+jacket. As the ship disappeared from
+sight, Falstaff rushed to the rescue of
+the lonely navigator&mdash;and stole his purse!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
+But Miranda persuaded him to give
+it back. Stevenson said, "Who steals
+my purse steals trash." Falstaff laughed
+and called this a good joke, as good
+as any he had heard in his day.</p>
+
+<p>This was the signal for a rushing swarm
+of quotations. They surged to and fro,
+an inchoate throng of half finished
+phrases, mutilated sentences, parodied
+sentiments, and brilliant metaphors. I
+could not distinguish any phrases or
+ideas of my own making. I saw a
+poor, ragged, shrunken sentence that
+might have been mine own catch the
+wings of a fair idea with the light of
+genius shining like a halo about its head.</p>
+
+<p>Ever and anon the dancers changed
+partners without invitation or permission.
+Thoughts fell in love at sight,
+married in a measure, and joined hands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
+without previous courtship. An incongruity
+is the wedding of two thoughts
+which have had no reasonable courtship,
+and marriages without wooing are apt
+to lead to domestic discord, even to the
+breaking up of an ancient, time-honoured
+family. Among the wedded couples
+were certain similes hitherto inviolable
+in their bachelorhood and spinsterhood,
+and held in great respect. Their
+extraordinary proceedings nearly broke
+up the dance. But the fatuity of their
+union was evident to them, and they
+parted. Other <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'similies'">similes</ins> seemed to have
+the habit of living in discord. They had
+been many times married and divorced.
+They belonged to the notorious society
+of Mixed Metaphors.</p>
+
+<p>A company of phantoms floated in
+and out wearing tantalizing garments<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
+of oblivion. They seemed about to
+dance, then vanished. They reappeared
+half a dozen times, but never unveiled
+their faces. The imp Curiosity pulled
+Memory by the sleeve and said, "Why
+do they run away? 'Tis strange knavery!"
+Out ran Memory to capture
+them. After a great deal of racing and
+puffing and collision it apprehended
+some of the fugitives and brought them
+in. But when it tore off their masks,
+lo! some were disappointingly commonplace,
+and others were gipsy quotations
+trying to conceal the punctuation
+marks that belonged to them. Memory
+was much chagrined to have had such a
+hard chase only to catch this sorry lot of
+graceless rogues.</p>
+
+<p>Into the rabble strode four stately
+giants who called themselves History,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
+Philosophy, Law, and Medicine. They
+seemed too solemn and imposing to join
+in a masque. But even as I gazed at
+these formidable guests, they all split
+into fragments which went whirling,
+dancing in divisions, subdivisions, re-subdivisions
+of scientific nonsense! History
+split into philology, ethnology,
+anthropology, and mythology, and these
+again split finer than the splitting of
+hairs. Each speciality hugged its bit of
+knowledge and waltzed it round and
+round. The rest of the company began
+to nod, and I felt drowsy myself. To
+put an end to the solemn gyrations, a
+troop of fairies mercifully waved poppies
+over us all, the masque faded, my
+head fell, and I started. Sleep had
+wakened me. At my elbow I found my
+old friend Bottom.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Bottom," I said, "I have had a
+dream past the wit of man to say what
+dream it was. Methought I was&mdash;there
+is no man can tell what. The eye of
+man hath not heard, the ear of man hath
+not seen, his hand is not able to taste, his
+tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report
+what my dream was."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A CHANT OF DARKNESS</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A CHANT OF DARKNESS</h2>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"<i>My wings are folded o'er mine ears,</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>My wings are cross&egrave;d o'er mine eyes,</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>Yet through their silver shade appears,</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>And through their lulling plumes arise,</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>A Shape, a throng of sounds.</i>"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='sig'>
+<i>Shelley's "Prometheus Unbound."</i><br /><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'><div class='cap'>
+I &nbsp;&nbsp;DARE not ask why we are reft of light,<br />
+Banished to our solitary isles amid the unmeasured seas,<br />
+Or how our sight was nurtured to glorious vision,<br />
+To fade and vanish and leave us in the dark alone.<br />
+The secret of God is upon our tabernacle;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>Into His mystery I dare not pry. Only this I know:<br />
+With Him is strength, with Him is wisdom,<br />
+And His wisdom hath set darkness in our paths.<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br /></div>
+<br />
+O Dark! thou awful, sweet, and holy Dark!<br />
+In thy solemn spaces, beyond the human eye,<br />
+God fashioned His universe; laid the foundations of the earth,<br />
+Laid the measure thereof, and stretched the line upon it;<br />
+Shut up the sea with doors, and made the glory<br />
+Of the clouds a covering for it;<br />
+Commanded His morning, and, behold! chaos fled<br />
+Before the uplifted face of the sun;<br />
+Divided a water-course for the overflowing of waters;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>Sent rain upon the earth&mdash;<br />
+Upon the wilderness wherein there was no man,<br />
+Upon the desert where grew no tender herb,<br />
+And, lo! there was greenness upon the plains,<br />
+And the hills were clothed with beauty!<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br />
+<br />
+O Dark! thou secret and inscrutable Dark!<br />
+In thy silent depths, the springs whereof man hath not fathomed,<br />
+God wrought the soul of man.<br />
+O Dark! compassionate, all-knowing Dark!<br />
+Tenderly, as shadows to the evening, comes thy message to man.<br />
+Softly thou layest thy hand on his tired eyelids,<br />
+And his soul, weary and homesick, returns<br />
+Unto thy soothing embrace.<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br />
+<br />
+O Dark! wise, vital, thought-quickening Dark!<br />
+In thy mystery thou hidest the light<br />
+That is the soul's life.<br />
+Upon thy solitary shores I walk unafraid;<br />
+I dread no evil; though I walk in the valley of the shadow,<br />
+I shall not know the ecstasy of fear<br />
+When gentle Death leads me through life's open door,<br />
+When the bands of night are sundered,<br />
+And the day outpours its light.<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br />
+<br />
+The timid soul, fear-driven, shuns the dark;<br />
+But upon the cheeks of him who must abide in shadow<br />
+Breathes the wind of rushing angel-wings,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>And round him falls a light from unseen fires.<br />
+Magical beams glow athwart the darkness;<br />
+Paths of beauty wind through his black world<br />
+To another world of light,<br />
+Where no veil of sense shuts him out from Paradise.<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br />
+<br />
+O Dark! thou bless&egrave;d, quiet Dark!<br />
+To the lone exile who must dwell with thee<br />
+Thou art benign and friendly;<br />
+From the harsh world thou dost shut him in;<br />
+To him thou whisperest the secrets of the wondrous night;<br />
+Upon him thou bestowest regions wide and boundless as his spirit;<br />
+Thou givest a glory to all humble things;<br />
+With thy hovering pinions thou coverest all unlovely objects;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>Under thy brooding wings there is peace.<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+<span class='smcap'>Once</span> in regions void of light I wandered;<br />
+In blank darkness I stumbled,<br />
+And fear led me by the hand;<br />
+My feet pressed earthward,<br />
+Afraid of pitfalls.<br />
+By many shapeless terrors of the night affrighted,<br />
+To the wakeful day<br />
+I held out beseeching arms.<br />
+<br />
+Then came Love, bearing in her hand<br />
+The torch that is the light unto my feet,<br />
+And softly spoke Love: "Hast thou<br />
+Entered into the treasures of darkness?<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>Hast thou entered into the treasures of the night?<br />
+Search out thy blindness. It holdeth<br />
+Riches past computing."<br />
+<br />
+The words of Love set my spirit aflame.<br />
+My eager fingers searched out the mysteries,<br />
+The splendours, the inmost sacredness, of things,<br />
+And in the vacancies discerned<br />
+With spiritual sense the fullness of life;<br />
+And the gates of Day stood wide.<br />
+<br />
+I am shaken with gladness;<br />
+My limbs tremble with joy;<br />
+My heart and the earth<br />
+Tremble with happiness;<br />
+The ecstasy of life<br />
+Is abroad in the world.<br />
+<br />
+Knowledge hath uncurtained heaven;<br />
+On the uttermost shores of darkness there is light;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>Midnight hath sent forth a beam!<br />
+The blind that stumbled in darkness without light<br />
+Behold a new day!<br />
+In the obscurity gleams the star of Thought;<br />
+Imagination hath a luminous eye,<br />
+And the mind hath a glorious vision.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+"<span class='smcap'>The</span> man is blind. What is life to him?<br />
+A closed book held up against a sightless face.<br />
+Would that he could see<br />
+Yon beauteous star, and know<br />
+For one transcendent moment<br />
+The palpitating joy of sight!"<br />
+<br />
+All sight is of the soul.<br />
+Behold it in the upward flight<br />
+Of the unfettered spirit! Hast thou seen<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>Thought bloom in the blind child's face?<br />
+Hast thou seen his mind grow,<br />
+Like the running dawn, to grasp<br />
+The vision of the Master?<br />
+It was the miracle of inward sight.<br />
+<br />
+In the realms of wonderment where I dwell<br />
+I explore life with my hands;<br />
+I recognize, and am happy;<br />
+My fingers are ever athirst for the earth,<br />
+And drink up its wonders with delight,<br />
+Draw out earth's dear delights;<br />
+My feet are charged with the murmur,<br />
+The throb, of all things that grow.<br />
+<br />
+This is touch, this quivering,<br />
+This flame, this ether,<br />
+This glad rush of blood,<br />
+This daylight in my heart,<br />
+This glow of sympathy in my palms!<br />
+Thou blind, loving, all-prying touch,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>Thou openest the book of life to me.<br />
+<br />
+The noiseless little noises of the earth<br />
+Come with softest rustle;<br />
+The shy, sweet feet of life;<br />
+The silky mutter of moth-wings<br />
+Against my restraining palm;<br />
+The strident beat of insect-wings,<br />
+The silvery trickle of water;<br />
+Little breezes busy in the summer grass;<br />
+The music of crisp, whisking, scurrying leaves,<br />
+The swirling, wind-swept, frost-tinted leaves;<br />
+The crystal splash of summer rain,<br />
+Saturate with the odours of the sod.<br />
+<br />
+With alert fingers I listen<br />
+To the showers of sound<br />
+That the wind shakes from the forest.<br />
+I bathe in the liquid shade<br />
+Under the pines, where the air hangs cool<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>After the shower is done.<br />
+My saucy little friend the squirrel<br />
+Flips my shoulder with his tail,<br />
+Leaps from leafy billow to leafy billow,<br />
+Returns to eat his breakfast from my hand.<br />
+Between us there is glad sympathy;<br />
+He gambols; my pulses dance;<br />
+I am exultingly full of the joy of life!<br />
+<br />
+Have not my fingers split the sand<br />
+On the sun-flooded beach?<br />
+Hath not my naked body felt the water sing<br />
+When the sea hath enveloped it<br />
+With rippling music?<br />
+Have I not felt<br />
+The lilt of waves beneath my boat,<br />
+The flap of sail,<br />
+The strain of mast,<br />
+The wild rush<br />
+Of the lightning-charged winds?<br />
+Have I not smelt the swift, keen flight<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>Of winged odours before the tempest?<br />
+Here is joy awake, aglow;<br />
+Here is the tumult of the heart.<br />
+<br />
+My hands evoke sight and sound out of feeling,<br />
+Intershifting the senses endlessly;<br />
+Linking motion with sight, odour with sound<br />
+They give colour to the honeyed breeze,<br />
+The measure and passion of a symphony<br />
+To the beat and quiver of unseen wings.<br />
+In the secrets of earth and sun and air<br />
+My fingers are wise;<br />
+They snatch light out of darkness,<br />
+They thrill to harmonies breathed in silence.<br />
+<br />
+I walked in the stillness of the night,<br />
+And my soul uttered her gladness.<br />
+O Night, still, odorous Night, I love thee!<br />
+O wide, spacious Night, I love thee!<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>O steadfast, glorious Night!<br />
+I touch thee with my hands;<br />
+I lean against thy strength;<br />
+I am comforted.<br />
+<br />
+O fathomless, soothing Night!<br />
+Thou art a balm to my restless spirit,<br />
+I nestle gratefully in thy bosom,<br />
+Dark, gracious mother!<br />
+Like a dove, I rest in thy bosom.<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+PRINTED BY<br />
+WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.<br />
+PLYMOUTH<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> The excellent proof-reader has put a query to my use
+of the word "see." If I had said "visit," he would have
+asked no questions, yet what does "visit" mean but
+"see" (<i>visitare</i>)? Later I will try to defend myself for
+using as much of the English language as I have succeeded
+in learning.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> George Arnold.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> I found that of the senses, the eye is the most superficial,
+the ear the most arrogant, smell the most voluptuous,
+taste the most superstitious and fickle, touch the
+most profound and the most philosophical.</p></div></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<div class='tnote'>Transcriber's Note: The one correction made is indicated by a dotted
+line under the word that was changed.</div>
+
+<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 27683 ***</div>
+</body>
+</html>
+
diff --git a/27683-h/images/fp120.jpg b/27683-h/images/fp120.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..070df08
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-h/images/fp120.jpg
diff --git a/27683-h/images/fp22.jpg b/27683-h/images/fp22.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7d13f3f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-h/images/fp22.jpg
diff --git a/27683-h/images/fp70.jpg b/27683-h/images/fp70.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..304f9ba
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-h/images/fp70.jpg
diff --git a/27683-h/images/frontis.jpg b/27683-h/images/frontis.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..61b3563
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-h/images/frontis.jpg
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0001.png b/27683-page-images/f0001.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a6cd26c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0001.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0002-insert1.png b/27683-page-images/f0002-insert1.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..28c3a9c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0002-insert1.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0002.png b/27683-page-images/f0002.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1eeec87
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0002.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0003.png b/27683-page-images/f0003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0520831
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0003.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0004.png b/27683-page-images/f0004.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0227536
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0004.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0005.png b/27683-page-images/f0005.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..657fc07
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0005.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0007.png b/27683-page-images/f0007.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..94fefec
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0007.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0008.png b/27683-page-images/f0008.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..62ea3b9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0008.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0009.png b/27683-page-images/f0009.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2ef0966
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0009.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0011.png b/27683-page-images/f0011.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5103424
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0011.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0012.png b/27683-page-images/f0012.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a5aacde
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0012.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0013.png b/27683-page-images/f0013.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ce46a96
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0013.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/f0015.png b/27683-page-images/f0015.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2de1144
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/f0015.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0001.png b/27683-page-images/p0001.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0acd64e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0001.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0003.png b/27683-page-images/p0003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..23b05c0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0003.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0004.png b/27683-page-images/p0004.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fbc554f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0004.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0005.png b/27683-page-images/p0005.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8ee9d28
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0005.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0006.png b/27683-page-images/p0006.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..11d1a0e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0006.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0007.png b/27683-page-images/p0007.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3e31253
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0007.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0008.png b/27683-page-images/p0008.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..02cfc32
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0008.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0009.png b/27683-page-images/p0009.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4400552
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0009.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0010.png b/27683-page-images/p0010.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..de1359f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0010.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0011.png b/27683-page-images/p0011.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7265afe
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0011.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0012.png b/27683-page-images/p0012.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..04ba3ef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0012.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0013.png b/27683-page-images/p0013.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..706addf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0013.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0014.png b/27683-page-images/p0014.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2684180
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0014.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0015.png b/27683-page-images/p0015.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cf60718
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0015.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0016.png b/27683-page-images/p0016.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..486773f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0016.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0017.png b/27683-page-images/p0017.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1bf5b2a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0017.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0019.png b/27683-page-images/p0019.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2bbd4c1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0019.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0020.png b/27683-page-images/p0020.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e546439
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0020.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0021.png b/27683-page-images/p0021.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8d92a85
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0021.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0022.png b/27683-page-images/p0022.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..533dfe3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0022.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0022a.png b/27683-page-images/p0022a.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e22d2b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0022a.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0023.png b/27683-page-images/p0023.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..932acea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0023.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0024.png b/27683-page-images/p0024.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..04b8f5c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0024.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0025.png b/27683-page-images/p0025.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..31d4593
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0025.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0026.png b/27683-page-images/p0026.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e00b065
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0026.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0027.png b/27683-page-images/p0027.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c4817f2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0027.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0028.png b/27683-page-images/p0028.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0cf1b28
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0028.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0029.png b/27683-page-images/p0029.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..107b622
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0029.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0030.png b/27683-page-images/p0030.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ac87bab
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0030.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0031.png b/27683-page-images/p0031.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fd7be3b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0031.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0033.png b/27683-page-images/p0033.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f9974a1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0033.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0034.png b/27683-page-images/p0034.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d3ba2c8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0034.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0035.png b/27683-page-images/p0035.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ab627ed
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0035.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0036.png b/27683-page-images/p0036.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..31526a6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0036.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0037.png b/27683-page-images/p0037.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5ce5dde
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0037.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0038.png b/27683-page-images/p0038.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..696f486
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0038.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0039.png b/27683-page-images/p0039.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0270c34
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0039.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0040.png b/27683-page-images/p0040.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..222ea67
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0040.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0041.png b/27683-page-images/p0041.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1f3451b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0041.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0042.png b/27683-page-images/p0042.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..27b51e4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0042.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0043.png b/27683-page-images/p0043.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c35dadf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0043.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0045.png b/27683-page-images/p0045.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5eec856
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0045.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0046.png b/27683-page-images/p0046.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2c1119e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0046.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0047.png b/27683-page-images/p0047.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1e47209
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0047.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0048.png b/27683-page-images/p0048.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bb5bbb0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0048.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0049.png b/27683-page-images/p0049.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..085cf52
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0049.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0050.png b/27683-page-images/p0050.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc330c2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0050.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0051.png b/27683-page-images/p0051.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2840755
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0051.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0052.png b/27683-page-images/p0052.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..19c1c7b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0052.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0053.png b/27683-page-images/p0053.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c46e268
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0053.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0054.png b/27683-page-images/p0054.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..05f6c38
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0054.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0055.png b/27683-page-images/p0055.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..27c8858
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0055.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0056.png b/27683-page-images/p0056.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3de9af2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0056.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0057.png b/27683-page-images/p0057.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bb34c2b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0057.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0058.png b/27683-page-images/p0058.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b66a4cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0058.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0059.png b/27683-page-images/p0059.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..96ebbbc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0059.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0061.png b/27683-page-images/p0061.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d838364
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0061.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0063.png b/27683-page-images/p0063.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..669b189
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0063.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0064.png b/27683-page-images/p0064.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..346ffbb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0064.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0065.png b/27683-page-images/p0065.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8fd4dc2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0065.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0066.png b/27683-page-images/p0066.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1b44c67
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0066.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0067.png b/27683-page-images/p0067.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3612487
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0067.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0068.png b/27683-page-images/p0068.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..365de01
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0068.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0069.png b/27683-page-images/p0069.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..955a275
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0069.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0070.png b/27683-page-images/p0070.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..50cc763
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0070.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0071.png b/27683-page-images/p0071.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..19ad274
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0071.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0072.png b/27683-page-images/p0072.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..495681f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0072.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0073.png b/27683-page-images/p0073.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3489b45
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0073.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0074.png b/27683-page-images/p0074.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ef1ad6d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0074.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0075.png b/27683-page-images/p0075.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ebe8f90
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0075.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0077.png b/27683-page-images/p0077.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1b15549
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0077.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0078.png b/27683-page-images/p0078.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8095c7c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0078.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0079.png b/27683-page-images/p0079.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e3ccb6f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0079.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0080.png b/27683-page-images/p0080.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..917f8d8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0080.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0081.png b/27683-page-images/p0081.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..18df9cb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0081.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0082.png b/27683-page-images/p0082.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f28692c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0082.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0083.png b/27683-page-images/p0083.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9dc182c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0083.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0084.png b/27683-page-images/p0084.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..59b49e6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0084.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0085.png b/27683-page-images/p0085.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f33f357
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0085.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0086.png b/27683-page-images/p0086.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9455bf7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0086.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0087.png b/27683-page-images/p0087.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9b23bef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0087.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0088.png b/27683-page-images/p0088.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..06c1e6e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0088.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0089.png b/27683-page-images/p0089.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d2cdfed
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0089.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0090.png b/27683-page-images/p0090.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2dbbc62
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0090.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0091.png b/27683-page-images/p0091.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a5b68b1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0091.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0093.png b/27683-page-images/p0093.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3cc5a43
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0093.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0095.png b/27683-page-images/p0095.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..42fb901
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0095.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0096.png b/27683-page-images/p0096.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1158383
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0096.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0097.png b/27683-page-images/p0097.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4575e92
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0097.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0098.png b/27683-page-images/p0098.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d213ed8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0098.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0099.png b/27683-page-images/p0099.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f01db6e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0099.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0100.png b/27683-page-images/p0100.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f3ad0f9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0100.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0101.png b/27683-page-images/p0101.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..792bc93
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0101.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0103.png b/27683-page-images/p0103.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fe06d3f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0103.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0104.png b/27683-page-images/p0104.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d12551e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0104.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0105.png b/27683-page-images/p0105.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..65e4f79
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0105.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0106.png b/27683-page-images/p0106.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4ea16aa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0106.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0107.png b/27683-page-images/p0107.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..784c9e3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0107.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0108.png b/27683-page-images/p0108.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..042365e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0108.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0109.png b/27683-page-images/p0109.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c670df4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0109.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0110.png b/27683-page-images/p0110.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4102e5f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0110.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0111.png b/27683-page-images/p0111.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..84fbab6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0111.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0113.png b/27683-page-images/p0113.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..661dcf6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0113.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0115.png b/27683-page-images/p0115.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..96f9f32
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0115.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0116.png b/27683-page-images/p0116.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..808f539
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0116.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0117.png b/27683-page-images/p0117.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d25cccc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0117.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0118.png b/27683-page-images/p0118.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5970bca
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0118.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0119.png b/27683-page-images/p0119.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5cec3fe
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0119.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0120.png b/27683-page-images/p0120.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cfc67f7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0120.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0120a.png b/27683-page-images/p0120a.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d7ed8e1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0120a.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0121.png b/27683-page-images/p0121.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5720c39
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0121.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0122.png b/27683-page-images/p0122.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2b0333d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0122.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0123.png b/27683-page-images/p0123.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..450ba6d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0123.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0124.png b/27683-page-images/p0124.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..23013d6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0124.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0125.png b/27683-page-images/p0125.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bfcf43c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0125.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0127.png b/27683-page-images/p0127.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d6ebaf8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0127.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0129.png b/27683-page-images/p0129.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e2e1cc6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0129.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0130.png b/27683-page-images/p0130.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..057cb69
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0130.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0131.png b/27683-page-images/p0131.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0468277
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0131.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0132.png b/27683-page-images/p0132.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..54bbae2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0132.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0133.png b/27683-page-images/p0133.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2ad222a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0133.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0134.png b/27683-page-images/p0134.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1e41039
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0134.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0135.png b/27683-page-images/p0135.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ad8eced
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0135.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0136.png b/27683-page-images/p0136.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..40b2523
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0136.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0137.png b/27683-page-images/p0137.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..53662dc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0137.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0138.png b/27683-page-images/p0138.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..949bb4a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0138.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0139.png b/27683-page-images/p0139.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e97759
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0139.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0141.png b/27683-page-images/p0141.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..751dd2f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0141.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0142.png b/27683-page-images/p0142.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9b46902
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0142.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0143.png b/27683-page-images/p0143.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3bdc29b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0143.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0144.png b/27683-page-images/p0144.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..570f2c7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0144.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0145.png b/27683-page-images/p0145.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..195609c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0145.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0146.png b/27683-page-images/p0146.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..475e4ca
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0146.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0147.png b/27683-page-images/p0147.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e434c3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0147.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0148.png b/27683-page-images/p0148.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cbd827a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0148.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0149.png b/27683-page-images/p0149.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..df03a88
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0149.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0150.png b/27683-page-images/p0150.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bf5c969
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0150.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0151.png b/27683-page-images/p0151.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cdf9acd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0151.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0153.png b/27683-page-images/p0153.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..70d7d1c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0153.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0154.png b/27683-page-images/p0154.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dfeecc8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0154.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0155.png b/27683-page-images/p0155.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..da8de30
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0155.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0156.png b/27683-page-images/p0156.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..37ff4e9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0156.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0157.png b/27683-page-images/p0157.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5522b97
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0157.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0158.png b/27683-page-images/p0158.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c5837f2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0158.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0159.png b/27683-page-images/p0159.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7144e46
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0159.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0160.png b/27683-page-images/p0160.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..29419ba
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0160.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0161.png b/27683-page-images/p0161.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eb6da98
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0161.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0162.png b/27683-page-images/p0162.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ce94db6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0162.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0163.png b/27683-page-images/p0163.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a39a023
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0163.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0164.png b/27683-page-images/p0164.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..972696c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0164.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0165.png b/27683-page-images/p0165.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b7f9fff
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0165.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0167.png b/27683-page-images/p0167.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b38c446
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0167.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0169.png b/27683-page-images/p0169.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..83d317f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0169.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0170.png b/27683-page-images/p0170.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d57bf24
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0170.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0170a.png b/27683-page-images/p0170a.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ea1039a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0170a.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0171.png b/27683-page-images/p0171.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7a3a306
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0171.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0172.png b/27683-page-images/p0172.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0f4476e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0172.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0173.png b/27683-page-images/p0173.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1139b7e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0173.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0174.png b/27683-page-images/p0174.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..76a2ae1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0174.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0175.png b/27683-page-images/p0175.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5013f21
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0175.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0176.png b/27683-page-images/p0176.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..041fb14
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0176.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0177.png b/27683-page-images/p0177.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7a2a8a0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0177.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0178.png b/27683-page-images/p0178.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1bff4e1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0178.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0179.png b/27683-page-images/p0179.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..afff04c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0179.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0180.png b/27683-page-images/p0180.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fb6a844
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0180.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0181.png b/27683-page-images/p0181.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..65884c1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0181.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0182.png b/27683-page-images/p0182.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8063d5c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0182.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0183.png b/27683-page-images/p0183.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d8d8f38
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0183.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0184.png b/27683-page-images/p0184.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..650e233
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0184.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0185.png b/27683-page-images/p0185.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4f1e5b0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0185.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0186.png b/27683-page-images/p0186.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3ababf4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0186.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0187.png b/27683-page-images/p0187.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f037145
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0187.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0188.png b/27683-page-images/p0188.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0a31a2a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0188.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0189.png b/27683-page-images/p0189.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cadf148
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0189.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0190.png b/27683-page-images/p0190.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2592a22
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0190.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0191.png b/27683-page-images/p0191.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..35b9e93
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0191.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0193.png b/27683-page-images/p0193.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..995318a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0193.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0195.png b/27683-page-images/p0195.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cd22840
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0195.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0196.png b/27683-page-images/p0196.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..19c36e0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0196.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0197.png b/27683-page-images/p0197.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..564d40f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0197.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0198.png b/27683-page-images/p0198.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7f6f393
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0198.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0199.png b/27683-page-images/p0199.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc34024
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0199.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0200.png b/27683-page-images/p0200.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..80457c4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0200.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0201.png b/27683-page-images/p0201.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8de227e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0201.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0202.png b/27683-page-images/p0202.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f87e341
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0202.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0203.png b/27683-page-images/p0203.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6e50d4e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0203.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0204.png b/27683-page-images/p0204.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..df51667
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0204.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0205.png b/27683-page-images/p0205.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4c85934
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0205.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0207.png b/27683-page-images/p0207.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8848a38
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0207.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0209.png b/27683-page-images/p0209.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..22fa325
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0209.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0210.png b/27683-page-images/p0210.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7bff850
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0210.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0211.png b/27683-page-images/p0211.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2beaa54
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0211.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0212.png b/27683-page-images/p0212.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e72667e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0212.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0213.png b/27683-page-images/p0213.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7d81749
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0213.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0214.png b/27683-page-images/p0214.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..047e966
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0214.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0215.png b/27683-page-images/p0215.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ef7a108
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0215.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0216.png b/27683-page-images/p0216.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..631d7f2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0216.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0217.png b/27683-page-images/p0217.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6aada51
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0217.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0218.png b/27683-page-images/p0218.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f4547c9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0218.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0219.png b/27683-page-images/p0219.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8a21f87
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0219.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0220.png b/27683-page-images/p0220.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f885681
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0220.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0221.png b/27683-page-images/p0221.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..83e0159
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0221.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0222.png b/27683-page-images/p0222.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bf8184c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0222.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0223.png b/27683-page-images/p0223.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e6ba66e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0223.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0224.png b/27683-page-images/p0224.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..06d2cad
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0224.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0225.png b/27683-page-images/p0225.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..66cf974
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0225.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0226.png b/27683-page-images/p0226.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fab7724
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0226.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0227.png b/27683-page-images/p0227.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4d247c3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0227.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0229.png b/27683-page-images/p0229.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ccba4b5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0229.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0230.png b/27683-page-images/p0230.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3f2a2a3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0230.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0231.png b/27683-page-images/p0231.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a289bf5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0231.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0232.png b/27683-page-images/p0232.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c9584cc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0232.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0233.png b/27683-page-images/p0233.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9eccc37
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0233.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0234.png b/27683-page-images/p0234.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..80fc43a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0234.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0235.png b/27683-page-images/p0235.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bf916f3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0235.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0236.png b/27683-page-images/p0236.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..303c956
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0236.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0237.png b/27683-page-images/p0237.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c0747bf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0237.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0238.png b/27683-page-images/p0238.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1722f61
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0238.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0239.png b/27683-page-images/p0239.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e770d8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0239.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0240.png b/27683-page-images/p0240.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9c13756
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0240.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/p0241.png b/27683-page-images/p0241.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4eed0d4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/p0241.png
diff --git a/27683-page-images/q.png b/27683-page-images/q.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a7e9734
--- /dev/null
+++ b/27683-page-images/q.png
diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6312041
--- /dev/null
+++ b/LICENSE.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,11 @@
+This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements,
+metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be
+in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES.
+
+Procedures for determining public domain status are described in
+the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org.
+
+No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in
+jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize
+this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright
+status under the laws that apply to them.
diff --git a/README.md b/README.md
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..70339c1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/README.md
@@ -0,0 +1,2 @@
+Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for
+eBook #27683 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/27683)
diff --git a/old/27683-8.txt b/old/27683-8.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9c4ab79
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-8.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,3305 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook of The World I Live In, by Helen Keller
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The World I Live In
+
+
+Author: Helen Keller
+
+
+
+Release Date: January 1, 2009  [eBook #27683]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORLD I LIVE IN***
+
+
+E-text prepared by David Clarke, Emmy, and the Project Gutenberg Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustrations.
+      See 27683-h.htm or 27683-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/6/8/27683/27683-h/27683-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/6/8/27683/27683-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD I LIVE IN
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+HELEN KELLER
+
+
+   "The autobiography of Helen Keller is
+   unquestionably one of the most remarkable records
+   ever published."--_British Weekly._
+
+   "This book is a human document of intense
+   interest, and without a parallel, we suppose, in
+   the history of literature."--_Yorkshire Post._
+
+   "Miss Keller's autobiography, well written and
+   full of practical interest in all sides of life,
+   literary, artistic and social, records an
+   extraordinary victory over physical
+   disabilities."--_Times._
+
+   "This book is a record of the miraculous. No one
+   can read it without being profoundly touched by
+   the patience and devotion which brought the blind,
+   deaf-mute child into touch with human life,
+   without being filled with wonder at the quick
+   intelligence which made such communication with
+   the outside world possible."--_Queen._
+
+   _Illustrated, price 7s. 6d._
+
+   POPULAR EDITION, _net, 1s._
+
+
+   The Story of My Life
+
+   By HELEN KELLER
+
+        *       *       *       *       *
+
+   The Practice of Optimism
+
+   _Cloth, net, 1s. 6d.; paper, net, 1s._
+
+        *       *       *       *       *
+
+   LONDON: HODDER & STOUGHTON, E.C.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio
+
+Helen Keller in Her Study]
+
+THE WORLD I LIVE IN
+
+by
+
+HELEN KELLER
+
+Author of "The Story of My Life," Etc.
+
+Illustrated
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Hodder and Stoughton
+London New York Toronto
+
+Copyright 1904, 1908, by The Century Co.
+
+
+
+
+                TO
+
+           HENRY H. ROGERS
+
+          MY DEAR FRIEND OF
+
+             MANY YEARS
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+The essays and the poem in this book appeared originally in the "Century
+Magazine," the essays under the titles "A Chat About the Hand," "Sense
+and Sensibility," and "My Dreams." Mr. Gilder suggested the articles,
+and I thank him for his kind interest and encouragement. But he must
+also accept the responsibility which goes with my gratitude. For it is
+owing to his wish and that of other editors that I talk so much about
+myself.
+
+Every book is in a sense autobiographical. But while other
+self-recording creatures are permitted at least to seem to change the
+subject, apparently nobody cares what I think of the tariff, the
+conservation of our natural resources, or the conflicts which revolve
+about the name of Dreyfus. If I offer to reform the education system of
+the world, my editorial friends say, "That is interesting. But will you
+please tell us what idea you had of goodness and beauty when you were
+six years old?" First they ask me to tell the life of the child who is
+mother to the woman. Then they make me my own daughter and ask for an
+account of grown-up sensations. Finally I am requested to write about my
+dreams, and thus I become an anachronical grandmother; for it is the
+special privilege of old age to relate dreams. The editors are so kind
+that they are no doubt right in thinking that nothing I have to say
+about the affairs of the universe would be interesting. But until they
+give me opportunity to write about matters that are not-me, the world
+must go on uninstructed and unreformed, and I can only do my best with
+the one small subject upon which I am allowed to discourse.
+
+In "The Chant of Darkness" I did not intend to set up as a poet. I
+thought I was writing prose, except for the magnificent passage from Job
+which I was paraphrasing. But this part seemed to my friends to separate
+itself from the exposition, and I made it into a kind of poem.
+
+                                                               H. K.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+          CHAPTER I
+                                            PAGE
+          THE SEEING HAND                      3
+
+          CHAPTER II
+          THE HANDS OF OTHERS                 19
+
+          CHAPTER III
+          THE HAND OF THE RACE                33
+
+          CHAPTER IV
+          THE POWER OF TOUCH                  45
+
+          CHAPTER V
+          THE FINER VIBRATIONS                63
+
+          CHAPTER VI
+          SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL             77
+
+          CHAPTER VII
+          RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES       95
+
+          CHAPTER VIII
+          THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD              103
+
+          CHAPTER IX
+          INWARD VISIONS                     115
+
+          CHAPTER X
+          ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION      129
+
+          CHAPTER X
+          BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN               141
+
+          CHAPTER XII
+          THE LARGER SANCTIONS               153
+
+          CHAPTER XIII
+          THE DREAM WORLD                    169
+
+          CHAPTER XIV
+          DREAMS AND REALITY                 195
+
+          CHAPTER XV
+          A WAKING DREAM                     209
+
+          A CHANT OF DARKNESS                229
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+          HELEN KELLER IN HER STUDY              _Frontispiece_
+
+          THE MEDALLION                       _Facing page_ 22
+
+          "LISTENING" TO THE TREES                "    "    70
+
+          THE LITTLE BOY NEXT DOOR                "    "   120
+
+
+
+
+THE SEEING HAND
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+THE SEEING HAND
+
+
+I HAVE just touched my dog. He was rolling on the grass, with pleasure
+in every muscle and limb. I wanted to catch a picture of him in my
+fingers, and I touched him as lightly as I would cobwebs; but lo, his
+fat body revolved, stiffened and solidified into an upright position,
+and his tongue gave my hand a lick! He pressed close to me, as if he
+were fain to crowd himself into my hand. He loved it with his tail, with
+his paw, with his tongue. If he could speak, I believe he would say with
+me that paradise is attained by touch; for in touch is all love and
+intelligence.
+
+This small incident started me on a chat about hands, and if my chat is
+fortunate I have to thank my dog-star. In any case, it is pleasant to
+have something to talk about that no one else has monopolized; it is
+like making a new path in the trackless woods, blazing the trail where
+no foot has pressed before. I am glad to take you by the hand and lead
+you along an untrodden way into a world where the hand is supreme. But
+at the very outset we encounter a difficulty. You are so accustomed to
+light, I fear you will stumble when I try to guide you through the land
+of darkness and silence. The blind are not supposed to be the best of
+guides. Still, though I cannot warrant not to lose you, I promise that
+you shall not be led into fire or water, or fall into a deep pit. If
+you will follow me patiently, you will find that "there's a sound so
+fine, nothing lives 'twixt it and silence," and that there is more meant
+in things than meets the eye.
+
+My hand is to me what your hearing and sight together are to you. In
+large measure we travel the same highways, read the same books, speak
+the same language, yet our experiences are different. All my comings and
+goings turn on the hand as on a pivot. It is the hand that binds me to
+the world of men and women. The hand is my feeler with which I reach
+through isolation and darkness and seize every pleasure, every activity
+that my fingers encounter. With the dropping of a little word from
+another's hand into mine, a slight flutter of the fingers, began the
+intelligence, the joy, the fullness of my life. Like Job, I feel as if
+a hand had made me, fashioned me together round about and moulded my
+very soul.
+
+In all my experiences and thoughts I am conscious of a hand. Whatever
+moves me, whatever thrills me, is as a hand that touches me in the dark,
+and that touch is my reality. You might as well say that a sight which
+makes you glad, or a blow which brings the stinging tears to your eyes,
+is unreal as to say that those impressions are unreal which I have
+accumulated by means of touch. The delicate tremble of a butterfly's
+wings in my hand, the soft petals of violets curling in the cool folds
+of their leaves or lifting sweetly out of the meadow-grass, the clear,
+firm outline of face and limb, the smooth arch of a horse's neck and
+the velvety touch of his nose--all these, and a thousand resultant
+combinations, which take shape in my mind, constitute my world.
+
+Ideas make the world we live in, and impressions furnish ideas. My world
+is built of touch-sensations, devoid of physical colour and sound; but
+without colour and sound it breathes and throbs with life. Every object
+is associated in my mind with tactual qualities which, combined in
+countless ways, give me a sense of power, of beauty, or of incongruity:
+for with my hands I can feel the comic as well as the beautiful in the
+outward appearance of things. Remember that you, dependent on your
+sight, do not realize how many things are tangible. All palpable things
+are mobile or rigid, solid or liquid, big or small, warm or cold, and
+these qualities are variously modified. The coolness of a water-lily
+rounding into bloom is different from the coolness of an evening wind in
+summer, and different again from the coolness of the rain that soaks
+into the hearts of growing things and gives them life and body. The
+velvet of the rose is not that of a ripe peach or of a baby's dimpled
+cheek. The hardness of the rock is to the hardness of wood what a man's
+deep bass is to a woman's voice when it is low. What I call beauty I
+find in certain combinations of all these qualities, and is largely
+derived from the flow of curved and straight lines which is over all
+things.
+
+"What does the straight line mean to you?" I think you will ask.
+
+It _means_ several things. It symbolizes duty. It seems to have the
+quality of inexorableness that duty has. When I have something to do
+that must not be set aside, I feel as if I were going forward in a
+straight line, bound to arrive somewhere, or go on forever without
+swerving to the right or to the left.
+
+That is what it means. To escape this moralizing you should ask, "How
+does the straight line feel?" It feels, as I suppose it looks,
+straight--a dull thought drawn out endlessly. Eloquence to the touch
+resides not in straight lines, but in unstraight lines, or in many
+curved and straight lines together. They appear and disappear, are now
+deep, now shallow, now broken off or lengthened or swelling. They rise
+and sink beneath my fingers, they are full of sudden starts and pauses,
+and their variety is inexhaustible and wonderful. So you see I am not
+shut out from the region of the beautiful, though my hand cannot
+perceive the brilliant colours in the sunset or on the mountain, or
+reach into the blue depths of the sky.
+
+Physics tells me that I am well off in a world which, I am told, knows
+neither cold nor sound, but is made in terms of size, shape, and
+inherent qualities; for at least every object appears to my fingers
+standing solidly right side up, and is not an inverted image on the
+retina which, I understand, your brain is at infinite though unconscious
+labour to set back on its feet. A tangible object passes complete into
+my brain with the warmth of life upon it, and occupies the same place
+that it does in space; for, without egotism, the mind is as large as the
+universe. When I think of hills, I think of the upward strength I tread
+upon. When water is the object of my thought, I feel the cool shock of
+the plunge and the quick yielding of the waves that crisp and curl and
+ripple about my body. The pleasing changes of rough and smooth, pliant
+and rigid, curved and straight in the bark and branches of a tree give
+the truth to my hand. The immovable rock, with its juts and warped
+surface, bends beneath my fingers into all manner of grooves and
+hollows. The bulge of a watermelon and the puffed-up rotundities of
+squashes that sprout, bud, and ripen in that strange garden planted
+somewhere behind my finger-tips are the ludicrous in my tactual memory
+and imagination. My fingers are tickled to delight by the soft ripple
+of a baby's laugh, and find amusement in the lusty crow of the barnyard
+autocrat. Once I had a pet rooster that used to perch on my knee and
+stretch his neck and crow. A bird in my hand was then worth two in
+the--barnyard.
+
+My fingers cannot, of course, get the impression of a large whole at a
+glance; but I feel the parts, and my mind puts them together. I move
+around my house, touching object after object in order, before I can
+form an idea of the entire house. In other people's houses I can touch
+only what is shown to me--the chief objects of interest, carvings on the
+wall, or a curious architectural feature, exhibited like the family
+album. Therefore a house with which I am not familiar has for me, at
+first, no general effect or harmony of detail. It is not a complete
+conception, but a collection of object-impressions which, as they come
+to me, are disconnected and isolated. But my mind is full of
+associations, sensations, theories, and with them it constructs the
+house. The process reminds me of the building of Solomon's temple, where
+was neither saw, nor hammer, nor any tool heard while the stones were
+being laid one upon another. The silent worker is imagination which
+decrees reality out of chaos.
+
+Without imagination what a poor thing my world would be! My garden would
+be a silent patch of earth strewn with sticks of a variety of shapes and
+smells. But when the eye of my mind is opened to its beauty, the bare
+ground brightens beneath my feet, and the hedge-row bursts into leaf,
+and the rose-tree shakes its fragrance everywhere. I know how budding
+trees look, and I enter into the amorous joy of the mating birds, and
+this is the miracle of imagination.
+
+Twofold is the miracle when, through my fingers, my imagination reaches
+forth and meets the imagination of an artist which he has embodied in a
+sculptured form. Although, compared with the life-warm, mobile face of a
+friend, the marble is cold and pulseless and unresponsive, yet it is
+beautiful to my hand. Its flowing curves and bendings are a real
+pleasure; only breath is wanting; but under the spell of the imagination
+the marble thrills and becomes the divine reality of the ideal.
+Imagination puts a sentiment into every line and curve, and the statue
+in my touch is indeed the goddess herself who breathes and moves and
+enchants.
+
+It is true, however, that some sculptures, even recognized masterpieces,
+do not please my hand. When I touch what there is of the Winged Victory,
+it reminds me at first of a headless, limbless dream that flies towards
+me in an unrestful sleep. The garments of the Victory thrust stiffly out
+behind, and do not resemble garments that I have felt flying,
+fluttering, folding, spreading in the wind. But imagination fulfils
+these imperfections, and straightway the Victory becomes a powerful and
+spirited figure with the sweep of sea-winds in her robes and the
+splendour of conquest in her wings.
+
+I find in a beautiful statue perfection of bodily form, the qualities of
+balance and completeness. The Minerva, hung with a web of poetical
+allusion, gives me a sense of exhilaration that is almost physical; and
+I like the luxuriant, wavy hair of Bacchus and Apollo, and the wreath of
+ivy, so suggestive of pagan holidays.
+
+So imagination crowns the experience of my hands. And they learned their
+cunning from the wise hand of another, which, itself guided by
+imagination, led me safely in paths that I knew not, made darkness light
+before me, and made crooked ways straight.
+
+
+
+
+THE HANDS OF OTHERS
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE HANDS OF OTHERS
+
+
+THE warmth and protectiveness of the hand are most homefelt to me who
+have always looked to it for aid and joy. I understand perfectly how the
+Psalmist can lift up his voice with strength and gladness, singing, "I
+put my trust in the Lord at all times, and his hand shall uphold me, and
+I shall dwell in safety." In the strength of the human hand, too, there
+is something divine. I am told that the glance of a beloved eye thrills
+one from a distance; but there is no distance in the touch of a beloved
+hand. Even the letters I receive are--
+
+          Kind letters that betray the heart's deep history,
+          In which we feel the presence of a hand.
+
+It is interesting to observe the differences in the hands of people.
+They show all kinds of vitality, energy, stillness, and cordiality. I
+never realized how living the hand is until I saw those chill plaster
+images in Mr. Hutton's collection of casts. The hand I know in life has
+the fullness of blood in its veins, and is elastic with spirit. How
+different dear Mr. Hutton's hand was from its dull, insensate image! To
+me the cast lacks the very form of the hand. Of the many casts in Mr.
+Hutton's collection I did not recognize any, not even my own. But a
+loving hand I never forget. I remember in my fingers the large hands of
+Bishop Brooks, brimful of tenderness and a strong man's joy. If you were
+deaf and blind, and could have held Mr. Jefferson's hand, you would have
+seen in it a face and heard a kind voice unlike any other you have
+known. Mark Twain's hand is full of whimsies and the drollest humours,
+and while you hold it the drollery changes to sympathy and championship.
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by the Whitman Studio
+
+The Medallion
+
+The bas-relief on the wall is a portrait of the Queen Dowager of Spain,
+which Her Majesty had made for Miss Keller
+
+To face page 22]
+
+I am told that the words I have just written do not "describe" the hands
+of my friends, but merely endow them with the kindly human qualities
+which I know they possess, and which language conveys in abstract words.
+The criticism implies that I am not giving the primary truth of what I
+feel; but how otherwise do descriptions in books I read, written by men
+who can see, render the visible look of a face? I read that a face is
+strong, gentle; that it is full of patience, of intellect; that it is
+fine, sweet, noble, beautiful. Have I not the same right to use these
+words in describing what I feel as you have in describing what you see?
+They express truly what I feel in the hand. I am seldom conscious of
+physical qualities, and I do not remember whether the fingers of a hand
+are short or long, or the skin is moist or dry. No more can you, without
+conscious effort, recall the details of a face, even when you have seen
+it many times. If you do recall the features, and say that an eye is
+blue, a chin sharp, a nose short, or a cheek sunken, I fancy that you do
+not succeed well in giving the impression of the person,--not so well
+as when you interpret at once to the heart the essential moral qualities
+of the face--its humour, gravity, sadness, spirituality. If I should
+tell you in physical terms how a hand feels, you would be no wiser for
+my account than a blind man to whom you describe a face in detail.
+Remember that when a blind man recovers his sight, he does not recognize
+the commonest thing that has been familiar to his touch, the dearest
+face intimate to his fingers, and it does not help him at all that
+things and people have been described to him again and again. So you,
+who are untrained of touch, do not recognize a hand by the grasp; and
+so, too, any description I might give would fail to make you acquainted
+with a friendly hand which my fingers have often folded about, and
+which my affection translates to my memory.
+
+I cannot describe hands under any class or type; there is no democracy
+of hands. Some hands tell me that they do everything with the maximum of
+bustle and noise. Other hands are fidgety and unadvised, with nervous,
+fussy fingers which indicate a nature sensitive to the little pricks of
+daily life. Sometimes I recognize with foreboding the kindly but stupid
+hand of one who tells with many words news that is no news. I have met a
+bishop with a jocose hand, a humourist with a hand of leaden gravity, a
+man of pretentious valour with a timorous hand, and a quiet, apologetic
+man with a fist of iron. When I was a little girl I was taken to see[A]
+a woman who was blind and paralysed. I shall never forget how she held
+out her small, trembling hand and pressed sympathy into mine. My eyes
+fill with tears as I think of her. The weariness, pain, darkness, and
+sweet patience were all to be felt in her thin, wasted, groping, loving
+hand.
+
+Few people who do not know me will understand, I think, how much I get
+of the mood of a friend who is engaged in oral conversation with
+somebody else. My hand follows his motions; I touch his hand, his arm,
+his face. I can tell when he is full of glee over a good joke which has
+not been repeated to me, or when he is telling a lively story. One of
+my friends is rather aggressive, and his hand always announces the
+coming of a dispute. By his impatient jerk I know he has argument ready
+for some one. I have felt him start as a sudden recollection or a new
+idea shot through his mind. I have felt grief in his hand. I have felt
+his soul wrap itself in darkness majestically as in a garment. Another
+friend has positive, emphatic hands which show great pertinacity of
+opinion. She is the only person I know who emphasizes her spelled words
+and accents them as she emphasizes and accents her spoken words when I
+read her lips. I like this varied emphasis better than the monotonous
+pound of unmodulated people who hammer their meaning into my palm.
+
+Some hands, when they clasp yours, beam and bubble over with gladness.
+They throb and expand with life. Strangers have clasped my hand like
+that of a long-lost sister. Other people shake hands with me as if with
+the fear that I may do them mischief. Such persons hold out civil
+finger-tips which they permit you to touch, and in the moment of
+contract they retreat, and inwardly you hope that you will not be called
+upon again to take that hand of "dormouse valour." It betokens a prudish
+mind, ungracious pride, and not seldom mistrust. It is the antipode to
+the hand of those who have large, lovable natures.
+
+The handshake of some people makes you think of accident and sudden
+death. Contrast this ill-boding hand with the quick, skilful, quiet hand
+of a nurse whom I remember with affection because she took the best
+care of my teacher. I have clasped the hands of some rich people that
+spin not and toil not, and yet are not beautiful. Beneath their soft,
+smooth roundness what a chaos of undeveloped character!
+
+I am sure there is no hand comparable to the physician's in patient
+skill, merciful gentleness and splendid certainty. No wonder that Ruskin
+finds in the sure strokes of the surgeon the perfection of control and
+delicate precision for the artist to emulate. If the physician is a man
+of great nature, there will be healing for the spirit in his touch. This
+magic touch of well-being was in the hand of a dear friend of mine who
+was our doctor in sickness and health. His happy cordial spirit did his
+patients good whether they needed medicine or not.
+
+As there are many beauties of the face, so the beauties of the hand are
+many. Touch has its ecstasies. The hands of people of strong
+individuality and sensitiveness are wonderfully mobile. In a glance of
+their finger-tips they express many shades of thought. Now and again I
+touch a fine, graceful, supple-wristed hand which spells with the same
+beauty and distinction that you must see in the handwriting of some
+highly cultivated people. I wish you could see how prettily little
+children spell in my hand. They are wild flowers of humanity, and their
+finger motions wild flowers of speech.
+
+All this is my private science of palmistry, and when I tell your
+fortune it is by no mysterious intuition or gipsy witchcraft, but by
+natural, explicable recognition of the embossed character in your hand.
+Not only is the hand as easy to recognize as the face, but it reveals
+its secrets more openly and unconsciously. People control their
+countenances, but the hand is under no such restraint. It relaxes and
+becomes listless when the spirit is low and dejected; the muscles
+tighten when the mind is excited or the heart glad; and permanent
+qualities stand written on it all the time.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] The excellent proof-reader has put a query to my use of the word
+"see." If I had said "visit," he would have asked no questions, yet what
+does "visit" mean but "see" (_visitare_)? Later I will try to defend
+myself for using as much of the English language as I have succeeded in
+learning.
+
+
+
+
+THE HAND OF THE RACE
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THE HAND OF THE RACE
+
+
+LOOK in your "Century Dictionary," or if you are blind, ask your teacher
+to do it for you, and learn how many idioms are made on the idea of
+hand, and how many words are formed from the Latin root _manus_--enough
+words to name all the essential affairs of life. "Hand," with quotations
+and compounds, occupies twenty-four columns, eight pages of this
+dictionary. The hand is defined as "the organ of apprehension." How
+perfectly the definition fits my case in both senses of the word
+"apprehend"! With my hand I seize and hold all that I find in the three
+worlds--physical, intellectual, and spiritual.
+
+Think how man has regarded the world in terms of the hand. All life is
+divided between what lies _on one hand_ and on the other. The products
+of skill are _manu_factures. The conduct of affairs is _man_agement.
+History seems to be the record--alas for our chronicles of war!--of the
+_man_oeuvres of armies. But the history of peace, too, the narrative of
+labour in the field, the forest, and the vineyard, is written in the
+victorious sign _manual_--the sign of the hand that has conquered the
+wilderness. The labourer himself is called a _hand_. In _man_acle and
+_manu_mission we read the story of human slavery and freedom.
+
+The minor idioms are myriad; but I will not recall too many, lest you
+cry, "Hands off!" I cannot desist, however, from this word-game until I
+have set down a few. Whatever is not one's own by first possession is
+_second-hand_. That is what I am told my knowledge is. But my
+well-meaning friends come to my defence, and, not content with endowing
+me with natural _first-hand_ knowledge which is rightfully mine, ascribe
+to me a preternatural sixth sense and credit to miracles and heaven-sent
+compensations all that I have won and discovered with my good right
+hand. And with my left hand too; for with that I read, and it is as true
+and honourable as the other. By what half-development of human power has
+the left hand been neglected? When we arrive at the acme of civilization
+shall we not all be ambidextrous, and in our _hand-to-hand_ contests
+against difficulties shall we not be doubly triumphant? It occurs to me,
+by the way, that when my teacher was training my unreclaimed spirit, her
+struggle against the powers of darkness, with the stout arm of
+discipline and the light of the manual alphabet, was in two senses a
+hand-to-hand conflict.
+
+No essay would be complete without quotations from Shakspere. In the
+field which, in the presumption of my youth, I thought was my own he has
+reaped before me. In almost every play there are passages where the hand
+plays a part. Lady Macbeth's heart-broken soliloquy over her little
+hand, from which all the perfumes of Arabia will not wash the stain, is
+the most pitiful moment in the tragedy. Mark Antony rewards Scarus, the
+bravest of his soldiers, by asking Cleopatra to give him her hand:
+"Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand." In a different mood he is
+enraged because Thyreus, whom he despises, has presumed to kiss the hand
+of the queen, "my playfellow, the kingly seal of high hearts." When
+Cleopatra is threatened with the humiliation of gracing Cæsar's triumph,
+she snatches a dagger, exclaiming, "I will trust my resolution and my
+good hands." With the same swift instinct, Cassius trusts to his hands
+when he stabs Cæsar: "Speak, hands, for me!" "Let me kiss your hand,"
+says the blind Gloster to Lear. "Let me wipe it first," replies the
+broken old king; "it smells of mortality." How charged is this single
+touch with sad meaning! How it opens our eyes to the fearful purging
+Lear has undergone, to learn that royalty is no defence against
+ingratitude and cruelty! Gloster's exclamation about his son, "Did I but
+live to see thee in my touch, I'd say I had eyes again," is as true to a
+pulse within me as the grief he feels. The ghost in "Hamlet" recites the
+wrongs from which springs the tragedy:
+
+          Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand.
+          At once of life, of crown, of queen dispatch'd.
+
+How that passage in "Othello" stops your breath--that passage full of
+bitter double intention in which Othello's suspicion tips with evil what
+he says about Desdemona's hand; and she in innocence answers only the
+innocent meaning of his words: "For 'twas that hand that gave away my
+heart."
+
+Not all Shakspere's great passages about the hand are tragic. Remember
+the light play of words in "Romeo and Juliet" where the dialogue, flying
+nimbly back and forth, weaves a pretty sonnet about the hand. And who
+knows the hand, if not the lover?
+
+The touch of the hand is in every chapter of the Bible. Why, you could
+almost rewrite Exodus as the story of the hand. Everything is done by
+the hand of the Lord and of Moses. The oppression of the Hebrews is
+translated thus: "The hand of Pharaoh was heavy upon the Hebrews." Their
+departure out of the land is told in these vivid words: "The Lord
+brought the children of Israel out of the house of bondage with a strong
+hand and a stretched-out arm." At the stretching out of the hand of
+Moses the waters of the Red Sea part and stand all on a heap. When the
+Lord lifts his hand in anger, thousands perish in the wilderness. Every
+act, every decree in the history of Israel, as indeed in the history of
+the human race, is sanctioned by the hand. Is it not used in the great
+moments of swearing, blessing, cursing, smiting, agreeing, marrying,
+building, destroying? Its sacredness is in the law that no sacrifice is
+valid unless the sacrificer lay his hand upon the head of the victim.
+The congregation lay their hands on the heads of those who are sentenced
+to death. How terrible the dumb condemnation of their hands must be to
+the condemned! When Moses builds the altar on Mount Sinai, he is
+commanded to use no tool, but rear it with his own hands. Earth, sea,
+sky, man, and all lower animals are holy unto the Lord because he has
+formed them with his hand. When the Psalmist considers the heavens and
+the earth, he exclaims: "What is man, O Lord, that thou art mindful of
+him? For thou hast made him to have dominion over the works of thy
+hands." The supplicating gesture of the hand always accompanies the
+spoken prayer, and with clean hands goes the pure heart.
+
+Christ comforted and blessed and healed and wrought many miracles with
+his hands. He touched the eyes of the blind, and they were opened. When
+Jairus sought him, overwhelmed with grief, Jesus went and laid his hands
+on the ruler's daughter, and she awoke from the sleep of death to her
+father's love. You also remember how he healed the crooked woman. He
+said to her, "Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity," and he laid
+his hands on her, and immediately she was made straight, and she
+glorified God.
+
+Look where we will, we find the hand in time and history, working,
+building, inventing, bringing civilization out of barbarism. The hand
+symbolizes power and the excellence of work. The mechanic's hand, that
+minister of elemental forces, the hand that hews, saws, cuts, builds, is
+useful in the world equally with the delicate hand that paints a wild
+flower or moulds a Grecian urn, or the hand of a statesman that writes a
+law. The eye cannot say to the hand, "I have no need of thee." Blessed
+be the hand! Thrice blessed be the hands that work!
+
+
+
+
+THE POWER OF TOUCH
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+THE POWER OF TOUCH
+
+
+SOME months ago, in a newspaper which announced the publication of the
+"Matilda Ziegler Magazine for the Blind," appeared the following
+paragraph:
+
+"Many poems and stories must be omitted because they deal with sight.
+Allusion to moonbeams, rainbows, starlight, clouds, and beautiful
+scenery may not be printed, because they serve to emphasize the blind
+man's sense of his affliction."
+
+That is to say, I may not talk about beautiful mansions and gardens
+because I am poor. I may not read about Paris and the West Indies
+because I cannot visit them in their territorial reality. I may not
+dream of heaven because it is possible that I may never go there. Yet a
+venturesome spirit impels me to use words of sight and sound whose
+meaning I can guess only from analogy and fancy. This hazardous game is
+half the delight, the frolic, of daily life. I glow as I read of
+splendours which the eye alone can survey. Allusions to moonbeams and
+clouds do not emphasize the sense of my affliction: they carry my soul
+beyond affliction's narrow actuality.
+
+Critics delight to tell us what we cannot do. They assume that blindness
+and deafness sever us completely from the things which the seeing and
+the hearing enjoy, and hence they assert we have no moral right to talk
+about beauty, the skies, mountains, the song of birds, and colours. They
+declare that the very sensations we have from the sense of touch are
+"vicarious," as though our friends felt the sun for us! They deny _a
+priori_ what they have not seen and I have felt. Some brave doubters
+have gone so far even as to deny my existence. In order, therefore, that
+I may know that I exist, I resort to Descartes's method: "I think,
+therefore I am." Thus I am metaphysically established, and I throw upon
+the doubters the burden of proving my non-existence. When we consider
+how little has been found out about the mind, is it not amazing that any
+one should presume to define what one can know or cannot know? I admit
+that there are innumerable marvels in the visible universe unguessed by
+me. Likewise, O confident critic, there are a myriad sensations
+perceived by me of which you do not dream.
+
+Necessity gives to the eye a precious power of seeing, and in the same
+way it gives a precious power of feeling to the whole body. Sometimes it
+seems as if the very substance of my flesh were so many eyes looking out
+at will upon a world new created every day. The silence and darkness
+which are said to shut me in, open my door most hospitably to countless
+sensations that distract, inform, admonish, and amuse. With my three
+trusty guides, touch, smell, and taste, I make many excursions into the
+borderland of experience which is in sight of the city of Light. Nature
+accommodates itself to every man's necessity. If the eye is maimed, so
+that it does not see the beauteous face of day, the touch becomes more
+poignant and discriminating. Nature proceeds through practice to
+strengthen and augment the remaining senses. For this reason the blind
+often hear with greater ease and distinctness than other people. The
+sense of smell becomes almost a new faculty to penetrate the tangle and
+vagueness of things. Thus, according to an immutable law, the senses
+assist and reinforce one another.
+
+It is not for me to say whether we see best with the hand or the eye. I
+only know that the world I see with my fingers is alive, ruddy, and
+satisfying. Touch brings the blind many sweet certainties which our more
+fortunate fellows miss, because their sense of touch is uncultivated.
+When they look at things, they put their hands in their pockets. No
+doubt that is one reason why their knowledge is often so vague,
+inaccurate, and useless. It is probable, too, that our knowledge of
+phenomena beyond the reach of the hand is equally imperfect. But, at all
+events, we behold them through a golden mist of fantasy.
+
+There is nothing, however, misty or uncertain about what we can touch.
+Through the sense of touch I know the faces of friends, the illimitable
+variety of straight and curved lines, all surfaces, the exuberance of
+the soil, the delicate shapes of flowers, the noble forms of trees, and
+the range of mighty winds. Besides objects, surfaces, and atmospherical
+changes, I perceive countless vibrations. I derive much knowledge of
+everyday matter from the jars and jolts which are to be felt everywhere
+in the house.
+
+Footsteps, I discover, vary tactually according to the age, the sex, and
+the manners of the walker. It is impossible to mistake a child's patter
+for the tread of a grown person. The step of the young man, strong and
+free, differs from the heavy, sedate tread of the middle-aged, and from
+the step of the old man, whose feet drag along the floor, or beat it
+with slow, faltering accents. On a bare floor a girl walks with a rapid,
+elastic rhythm which is quite distinct from the graver step of the
+elderly woman. I have laughed over the creak of new shoes and the
+clatter of a stout maid performing a jig in the kitchen. One day, in the
+dining-room of an hotel, a tactual dissonance arrested my attention. I
+sat still and listened with my feet. I found that two waiters were
+walking back and forth, but not with the same gait. A band was playing,
+and I could feel the music-waves along the floor. One of the waiters
+walked in time to the band, graceful and light, while the other
+disregarded the music and rushed from table to table to the beat of some
+discord in his own mind. Their steps reminded me of a spirited war-steed
+harnessed with a cart-horse.
+
+Often footsteps reveal in some measure the character and the mood of the
+walker. I feel in them firmness and indecision, hurry and deliberation,
+activity and laziness, fatigue, carelessness, timidity, anger, and
+sorrow. I am most conscious of these moods and traits in persons with
+whom I am familiar.
+
+Footsteps are frequently interrupted by certain jars and jerks, so that
+I know when one kneels, kicks, shakes something, sits down, or gets up.
+Thus I follow to some extent the actions of people about me and the
+changes of their postures. Just now a thick, soft patter of bare, padded
+feet and a slight jolt told me that my dog had jumped on the chair to
+look out of the window. I do not, however, allow him to go
+uninvestigated; for occasionally I feel the same motion, and find him,
+not on the chair, but trespassing on the sofa.
+
+When a carpenter works in the house or in the barn near by, I know by
+the slanting, up-and-down, toothed vibration, and the ringing concussion
+of blow upon blow, that he is sawing or hammering. If I am near enough,
+a certain vibration, travelling back and forth along a wooden surface,
+brings me the information that he is using a plane.
+
+A slight flutter on the rug tells me that a breeze has blown my papers
+off the table. A round thump is a signal that a pencil has rolled on the
+floor. If a book falls, it gives a flat thud. A wooden rap on the
+balustrade announces that dinner is ready. Many of these vibrations are
+obliterated out of doors. On a lawn or the road, I can feel only
+running, stamping, and the rumble of wheels.
+
+By placing my hand on a person's lips and throat, I gain an idea of many
+specific vibrations, and interpret them: a boy's chuckle, a man's
+"Whew!" of surprise, the "Hem!" of annoyance or perplexity, the moan of
+pain, a scream, a whisper, a rasp, a sob, a choke, and a gasp. The
+utterances of animals, though wordless, are eloquent to me--the cat's
+purr, its mew, its angry, jerky, scolding spit; the dog's bow-wow of
+warning or of joyous welcome, its yelp of despair, and its contented
+snore; the cow's moo; a monkey's chatter; the snort of a horse; the
+lion's roar, and the terrible snarl of the tiger. Perhaps I ought to
+add, for the benefit of the critics and doubters who may peruse this
+essay, that with my own hands I have felt all these sounds. From my
+childhood to the present day I have availed myself of every opportunity
+to visit zoological gardens, menageries, and the circus, and all the
+animals, except the tiger, have talked into my hand. I have touched the
+tiger only in a museum, where he is as harmless as a lamb. I have,
+however, heard him talk by putting my hand on the bars of his cage. I
+have touched several lions in the flesh, and felt them roar royally,
+like a cataract over rocks.
+
+To continue, I know the _plop_ of liquid in a pitcher. So if I spill my
+milk, I have not the excuse of ignorance. I am also familiar with the
+pop of a cork, the sputter of a flame, the tick-tack of the clock, the
+metallic swing of the windmill, the laboured rise and fall of the pump,
+the voluminous spurt of the hose, the deceptive tap of the breeze at
+door and window, and many other vibrations past computing.
+
+There are tactual vibrations which do not belong to skin-touch. They
+penetrate the skin, the nerves, the bones, like pain, heat, and cold.
+The beat of a drum smites me through from the chest to the
+shoulder-blades. The din of the train, the bridge, and grinding
+machinery retains its "old-man-of-the-sea" grip upon me long after its
+cause has been left behind. If vibration and motion combine in my touch
+for any length of time, the earth seems to run away while I stand still.
+When I step off the train, the platform whirls round, and I find it
+difficult to walk steadily.
+
+Every atom of my body is a vibroscope. But my sensations are not
+infallible. I reach out, and my fingers meet something furry, which
+jumps about, gathers itself together as if to spring, and acts like an
+animal. I pause a moment for caution. I touch it again more firmly, and
+find it is a fur coat fluttering and flapping in the wind. To me, as to
+you, the earth seems motionless, and the sun appears to move; for the
+rays of the afternoon withdraw more and more, as they touch my face,
+until the air becomes cool. From this I understand how it is that the
+shore seems to recede as you sail away from it. Hence I feel no
+incredulity when you say that parallel lines appear to converge, and the
+earth and sky to meet. My few senses long ago revealed to me their
+imperfections and deceptivity.
+
+Not only are the senses deceptive, but numerous usages in our language
+indicate that people who have five senses find it difficult to keep
+their functions distinct. I understand that we hear views, see tones,
+taste music. I am told that voices have colour. Tact, which I have
+supposed to be a matter of nice perception, turns out to be a matter of
+taste. Judging from the large use of the word, taste appears to be the
+most important of all the senses. Taste governs the great and small
+conventions of life. Certainly the language of the senses is full of
+contradictions, and my fellows who have five doors to their house are
+not more surely at home in themselves than I. May I not, then, be
+excused if this account of my sensations lacks precision?
+
+
+
+
+THE FINER VIBRATIONS
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+THE FINER VIBRATIONS
+
+
+I HAVE spoken of the numerous jars and jolts which daily minister to my
+faculties. The loftier and grander vibrations which appeal to my
+emotions are varied and abundant. I listen with awe to the roll of the
+thunder and the muffled avalanche of sound when the sea flings itself
+upon the shore. And I love the instrument by which all the diapasons of
+the ocean are caught and released in surging floods--the many-voiced
+organ. If music could be seen, I could point where the organ-notes go,
+as they rise and fall, climb up and up, rock and sway, now loud and
+deep, now high and stormy, anon soft and solemn, with lighter
+vibrations interspersed between and running across them. I should say
+that organ-music fills to an ecstasy the act of feeling.
+
+There is tangible delight in other instruments, too. The violin seems
+beautifully alive as it responds to the lightest wish of the master. The
+distinction between its notes is more delicate than between the notes of
+the piano.
+
+I enjoy the music of the piano most when I touch the instrument. If I
+keep my hand on the piano-case, I detect tiny quavers, returns of
+melody, and the hush that follows. This explains to me how sound can die
+away to the listening ear:
+
+              . . . How thin and clear,
+            And thinner, clearer, farther going!
+          O sweet and far from cliff and scar
+            The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
+
+I am able to follow the dominant spirit and mood of the music. I catch
+the joyous dance as it bounds over the keys, the slow dirge, the
+reverie. I thrill to the fiery sweep of notes crossed by thunderous
+tones in the "Walküre," where _Wotan_ kindles the dread flames that
+guard the sleeping _Brunhild_. How wonderful is the instrument on which
+a great musician sings with his hands! I have never succeeded in
+distinguishing one composition from another. I think this is impossible;
+but the concentration and strain upon my attention would be so great
+that I doubt if the pleasure derived would be commensurate to the
+effort.
+
+Nor can I distinguish easily a tune that is sung. But by placing my hand
+on another's throat and cheek, I enjoy the changes of the voice. I know
+when it is low or high, clear or muffled, sad or cheery. The thin,
+quavering sensation of an old voice differs in my touch from the
+sensation of a young voice. A Southerner's drawl is quite unlike the
+Yankee twang. Sometimes the flow and ebb of a voice is so enchanting
+that my fingers quiver with exquisite pleasure, even if I do not
+understand a word that is spoken.
+
+On the other hand, I am exceedingly sensitive to the harshness of noises
+like grinding, scraping, and the hoarse creak of rusty locks.
+Fog-whistles are my vibratory nightmares. I have stood near a bridge in
+process of construction, and felt the tactual din, the rattle of heavy
+masses of stone, the roll of loosened earth, the rumble of engines, the
+dumping of dirt-cars, the triple blows of vulcan hammers. I can also
+smell the fire-pots, the tar and cement. So I have a vivid idea of
+mighty labours in steel and stone, and I believe that I am acquainted
+with all the fiendish noises which can be made by man or machinery. The
+whack of heavy falling bodies, the sudden shivering splinter of chopped
+logs, the crystal shatter of pounded ice, the crash of a tree hurled to
+the earth by a hurricane, the irrational, persistent chaos of noise made
+by switching freight-trains, the explosion of gas, the blasting of
+stone, and the terrific grinding of rock upon rock which precedes the
+collapse--all these have been in my touch-experience, and contribute to
+my idea of Bedlam, of a battle, a waterspout, an earthquake, and other
+enormous accumulations of sound.
+
+Touch brings me into contact with the traffic and manifold activity of
+the city. Besides the bustle and crowding of people and the nondescript
+grating and electric howling of street-cars, I am conscious of
+exhalations from many different kinds of shops; from automobiles, drays,
+horses, fruit stands, and many varieties of smoke.
+
+          Odours strange and musty,
+          The air sharp and dusty
+          With lime and with sand,
+          That no one can stand,
+          Make the street impassable,
+          The people irascible,
+          Until every one cries,
+          As he trembling goes
+          With the sight of his eyes
+          And the scent of his nose
+          Quite stopped--or at least much diminished--
+          "Gracious! when will this city be finished?"[B]
+
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio
+
+"Listening" to the Trees
+
+To face page 70]
+
+The city is interesting; but the tactual silence of the country is
+always most welcome after the din of town and the irritating concussions
+of the train. How noiseless and undisturbing are the demolition, the
+repairs and the alterations, of nature! With no sound of hammer or saw
+or stone severed from stone, but a music of rustles and ripe thumps on
+the grass come the fluttering leaves and mellow fruits which the wind
+tumbles all day from the branches. Silently all droops, all withers, all
+is poured back into the earth that it may recreate; all sleeps while the
+busy architects of day and night ply their silent work elsewhere. The
+same serenity reigns when all at once the soil yields up a newly wrought
+creation. Softly the ocean of grass, moss, and flowers rolls surge upon
+surge across the earth. Curtains of foliage drape the bare branches.
+Great trees make ready in their sturdy hearts to receive again birds
+which occupy their spacious chambers to the south and west. Nay, there
+is no place so lowly that it may not lodge some happy creature. The
+meadow brook undoes its icy fetters with rippling notes, gurgles, and
+runs free. And all this is wrought in less than two months to the music
+of nature's orchestra, in the midst of balmy incense.
+
+The thousand soft voices of the earth have truly found their way to
+me--the small rustle in tufts of grass, the silky swish of leaves, the
+buzz of insects, the hum of bees in blossoms I have plucked, the flutter
+of a bird's wings after his bath, and the slender rippling vibration
+of water running over pebbles. Once having been felt, these loved voices
+rustle, buzz, hum, flutter, and ripple in my thought forever, an undying
+part of happy memories.
+
+Between my experiences and the experiences of others there is no gulf of
+mute space which I may not bridge. For I have endlessly varied,
+instructive contacts with all the world, with life, with the atmosphere
+whose radiant activity enfolds us all. The thrilling energy of the
+all-encasing air is warm and rapturous. Heat-waves and sound-waves play
+upon my face in infinite variety and combination, until I am able to
+surmise what must be the myriad sounds that my senseless ears have not
+heard.
+
+The air varies in different regions, at different seasons of the year,
+and even different hours of the day. The odorous, fresh sea-breezes are
+distinct from the fitful breezes along river banks, which are humid and
+freighted with inland smells. The bracing, light, dry air of the
+mountains can never be mistaken for the pungent salt air of the ocean.
+The air of winter is dense, hard, compressed. In the spring it has new
+vitality. It is light, mobile, and laden with a thousand palpitating
+odours from earth, grass, and sprouting leaves. The air of midsummer is
+dense, saturated, or dry and burning, as if it came from a furnace. When
+a cool breeze brushes the sultry stillness, it brings fewer odours than
+in May, and frequently the odour of a coming tempest. The avalanche of
+coolness which sweeps through the low-hanging air bears little
+resemblance to the stinging coolness of winter.
+
+The rain of winter is raw, without odour, and dismal. The rain of spring
+is brisk, fragrant, charged with life-giving warmth. I welcome it
+delightedly as it visits the earth, enriches the streams, waters the
+hills abundantly, makes the furrows soft with showers for the seed,
+elicits a perfume which I cannot breathe deep enough. Spring rain is
+beautiful, impartial, lovable. With pearly drops it washes every leaf on
+tree and bush, ministers equally to salutary herbs and noxious growths,
+searches out every living thing that needs its beneficence.
+
+The senses assist and reinforce each other to such an extent that I am
+not sure whether touch or smell tells me the most about the world.
+Everywhere the river of touch is joined by the brooks of
+odour-perception. Each season has its distinctive odours. The spring is
+earthy and full of sap. July is rich with the odour of ripening grain
+and hay. As the season advances, a crisp, dry, mature odour
+predominates, and golden-rod, tansy, and everlastings mark the onward
+march of the year. In autumn, soft, alluring scents fill the air,
+floating from thicket, grass, flower, and tree, and they tell me of time
+and change, of death and life's renewal, desire and its fulfilment.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[B] George Arnold.
+
+
+
+
+SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL
+
+
+FOR some inexplicable reason the sense of smell does not hold the high
+position it deserves among its sisters. There is something of the fallen
+angel about it. When it woos us with woodland scents and beguiles us
+with the fragrance of lovely gardens, it is admitted frankly to our
+discourse. But when it gives us warning of something noxious in our
+vicinity, it is treated as if the demon had got the upper hand of the
+angel, and is relegated to outer darkness, punished for its faithful
+service. It is most difficult to keep the true significance of words
+when one discusses the prejudices of mankind, and I find it hard to give
+an account of odour-perceptions which shall be at once dignified and
+truthful.
+
+In my experience smell is most important, and I find that there is high
+authority for the nobility of the sense which we have neglected and
+disparaged. It is recorded that the Lord commanded that incense be burnt
+before him continually with a sweet savour. I doubt if there is any
+sensation arising from sight more delightful than the odours which
+filter through sun-warmed, wind-tossed branches, or the tide of scents
+which swells, subsides, rises again wave on wave, filling the wide world
+with invisible sweetness. A whiff of the universe makes us dream of
+worlds we have never seen, recalls in a flash entire epochs of our
+dearest experience. I never smell daisies without living over again the
+ecstatic mornings that my teacher and I spent wandering in the fields,
+while I learned new words and the names of things. Smell is a potent
+wizard that transports us across a thousand miles and all the years we
+have lived. The odour of fruits wafts me to my Southern home, to my
+childish frolics in the peach orchard. Other odours, instantaneous and
+fleeting, cause my heart to dilate joyously or contract with remembered
+grief. Even as I think of smells, my nose is full of scents that start
+awake sweet memories of summers gone and ripening grain fields far away.
+
+The faintest whiff from a meadow where the new-mown hay lies in the hot
+sun displaces the here and the now. I am back again in the old red barn.
+My little friends and I are playing in the haymow. A huge mow it is,
+packed with crisp, sweet hay, from the top of which the smallest child
+can reach the straining rafters. In their stalls beneath are the farm
+animals. Here is Jerry, unresponsive, unbeautiful Jerry, crunching his
+oats like a true pessimist, resolved to find his feed not good--at least
+not so good as it ought to be. Again I touch Brownie, eager, grateful
+little Brownie, ready to leave the juiciest fodder for a pat, straining
+his beautiful, slender neck for a caress. Near by stands Lady Belle,
+with sweet, moist mouth, lazily extracting the sealed-up cordial from
+timothy and clover, and dreaming of deep June pastures and murmurous
+streams.
+
+The sense of smell has told me of a coming storm hours before there was
+any sign of it visible. I notice first a throb of expectancy, a slight
+quiver, a concentration in my nostrils. As the storm draws nearer, my
+nostrils dilate the better to receive the flood of earth-odours which
+seem to multiply and extend, until I feel the splash of rain against my
+cheek. As the tempest departs, receding farther and farther, the odours
+fade, become fainter and fainter, and die away beyond the bar of space.
+
+I know by smell the kind of house we enter. I have recognized an
+old-fashioned country house because it has several layers of odours,
+left by a succession of families, of plants, perfumes, and draperies.
+
+In the evening quiet there are fewer vibrations than in the daytime, and
+then I rely more largely upon smell. The sulphuric scent of a match
+tells me that the lamps are being lighted. Later I note the wavering
+trail of odour that flits about and disappears. It is the curfew signal;
+the lights are out for the night.
+
+Out of doors I am aware by smell and touch of the ground we tread and
+the places we pass. Sometimes, when there is no wind, the odours are so
+grouped that I know the character of the country, and can place a
+hayfield, a country store, a garden, a barn, a grove of pines, a
+farmhouse with the windows open.
+
+The other day I went to walk toward a familiar wood. Suddenly a
+disturbing odour made me pause in dismay. Then followed a peculiar,
+measured jar, followed by dull, heavy thunder. I understood the odour
+and the jar only too well. The trees were being cut down. We climbed the
+stone wall to the left. It borders the wood which I have loved so long
+that it seems to be my peculiar possession. But to-day an unfamiliar
+rush of air and an unwonted outburst of sun told me that my tree friends
+were gone. The place was empty, like a deserted dwelling. I stretched
+out my hand. Where once stood the steadfast pines, great, beautiful,
+sweet, my hand touched raw, moist stumps. All about lay broken branches,
+like the antlers of stricken deer. The fragrant, piled-up sawdust
+swirled and tumbled about me. An unreasoning resentment flashed through
+me at this ruthless destruction of the beauty that I love. But there is
+no anger, no resentment in nature. The air is equally charged with the
+odours of life and of destruction, for death equally with growth forever
+ministers to all-conquering life. The sun shines as ever, and the winds
+riot through the newly opened spaces. I know that a new forest will
+spring where the old one stood, as beautiful, as beneficent.
+
+Touch sensations are permanent and definite. Odours deviate and are
+fugitive, changing in their shades, degrees, and location. There is
+something else in odour which gives me a sense of distance. I should
+call it horizon--the line where odour and fancy meet at the farthest
+limit of scent.
+
+Smell gives me more idea than touch or taste of the manner in which
+sight and hearing probably discharge their functions. Touch seems to
+reside in the object touched, because there is a contact of surfaces. In
+smell there is no notion of relievo, and odour seems to reside not in
+the object smelt, but in the organ. Since I smell a tree at a distance,
+it is comprehensible to me that a person sees it without touching it. I
+am not puzzled over the fact that he receives it as an image on his
+retina without relievo, since my smell perceives the tree as a thin
+sphere with no fullness or content. By themselves, odours suggest
+nothing. I must learn by association to judge from them of distance, of
+place, and of the actions or the surroundings which are the usual
+occasions for them, just as I am told people judge from colour, light,
+and sound.
+
+From exhalations I learn much about people. I often know the work they
+are engaged in. The odours of wood, iron, paint, and drugs cling to the
+garments of those that work in them. Thus I can distinguish the
+carpenter from the ironworker, the artist from the mason or the chemist.
+When a person passes quickly from one place to another I get a scent
+impression of where he has been--the kitchen, the garden, or the
+sick-room. I gain pleasurable ideas of freshness and good taste from the
+odours of soap, toilet water, clean garments, woollen and silk stuffs,
+and gloves.
+
+I have not, indeed, the all-knowing scent of the hound or the wild
+animal. None but the halt and the blind need fear my skill in pursuit;
+for there are other things besides water, stale trails, confusing cross
+tracks to put me at fault. Nevertheless, human odours are as varied and
+capable of recognition as hands and faces. The dear odours of those I
+love are so definite, so unmistakable, that nothing can quite obliterate
+them. If many years should elapse before I saw an intimate friend again,
+I think I should recognize his odour instantly in the heart of Africa,
+as promptly as would my brother that barks.
+
+Once, long ago, in a crowded railway station, a lady kissed me as she
+hurried by. I had not touched even her dress. But she left a scent with
+her kiss which gave me a glimpse of her. The years are many since she
+kissed me. Yet her odour is fresh in my memory.
+
+It is difficult to put into words the thing itself, the elusive
+person-odour. There seems to be no adequate vocabulary of smells, and I
+must fall back on approximate phrase and metaphor.
+
+Some people have a vague, unsubstantial odour that floats about, mocking
+every effort to identify it. It is the will-o'-the-wisp of my olfactive
+experience. Sometimes I meet one who lacks a distinctive person-scent,
+and I seldom find such a one lively or entertaining. On the other hand,
+one who has a pungent odour often possesses great vitality, energy, and
+vigour of mind.
+
+Masculine exhalations are as a rule stronger, more vivid, more widely
+differentiated than those of women. In the odour of young men there is
+something elemental, as of fire, storm, and salt sea. It pulsates with
+buoyancy and desire. It suggests all things strong and beautiful and
+joyous, and gives me a sense of physical happiness. I wonder if others
+observe that all infants have the same scent--pure, simple,
+undecipherable as their dormant personality. It is not until the age of
+six or seven that they begin to have perceptible individual odours.
+These develop and mature along with their mental and bodily powers.
+
+What I have written about smell, especially person-smell, will perhaps
+be regarded as the abnormal sentiment of one who can have no idea of the
+"world of reality and beauty which the eye perceives." There are people
+who are colour-blind, people who are tone-deaf. Most people are
+smell-blind-and-deaf. We should not condemn a musical composition on the
+testimony of an ear which cannot distinguish one chord from another, or
+judge a picture by the verdict of a colour-blind critic. The sensations
+of smell which cheer, inform, and broaden my life are not less pleasant
+merely because some critic who treads the wide, bright pathway of the
+eye has not cultivated his olfactive sense. Without the shy, fugitive,
+often unobserved sensations and the certainties which taste, smell, and
+touch give me, I should be obliged to take my conception of the universe
+wholly from others. I should lack the alchemy by which I now infuse into
+my world light, colour, and the Protean spark. The sensuous reality
+which interthreads and supports all the gropings of my imagination would
+be shattered. The solid earth would melt from under my feet and disperse
+itself in space. The objects dear to my hands would become formless,
+dead things, and I should walk among them as among invisible ghosts.
+
+
+
+
+RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES
+
+
+I WAS once without the sense of smell and taste for several days. It
+seemed incredible, this utter detachment from odours, to breathe the air
+in and observe never a single scent. The feeling was probably similar,
+though less in degree, to that of one who first loses sight and cannot
+but expect to see the light again any day, any minute. I knew I should
+smell again some time. Still, after the wonder had passed off, a
+loneliness crept over me as vast as the air whose myriad odours I
+missed. The multitudinous subtle delights that smell makes mine became
+for a time wistful memories. When I recovered the lost sense, my heart
+bounded with gladness. It is a fine dramatic touch that Hans Andersen
+gives to the story of Kay and Gerda in the passage about flowers. Kay,
+whom the wicked magician's glass has blinded to human love, rushes away
+fiercely from home when he discovers that the roses have lost their
+sweetness.
+
+The loss of smell for a few days gave me a clearer idea than I had ever
+had what it is to be blinded suddenly, helplessly. With a little stretch
+of the imagination I knew then what it must be when the great curtain
+shuts out suddenly the light of day, the stars, and the firmament
+itself. I see the blind man's eyes strain for the light, as he fearfully
+tries to walk his old rounds, until the unchanging blank that
+everywhere spreads before him stamps the reality of the dark upon his
+consciousness.
+
+My temporary loss of smell proved to me, too, that the absence of a
+sense need not dull the mental faculties and does not distort one's view
+of the world, and so I reason that blindness and deafness need not
+pervert the inner order of the intellect. I know that if there were no
+odours for me I should still possess a considerable part of the world.
+Novelties and surprises would abound, adventures would thicken in the
+dark.
+
+In my classification of the senses, smell is a little the ear's
+inferior, and touch is a great deal the eye's superior. I find that
+great artists and philosophers agree with me in this. Diderot says:
+
+          Je trouvais que de tous les sens, l'oeil était le
+          plus superficiel; l'oreille, le plus orgueilleux;
+          l'odorat, le plus voluptueux; le goût, le plus
+          superstitieux et le plus inconstant; le toucher,
+          le plus profond et le plus philosophe.[C]
+
+A friend whom I have never seen sends me a quotation from Symonds's
+"Renaissance in Italy":
+
+          Lorenzo Ghiberti, after describing a piece of
+          antique sculpture he saw in Rome adds, "To express
+          the perfection of learning, mastery, and art
+          displayed in it is beyond the power of language.
+          Its more exquisite beauties could not be
+          discovered by the sight, but only by the touch of
+          the hand passed over it." Of another classic
+          marble at Padua he says, "This statue, when the
+          Christian faith triumphed, was hidden in that
+          place by some gentle soul, who, seeing it so
+          perfect, fashioned with art so wonderful, and with
+          such power of genius, and being moved to reverent
+          pity, caused a sepulchre of bricks to be built,
+          and there within buried the statue, and covered it
+          with a broad slab of stone, that it might not in
+          any way be injured. It has very many sweet
+          beauties which the eyes alone can comprehend not,
+          either by strong or tempered light; only the hand
+          by touching them finds them out."
+
+Hold out your hands to feel the luxury of the sunbeams. Press the soft
+blossoms against your cheek, and finger their graces of form, their
+delicate mutability of shape, their pliancy and freshness. Expose your
+face to the aerial floods that sweep the heavens, "inhale great draughts
+of space," wonder, wonder at the wind's unwearied activity. Pile note
+on note the infinite music that flows increasingly to your soul from the
+tactual sonorities of a thousand branches and tumbling waters. How can
+the world be shrivelled when this most profound, emotional sense, touch,
+is faithful to its service? I am sure that if a fairy bade me choose
+between the sense of light and that of touch, I would not part with the
+warm, endearing contact of human hands or the wealth of form, the
+nobility and fullness that press into my palms.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[C] I found that of the senses, the eye is the most superficial, the ear
+the most arrogant, smell the most voluptuous, taste the most
+superstitious and fickle, touch the most profound and the most
+philosophical.
+
+
+
+
+THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD
+
+
+THE poets have taught us how full of wonders is the night; and the night
+of blindness has its wonders, too. The only lightless dark is the night
+of ignorance and insensibility. We differ, blind and seeing, one from
+another, not in our senses, but in the use we make of them, in the
+imagination and courage with which we seek wisdom beyond our senses.
+
+It is more difficult to teach ignorance to think than to teach an
+intelligent blind man to see the grandeur of Niagara. I have walked with
+people whose eyes are full of light, but who see nothing in wood, sea,
+or sky, nothing in city streets, nothing in books. What a witless
+masquerade is this seeing! It were better far to sail forever in the
+night of blindness, with sense and feeling and mind, than to be thus
+content with the mere act of seeing. They have the sunset, the morning
+skies, the purple of distant hills, yet their souls voyage through this
+enchanted world with a barren stare.
+
+The calamity of the blind is immense, irreparable. But it does not take
+away our share of the things that count--service, friendship, humour,
+imagination, wisdom. It is the secret inner will that controls one's
+fate. We are capable of willing to be good, of loving and being loved,
+of thinking to the end that we may be wiser. We possess these
+spirit-born forces equally with all God's children. Therefore we, too,
+see the lightnings and hear the thunders of Sinai. We, too, march
+through the wilderness and the solitary place that shall be glad for us,
+and as we pass, God maketh the desert to blossom like the rose. We, too,
+go in unto the Promised Land to possess the treasures of the spirit, the
+unseen permanence of life and nature.
+
+The blind man of spirit faces the unknown and grapples with it, and what
+else does the world of seeing men do? He has imagination, sympathy,
+humanity, and these ineradicable existences compel him to share by a
+sort of proxy in a sense he has not. When he meets terms of colour,
+light, physiognomy, he guesses, divines, puzzles out their meaning by
+analogies drawn from the senses he has. I naturally tend to think,
+reason, draw inferences as if I had five senses instead of three. This
+tendency is beyond my control; it is involuntary, habitual, instinctive.
+I cannot compel my mind to say "I feel" instead of "I see" or "I hear."
+The word "feel" proves on examination to be no less a convention than
+"see" and "hear" when I seek for words accurately to describe the
+outward things that affect my three bodily senses. When a man loses a
+leg, his brain persists in impelling him to use what he has not and yet
+feels to be there. Can it be that the brain is so constituted that it
+will continue the activity which animates the sight and the hearing,
+after the eye and the ear have been destroyed?
+
+It might seem that the five senses would work intelligently together
+only when resident in the same body. Yet when two or three are left
+unaided, they reach out for their complements in another body, and find
+that they yoke easily with the borrowed team. When my hand aches from
+overtouching, I find relief in the sight of another. When my mind lags,
+wearied with the strain of forcing out thoughts about dark, musicless,
+colourless, detached substance, it recovers its elasticity as soon as I
+resort to the powers of another mind which commands light, harmony,
+colour. Now, if the five senses will not remain disassociated, the life
+of the deaf-blind cannot be severed from the life of the seeing, hearing
+race.
+
+The deaf-blind person may be plunged and replunged like Schiller's
+diver into seas of the unknown. But, unlike the doomed hero, he returns
+triumphant, grasping the priceless truth that his mind is not crippled,
+not limited to the infirmity of his senses. The world of the eye and the
+ear becomes to him a subject of fateful interest. He seizes every word
+of sight and hearing because his sensations compel it. Light and colour,
+of which he has no tactual evidence, he studies fearlessly, believing
+that all humanly knowable truth is open to him. He is in a position
+similar to that of the astronomer who, firm, patient, watches a star
+night after night for many years and feels rewarded if he discovers a
+single fact about it. The man deaf-blind to ordinary outward things, and
+the man deaf-blind to the immeasurable universe, are both limited by
+time and space; but they have made a compact to wring service from their
+limitations.
+
+The bulk of the world's knowledge is an imaginary construction. History
+is but a mode of imagining, of making us see civilizations that no
+longer appear upon the earth. Some of the most significant discoveries
+in modern science owe their origin to the imagination of men who had
+neither accurate knowledge nor exact instruments to demonstrate their
+beliefs. If astronomy had not kept always in advance of the telescope,
+no one would ever have thought a telescope worth making. What great
+invention has not existed in the inventor's mind long before he gave it
+tangible shape?
+
+A more splendid example of imaginative knowledge is the unity with which
+philosophers start their study of the world. They can never perceive the
+world in its entire reality. Yet their imagination, with its magnificent
+allowance for error, its power of treating uncertainty as negligible,
+has pointed the way for empirical knowledge.
+
+In their highest creative moments the great poet, the great musician
+cease to use the crude instruments of sight and hearing. They break away
+from their sense-moorings, rise on strong, compelling wings of spirit
+far above our misty hills and darkened valleys into the region of light,
+music, intellect.
+
+What eye hath seen the glories of the New Jerusalem? What ear hath heard
+the music of the spheres, the steps of time, the strokes of chance, the
+blows of death? Men have not heard with their physical sense the tumult
+of sweet voices above the hills of Judea nor seen the heavenly vision;
+but millions have listened to that spiritual message through many ages.
+
+Our blindness changes not a whit the course of inner realities. Of us it
+is as true as it is of the seeing that the most beautiful world is
+always entered through the imagination. If you wish to be something that
+you are not,--something fine, noble, good,--you shut your eyes, and for
+one dreamy moment you are that which you long to be.
+
+
+
+
+INWARD VISIONS
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+INWARD VISIONS
+
+
+ACCORDING to all art, all nature, all coherent human thought, we know
+that order, proportion, form, are essential elements of beauty. Now
+order, proportion, and form, are palpable to the touch. But beauty and
+rhythm are deeper than sense. They are like love and faith. They spring
+out of a spiritual process only slightly dependent upon sensations.
+Order, proportion, form, cannot generate in the mind the abstract idea
+of beauty, unless there is already a soul intelligence to breathe life
+into the elements. Many persons, having perfect eyes, are blind in
+their perceptions. Many persons, having perfect ears, are emotionally
+deaf. Yet these are the very ones who dare to set limits to the vision
+of those who, lacking a sense or two, have will, soul, passion,
+imagination. Faith is a mockery if it teaches us not that we may
+construct a world unspeakably more complete and beautiful than the
+material world. And I, too, may construct my better world, for I am a
+child of God, an inheritor of a fragment of the Mind that created all
+worlds.
+
+There is a consonance of all things, a blending of all that we know
+about the material world and the spiritual. It consists for me of all
+the impressions, vibrations, heat, cold, taste, smell, and the
+sensations which these convey to the mind, infinitely combined,
+interwoven with associated ideas and acquired knowledge. No thoughtful
+person will believe that what I said about the meaning of footsteps is
+strictly true of mere jolts and jars. It is an array of the spiritual in
+certain natural elements, tactual beats, and an acquired knowledge of
+physical habits and moral traits of highly organized human beings. What
+would odours signify if they were not associated with the time of the
+year, the place I live in, and the people I know?
+
+The result of such a blending is sometimes a discordant trying of
+strings far removed from a melody, very far from a symphony. (For the
+benefit of those who must be reassured, I will say that I have felt a
+musician tuning his violin, that I have read about a symphony, and so
+have a fair intellectual perception of my metaphor.) But with training
+and experience the faculties gather up the stray notes and combine them
+into a full, harmonious whole. If the person who accomplishes this task
+is peculiarly gifted, we call him a poet. The blind and the deaf are not
+great poets, it is true. Yet now and again you find one deaf and blind
+who has attained to his royal kingdom of beauty.
+
+I have a little volume of poems by a deaf-blind lady, Madame Bertha
+Galeron. Her poetry has versatility of thought. Now it is tender and
+sweet, now full of tragic passion and the sternness of destiny. Victor
+Hugo called her "La Grande Voyante." She has written several plays, two
+of which have been acted in Paris. The French Academy has crowned her
+work.
+
+The infinite wonders of the universe are revealed to us in exact measure
+as we are capable of receiving them. The keenness of our vision depends
+not on how much we can see, but on how much we feel. Nor yet does mere
+knowledge create beauty. Nature sings her most exquisite songs to those
+who love her. She does not unfold her secrets to those who come only to
+gratify their desire of analysis, to gather facts, but to those who see
+in her manifold phenomena suggestions of lofty, delicate sentiments.
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio
+
+The Little Boy Next Door
+
+To face page 120]
+
+Am I to be denied the use of such adjectives as "freshness" and
+"sparkle," "dark" and "gloomy"? I have walked in the fields at early
+morning. I have felt a rose-bush laden with dew and fragrance. I have
+felt the curves and graces of my kitten at play. I have known the
+sweet, shy ways of little children. I have known the sad opposites of
+all these, a ghastly touch picture. Remember, I have sometimes travelled
+over a dusty road as far as my feet could go. At a sudden turn I have
+stepped upon starved, ignoble weeds, and reaching out my hands, I have
+touched a fair tree out of which a parasite had taken the life like a
+vampire. I have touched a pretty bird whose soft wings hung limp, whose
+little heart beat no more. I have wept over the feebleness and deformity
+of a child, lame, or born blind, or, worse still, mindless. If I had the
+genius of Thomson, I, too, could depict a "City of Dreadful Night" from
+mere touch sensations. From contrasts so irreconcilable can we fail to
+form an idea of beauty and know surely when we meet with loveliness?
+
+Here is a sonnet eloquent of a blind man's power of vision:
+
+
+              THE MOUNTAIN TO THE PINE
+
+          Thou tall, majestic monarch of the wood,
+            That standest where no wild vines dare to creep,
+          Men call thee old, and say that thou hast stood
+            A century upon my rugged steep;
+          Yet unto me thy life is but a day,
+            When I recall the things that I have seen,--
+          The forest monarchs that have passed away
+            Upon the spot where first I saw thy green;
+          For I am older than the age of man,
+            Or all the living things that crawl or creep,
+            Or birds of air, or creatures of the deep;
+          I was the first dim outline of God's plan:
+            Only the waters of the restless sea
+            And the infinite stars in heaven are old to me.
+
+I am glad my friend Mr. Stedman knew that poem while he was making his
+Anthology, for knowing it, so fine a poet and critic could not fail to
+give it a place in his treasure-house of American poetry. The poet, Mr.
+Clarence Hawkes, has been blind since childhood; yet he finds in nature
+hints of combinations for his mental pictures. Out of the knowledge and
+impressions that come to him he constructs a masterpiece which hangs
+upon the walls of his thought. And into the poet's house come all the
+true spirits of the world.
+
+It was a rare poet who thought of the mountain as "the first dim outline
+of God's plan." That is the real wonder of the poem, and not that a
+blind man should speak so confidently of sky and sea. Our ideas of the
+sky are an accumulation of touch-glimpses, literary allusions, and the
+observations of others, with an emotional blending of all. My face feels
+only a tiny portion of the atmosphere; but I go through continuous space
+and feel the air at every point, every instant. I have been told about
+the distances from our earth to the sun, to the other planets, and to
+the fixed stars. I multiply a thousand times the utmost height and width
+that my touch compasses, and thus I gain a deep sense of the sky's
+immensity.
+
+Move me along constantly over water, water, nothing but water, and you
+give me the solitude, the vastness of ocean which fills the eye. I have
+been in a little sail-boat on the sea, when the rising tide swept it
+toward the shore. May I not understand the poet's figure: "The green of
+spring overflows the earth like a tide"? I have felt the flame of a
+candle blow and flutter in the breeze. May I not, then, say: "Myriads of
+fireflies flit hither and thither in the dew-wet grass like little
+fluttering tapers"?
+
+Combine the endless space of air, the sun's warmth, the clouds that are
+described to my understanding spirit, the frequent breaking through the
+soil of a brook or the expanse of the wind-ruffled lake, the tactual
+undulation of the hills, which I recall when I am far away from them,
+the towering trees upon trees as I walk by them, the bearings that I try
+to keep while others tell me the directions of the various points of the
+scenery, and you will begin to feel surer of my mental landscape. The
+utmost bound to which my thought will go with clearness is the horizon
+of my mind. From this horizon I imagine the one which the eye marks.
+
+Touch cannot bridge distance,--it is fit only for the contact of
+surfaces,--but thought leaps the chasm. For this reason I am able to use
+words descriptive of objects distant from my senses. I have felt the
+rondure of the infant's tender form. I can apply this perception to the
+landscape and to the far-off hills.
+
+
+
+
+ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION
+
+
+I HAVE not touched the outline of a star nor the glory of the moon, but
+I believe that God has set two lights in mind, the greater to rule by
+day and the lesser by night, and by them I know that I am able to
+navigate my life-bark, as certain of reaching the haven as he who steers
+by the North Star. Perhaps my sun shines not as yours. The colours that
+glorify my world, the blue of the sky, the green of the fields, may not
+correspond exactly with those you delight in; but they are none the less
+colour to me. The sun does not shine for my physical eyes, nor does the
+lightning flash, nor do the trees turn green in the spring; but they
+have not therefore ceased to exist, any more than the landscape is
+annihilated when you turn your back on it.
+
+I understand how scarlet can differ from crimson because I know that the
+smell of an orange is not the smell of a grape-fruit. I can also
+conceive that colours have shades, and guess what shades are. In smell
+and taste there are varieties not broad enough to be fundamental; so I
+call them shades. There are half a dozen roses near me. They all have
+the unmistakable rose scent; yet my nose tells me that they are not the
+same. The American Beauty is distinct from the Jacqueminot and La
+France. Odours in certain grasses fade as really to my sense as certain
+colours do to yours in the sun. The freshness of a flower in my hand is
+analogous to the freshness I taste in an apple newly picked. I make use
+of analogies like these to enlarge my conceptions of colours. Some
+analogies which I draw between qualities in surface and vibration, taste
+and smell, are drawn by others between sight, hearing, and touch. This
+fact encourages me to persevere, to try and bridge the gap between the
+eye and the hand.
+
+Certainly I get far enough to sympathize with the delight that my kind
+feel in beauty they see and harmony they hear. This bond between
+humanity and me is worth keeping, even if the idea on which I base it
+prove erroneous.
+
+Sweet, beautiful vibrations exist for my touch, even though they travel
+through other substances than air to reach me. So I imagine sweet,
+delightful sounds, and the artistic arrangement of them which is called
+music, and I remember that they travel through the air to the ear,
+conveying impressions somewhat like mine. I also know what tones are,
+since they are perceptible tactually in a voice. Now, heat varies
+greatly in the sun, in the fire, in hands, and in the fur of animals;
+indeed, there is such a thing for me as a cold sun. So I think of the
+varieties of light that touch the eye, cold and warm, vivid and dim,
+soft and glaring, but always light, and I imagine their passage through
+the air to an extensive sense, instead of to a narrow one like touch.
+From the experience I have had with voices I guess how the eye
+distinguishes shades in the midst of light. While I read the lips of a
+woman whose voice is soprano, I note a low tone or a glad tone in the
+midst of a high, flowing voice. When I feel my cheeks hot, I know that I
+am red. I have talked so much and read so much about colours that
+through no will of my own I attach meanings to them, just as all people
+attach certain meanings to abstract terms like hope, idealism,
+monotheism, intellect, which cannot be represented truly by visible
+objects, but which are understood from analogies between immaterial
+concepts and the ideas they awaken of external things. The force of
+association drives me to say that white is exalted and pure, green is
+exuberant, red suggests love or shame or strength. Without the colour or
+its equivalent, life to me would be dark, barren, a vast blackness.
+
+Thus through an inner law of completeness my thoughts are not permitted
+to remain colourless. It strains my mind to separate colour and sound
+from objects. Since my education began I have always had things
+described to me with their colours and sounds by one with keen senses
+and a fine feeling for the significant. Therefore I habitually think of
+things as coloured and resonant. Habit accounts for part. The soul sense
+accounts for another part. The brain with its five-sensed construction
+asserts its right and accounts for the rest. Inclusive of all, the unity
+of the world demands that colour be kept in it, whether I have
+cognizance of it or not. Rather than be shut out, I take part in it by
+discussing it, imagining it, happy in the happiness of those near me
+who gaze at the lovely hues of the sunset or the rainbow.
+
+My hand has its share in this multiple knowledge, but it must never be
+forgotten that with the fingers I see only a very small portion of a
+surface, and that I must pass my hand continually over it before my
+touch grasps the whole. It is still more important, however, to remember
+that my imagination is not tethered to certain points, locations, and
+distances. It puts all the parts together simultaneously as if it saw or
+knew instead of feeling them. Though I feel only a small part of my
+horse at a time,--my horse is nervous and does not submit to manual
+explorations,--yet, because I have many times felt hock, nose, hoof and
+mane, I can see the steeds of Phoebus Apollo coursing the heavens.
+
+With such a power active it is impossible that my thought should be
+vague, indistinct. It must needs be potent, definite. This is really a
+corollary of the philosophical truth that the real world exists only for
+the mind. That is to say, I can never touch the world in its entirety;
+indeed, I touch less of it than the portion that others see or hear. But
+all creatures, all objects, pass into my brain entire, and occupy the
+same extent there that they do in material space. I declare that for me
+branched thoughts, instead of pines, wave, sway, rustle, make musical
+the ridges of mountains rising summit upon summit. Mention a rose too
+far away for me to smell it. Straightway a scent steals into my
+nostril, a form presses against my palm in all its dilating softness,
+with rounded petals, slightly curled edges, curving stem, leaves
+drooping. When I would fain view the world as a whole, it rushes into
+vision--man, beast, bird, reptile, fly, sky, ocean, mountains, plain,
+rock, pebble. The warmth of life, the reality of creation is over
+all--the throb of human hands, glossiness of fur, lithe windings of long
+bodies, poignant buzzing of insects, the ruggedness of the steeps as I
+climb them, the liquid mobility and boom of waves upon the rocks.
+Strange to say, try as I may, I cannot force my touch to pervade this
+universe in all directions. The moment I try, the whole vanishes; only
+small objects or narrow portions of a surface, mere touch-signs, a chaos
+of things scattered at random, remain. No thrill, no delight is excited
+thereby. Restore to the artistic, comprehensive internal sense its
+rightful domain, and you give me joy which best proves the reality.
+
+
+
+
+BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN
+
+
+BEFORE my teacher came to me, I did not know that I am. I lived in a
+world that was a no-world. I cannot hope to describe adequately that
+unconscious, yet conscious time of nothingness. I did not know that I
+knew aught, or that I lived or acted or desired. I had neither will nor
+intellect. I was carried along to objects and acts by a certain blind
+natural impetus. I had a mind which caused me to feel anger,
+satisfaction, desire. These two facts led those about me to suppose
+that I willed and thought. I can remember all this, not because I knew
+that it was so, but because I have tactual memory. It enables me to
+remember that I never contracted my forehead in the act of thinking. I
+never viewed anything beforehand or chose it. I also recall tactually
+the fact that never in a start of the body or a heart-beat did I feel
+that I loved or cared for anything. My inner life, then, was a blank
+without past, present, or future, without hope or anticipation, without
+wonder or joy or faith.
+
+          It was not night--it was not day.
+
+                 .       .       .       .       .
+
+          But vacancy absorbing space,
+          And fixedness, without a place;
+          There were no stars--no earth--no time--
+          No check--no change--no good--no crime.
+
+My dormant being had no idea of God or immortality, no fear of death.
+
+I remember, also through touch, that I had a power of association. I
+felt tactual jars like the stamp of a foot, the opening of a window or
+its closing, the slam of a door. After repeatedly smelling rain and
+feeling the discomfort of wetness, I acted like those about me: I ran to
+shut the window. But that was not thought in any sense. It was the same
+kind of association that makes animals take shelter from the rain. From
+the same instinct of aping others, I folded the clothes that came from
+the laundry, and put mine away, fed the turkeys, sewed bead-eyes on my
+doll's face, and did many other things of which I have the tactual
+remembrance. When I wanted anything I liked,--ice-cream, for instance,
+of which I was very fond,--I had a delicious taste on my tongue (which,
+by the way, I never have now), and in my hand I felt the turning of the
+freezer. I made the sign, and my mother knew I wanted ice-cream. I
+"thought" and desired in my fingers. If I had made a man, I should
+certainly have put the brain and soul in his finger-tips. From
+reminiscences like these I conclude that it is the opening of the two
+faculties, freedom of will, or choice, and rationality, or the power of
+thinking from one thing to another, which makes it possible to come into
+being first as a child, afterwards as a man.
+
+Since I had no power of thought, I did not compare one mental state with
+another. So I was not conscious of any change or process going on in my
+brain when my teacher began to instruct me. I merely felt keen delight
+in obtaining more easily what I wanted by means of the finger motions
+she taught me. I thought only of objects, and only objects I wanted. It
+was the turning of the freezer on a larger scale. When I learned the
+meaning of "I" and "me" and found that I was something, I began to
+think. Then consciousness first existed for me. Thus it was not the
+sense of touch that brought me knowledge. It was the awakening of my
+soul that first rendered my senses their value, their cognizance of
+objects, names, qualities, and properties. Thought made me conscious of
+love, joy, and all the emotions. I was eager to know, then to
+understand, afterward to reflect on what I knew and understood, and the
+blind impetus, which had before driven me hither and thither at the
+dictates of my sensations, vanished forever.
+
+I cannot represent more clearly than any one else the gradual and subtle
+changes from first impressions to abstract ideas. But I know that my
+physical ideas, that is, ideas derived from material objects, appear to
+me first an idea similar to those of touch. Instantly they pass into
+intellectual meanings. Afterward the meaning finds expression in what is
+called "inner speech." When I was a child, my inner speech was inner
+spelling. Although I am even now frequently caught spelling to myself on
+my fingers, yet I talk to myself, too, with my lips, and it is true that
+when I first learned to speak, my mind discarded the finger-symbols and
+began to articulate. However, when I try to recall what some one has
+said to me, I am conscious of a hand spelling into mine.
+
+It has often been asked what were my earliest impressions of the world
+in which I found myself. But one who thinks at all of his first
+impressions knows what a riddle this is. Our impressions grow and change
+unnoticed, so that what we suppose we thought as children may be quite
+different from what we actually experienced in our childhood. I only
+know that after my education began the world which came within my reach
+was all alive. I spelled to my blocks and my dogs. I sympathized with
+plants when the flowers were picked, because I thought it hurt them,
+and that they grieved for their lost blossoms. It was two years before I
+could be made to believe that my dogs did not understand what I said,
+and I always apologized to them when I ran into or stepped on them.
+
+As my experiences broadened and deepened, the indeterminate, poetic
+feelings of childhood began to fix themselves in definite thoughts.
+Nature--the world I could touch--was folded and filled with myself. I am
+inclined to believe those philosophers who declare that we know nothing
+but our own feelings and ideas. With a little ingenious reasoning one
+may see in the material world simply a mirror, an image of permanent
+mental sensations. In either sphere self-knowledge is the condition and
+the limit of our consciousness. That is why, perhaps, many people know
+so little about what is beyond their short range of experience. They
+look within themselves--and find nothing! Therefore they conclude that
+there is nothing outside themselves, either.
+
+However that may be, I came later to look for an image of my emotions
+and sensations in others. I had to learn the outward signs of inward
+feelings. The start of fear, the suppressed, controlled tensity of pain,
+the beat of happy muscles in others, had to be perceived and compared
+with my own experiences before I could trace them back to the intangible
+soul of another. Groping, uncertain, I at last found my identity, and
+after seeing my thoughts and feelings repeated in others, I gradually
+constructed my world of men and of God. As I read and study, I find
+that this is what the rest of the race has done. Man looks within
+himself and in time finds the measure and the meaning of the universe.
+
+
+
+
+THE LARGER SANCTIONS
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+THE LARGER SANCTIONS
+
+
+SO, in the midst of life, eager, imperious life, the deaf-blind child,
+fettered to the bare rock of circumstance, spider-like, sends out
+gossamer threads of thought into the measureless void that surrounds
+him. Patiently he explores the dark, until he builds up a knowledge of
+the world he lives in, and his soul meets the beauty of the world, where
+the sun shines always, and the birds sing. To the blind child the dark
+is kindly. In it he finds nothing extraordinary or terrible. It is his
+familiar world; even the groping from place to place, the halting
+steps, the dependence upon others, do not seem strange to him. He does
+not know how many countless pleasures the dark shuts out from him. Not
+until he weighs his life in the scale of others' experience does he
+realize what it is to live forever in the dark. But the knowledge that
+teaches him this bitterness also brings its consolation--spiritual
+light, the promise of the day that shall be.
+
+The blind child--the deaf-blind child--has inherited the mind of seeing
+and hearing ancestors--a mind measured to five senses. Therefore he must
+be influenced, even if it be unknown to himself, by the light, colour,
+song which have been transmitted through the language he is taught, for
+the chambers of the mind are ready to receive that language. The brain
+of the race is so permeated with colour that it dyes even the speech of
+the blind. Every object I think of is stained with the hue that belongs
+to it by association and memory. The experience of the deaf-blind
+person, in a world of seeing, hearing people, is like that of a sailor
+on an island where the inhabitants speak a language unknown to him,
+whose life is unlike that he has lived. He is one, they are many; there
+is no chance of compromise. He must learn to see with their eyes, to
+hear with their ears, to think their thoughts, to follow their ideals.
+
+If the dark, silent world which surrounds him were essentially different
+from the sunlit, resonant world, it would be incomprehensible to his
+kind, and could never be discussed. If his feelings and sensations were
+fundamentally different from those of others, they would be
+inconceivable except to those who had similar sensations and feelings.
+If the mental consciousness of the deaf-blind person were absolutely
+dissimilar to that of his fellows, he would have no means of imagining
+what they think. Since the mind of the sightless is essentially the same
+as that of the seeing in that it admits of no lack, it must supply some
+sort of equivalent for missing physical sensations. It must perceive a
+likeness between things outward and things inward, a correspondence
+between the seen and the unseen. I make use of such a correspondence in
+many relations, and no matter how far I pursue it to things I cannot
+see, it does not break under the test.
+
+As a working hypothesis, correspondence is adequate to all life, through
+the whole range of phenomena. The flash of thought and its swiftness
+explain the lightning flash and the sweep of a comet through the
+heavens. My mental sky opens to me the vast celestial spaces, and I
+proceed to fill them with the images of my spiritual stars. I recognize
+truth by the clearness and guidance that it gives my thought, and,
+knowing what that clearness is, I can imagine what light is to the eye.
+It is not a convention of language, but a forcible feeling of the
+reality, that at times makes me start when I say, "Oh, I see my
+mistake!" or "How dark, cheerless is his life!" I know these are
+metaphors. Still, I must prove with them, since there is nothing in our
+language to replace them. Deaf-blind metaphors to correspond do not
+exist and are not necessary. Because I can understand the word "reflect"
+figuratively, a mirror has never perplexed me. The manner in which my
+imagination perceives absent things enables me to see how glasses can
+magnify things, bring them nearer, or remove them farther.
+
+Deny me this correspondence, this internal sense, confine me to the
+fragmentary, incoherent touch-world, and lo, I become as a bat which
+wanders about on the wing. Suppose I omitted all words of seeing,
+hearing, colour, light, landscape, the thousand phenomena, instruments
+and beauties connected with them. I should suffer a great diminution of
+the wonder and delight in attaining knowledge; also--more dreadful
+loss--my emotions would be blunted, so that I could not be touched by
+things unseen.
+
+Has anything arisen to disprove the adequacy of correspondence? Has any
+chamber of the blind man's brain been opened and found empty? Has any
+psychologist explored the mind of the sightless and been able to say,
+"There is no sensation here"?
+
+I tread the solid earth; I breathe the scented air. Out of these two
+experiences I form numberless associations and correspondences. I
+observe, I feel, I think, I imagine. I associate the countless varied
+impressions, experiences, concepts. Out of these materials Fancy, the
+cunning artisan of the brain, welds an image which the sceptic would
+deny me, because I cannot see with my physical eyes the changeful,
+lovely face of my thought-child. He would break the mind's mirror. This
+spirit-vandal would humble my soul and force me to bite the dust of
+material things. While I champ the bit of circumstance, he scourges and
+goads me with the spur of fact. If I heeded him, the sweet-visaged earth
+would vanish into nothing, and I should hold in my hand nought but an
+aimless, soulless lump of dead matter. But although the body physical is
+rooted alive to the Promethean rock, the spirit-proud huntress of the
+air will still pursue the shining, open highways of the universe.
+
+Blindness has no limiting effect upon mental vision. My intellectual
+horizon is infinitely wide. The universe it encircles is immeasurable.
+Would they who bid me keep within the narrow bound of my meagre senses
+demand of Herschel that he roof his stellar universe and give us back
+Plato's solid firmament of glassy spheres? Would they command Darwin
+from the grave and bid him blot out his geological time, give us back a
+paltry few thousand years? Oh, the supercilious doubters! They ever
+strive to clip the upward daring wings of the spirit.
+
+A person deprived of one or more senses is not, as many seem to think,
+turned out into a trackless wilderness without landmark or guide. The
+blind man carries with him into his dark environment all the faculties
+essential to the apprehension of the visible world whose door is closed
+behind him. He finds his surroundings everywhere homogeneous with those
+of the sunlit world; for there is an inexhaustible ocean of likenesses
+between the world within, and the world without, and these likenesses,
+these correspondences, he finds equal to every exigency his life offers.
+
+The necessity of some such thing as correspondence or symbolism appears
+more and more urgent as we consider the duties that religion and
+philosophy enjoin upon us.
+
+The blind are expected to read the Bible as a means of attaining
+spiritual happiness. Now, the Bible is filled throughout with references
+to clouds, stars, colours, and beauty, and often the mention of these is
+essential to the meaning of the parable or the message in which they
+occur. Here one must needs see the inconsistency of people who believe
+in the Bible, and yet deny us a right to talk about what we do not see,
+and for that matter what _they_ do not see, either. Who shall forbid my
+heart to sing: "Yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind. He made
+darkness his secret place; his pavilion round about him were dark waters
+and thick clouds of the skies"?
+
+Philosophy constantly points out the untrustworthiness of the five
+senses and the important work of reason which corrects the errors of
+sight and reveals its illusions. If we cannot depend on five senses, how
+much less may we rely on three! What ground have we for discarding
+light, sound, and colour as an integral part of our world? How are we to
+know that they have ceased to exist for us? We must take their reality
+for granted, even as the philosopher assumes the reality of the world
+without being able to see it physically as a whole.
+
+Ancient philosophy offers an argument which seems still valid. There is
+in the blind as in the seeing an Absolute which gives truth to what we
+know to be true, order to what is orderly, beauty to the beautiful,
+touchableness to what is tangible. If this is granted, it follows that
+this Absolute is not imperfect, incomplete, partial. It must needs go
+beyond the limited evidence of our sensations, and also give light to
+what is invisible, music to the musical that silence dulls. Thus mind
+itself compels us to acknowledge that we are in a world of intellectual
+order, beauty, and harmony. The essences, or absolutes of these ideas,
+necessarily dispel their opposites which belong with evil, disorder and
+discord. Thus deafness and blindness do not exist in the immaterial
+mind, which is philosophically the real world, but are banished with the
+perishable material senses. Reality, of which visible things are the
+symbol, shines before my mind. While I walk about my chamber with
+unsteady steps, my spirit sweeps skyward on eagle wings and looks out
+with unquenchable vision upon the world of eternal beauty.
+
+
+
+
+THE DREAM WORLD
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+THE DREAM WORLD
+
+
+EVERYBODY takes his own dreams seriously, but yawns at the
+breakfast-table when somebody else begins to tell the adventures of the
+night before. I hesitate, therefore, to enter upon an account of my
+dreams; for it is a literary sin to bore the reader, and a scientific
+sin to report the facts of a far country with more regard to point and
+brevity than to complete and literal truth. The psychologists have
+trained a pack of theories and facts which they keep in leash, like so
+many bulldogs, and which they let loose upon us whenever we depart from
+the straight and narrow path of dream probability. One may not even tell
+an entertaining dream without being suspected of having liberally edited
+it,--as if editing were one of the seven deadly sins, instead of a
+useful and honourable occupation! Be it understood, then, that I am
+discoursing at my own breakfast-table, and that no scientific man is
+present to trip the autocrat.
+
+I used to wonder why scientific men and others were always asking me
+about my dreams. But I am not surprised now, since I have discovered
+what some of them believe to be the ordinary waking experience of one
+who is both deaf and blind. They think that I can know very little about
+objects even a few feet beyond the reach of my arms. Everything outside
+of myself, according to them, is a hazy blur. Trees, mountains, cities,
+the ocean, even the house I live in are but fairy fabrications, misty
+unrealities. Therefore it is assumed that my dreams should have peculiar
+interest for the man of science. In some undefined way it is expected
+that they should reveal the world I dwell in to be flat, formless,
+colourless, without perspective, with little thickness and less
+solidity--a vast solitude of soundless space. But who shall put into
+words limitless, visionless, silent void? One should be a disembodied
+spirit indeed to make anything out of such insubstantial experiences. A
+world, or a dream for that matter, to be comprehensible to us, must, I
+should think, have a warp of substance woven into the woof of fantasy.
+We cannot imagine even in dreams an object which has no counterpart in
+reality. Ghosts always resemble somebody, and if they do not appear
+themselves, their presence is indicated by circumstances with which we
+are perfectly familiar.
+
+During sleep we enter a strange, mysterious realm which science has thus
+far not explored. Beyond the border-line of slumber the investigator may
+not pass with his common-sense rule and test. Sleep with softest touch
+locks all the gates of our physical senses and lulls to rest the
+conscious will--the disciplinarian of our waking thoughts. Then the
+spirit wrenches itself free from the sinewy arms of reason and like a
+winged courser spurns the firm green earth and speeds away upon wind
+and cloud, leaving neither trace nor footprint by which science may
+track its flight and bring us knowledge of the distant, shadowy country
+that we nightly visit. When we come back from the dream-realm, we can
+give no reasonable report of what we met there. But once across the
+border, we feel at home as if we had always lived there and had never
+made any excursions into this rational daylight world.
+
+My dreams do not seem to differ very much from the dreams of other
+people. Some of them are coherent and safely hitched to an event or a
+conclusion. Others are inconsequent and fantastic. All attest that in
+Dreamland there is no such thing as repose. We are always up and doing
+with a mind for any adventure. We act, strive, think, suffer and are
+glad to no purpose. We leave outside the portals of Sleep all
+troublesome incredulities and vexatious speculations as to probability.
+I float wraith-like upon clouds in and out among the winds, without the
+faintest notion that I am doing anything unusual. In Dreamland I find
+little that is altogether strange or wholly new to my experience. No
+matter what happens, I am not astonished, however extraordinary the
+circumstances may be. I visit a foreign land where I have not been in
+reality, and I converse with peoples whose language I have never heard.
+Yet we manage to understand each other perfectly. Into whatsoever
+situation or society my wanderings bring me, there is the same
+homogeneity. If I happen into Vagabondia, I make merry with the jolly
+folk of the road or the tavern.
+
+I do not remember ever to have met persons with whom I could not at once
+communicate, or to have been shocked or surprised at the doings of my
+dream-companions. In its strange wanderings in those dusky groves of
+Slumberland my soul takes everything for granted and adapts itself to
+the wildest phantoms. I am seldom confused. Everything is as clear as
+day. I know events the instant they take place, and wherever I turn my
+steps, Mind is my faithful guide and interpreter.
+
+I suppose every one has had in a dream the exasperating, profitless
+experience of seeking something urgently desired at the moment, and the
+aching, weary sensation that follows each failure to track the thing to
+its hiding-place. Sometimes with a singing dizziness in my head I climb
+and climb, I know not where or why. Yet I cannot quit the torturing,
+passionate endeavour, though again and again I reach out blindly for an
+object to hold to. Of course according to the perversity of dreams there
+is no object near. I clutch empty air, and then I fall downward, and
+still downward, and in the midst of the fall I dissolve into the
+atmosphere upon which I have been floating so precariously.
+
+Some of my dreams seem to be traced one within another like a series of
+concentric circles. In sleep I think I cannot sleep. I toss about in the
+toils of tasks unfinished. I decide to get up and read for a while. I
+know the shelf in my library where I keep the book I want. The book has
+no name, but I find it without difficulty. I settle myself comfortably
+in the morris-chair, the great book open on my knee. Not a word can I
+make out, the pages are utterly blank. I am not surprised, but keenly
+disappointed. I finger the pages, I bend over them lovingly, the tears
+fall on my hands. I shut the book quickly as the thought passes through
+my mind, "The print will be all rubbed out if I get it wet." Yet there
+is no print tangible on the page!
+
+This morning I thought that I awoke. I was certain that I had overslept.
+I seized my watch, and sure enough, it pointed to an hour after my
+rising time. I sprang up in the greatest hurry, knowing that breakfast
+was ready. I called my mother, who declared that my watch must be
+wrong. She was positive it could not be so late. I looked at my watch
+again, and lo! the hands wiggled, whirled, buzzed and disappeared. I
+awoke more fully as my dismay grew, until I was at the antipodes of
+sleep. Finally my eyes opened actually, and I knew that I had been
+dreaming. I had only waked into sleep. What is still more bewildering,
+there is no difference between the consciousness of the sham waking and
+that of the real one.
+
+It is fearful to think that all that we have ever seen, felt, read, and
+done may suddenly rise to our dream-vision, as the sea casts up objects
+it has swallowed. I have held a little child in my arms in the midst of
+a riot and spoken vehemently, imploring the Russian soldiers not to
+massacre the Jews. I have re-lived the agonizing scenes of the Sepoy
+Rebellion and the French Revolution. Cities have burned before my eyes,
+and I have fought the flames until I fell exhausted. Holocausts overtake
+the world, and I struggle in vain to save my friends.
+
+Once in a dream a message came speeding over land and sea that winter
+was descending upon the world from the North Pole, that the Arctic zone
+was shifting to our mild climate. Far and wide the message flew. The
+ocean was congealed in midsummer. Ships were held fast in the ice by
+thousands, the ships with large, white sails were held fast. Riches of
+the Orient and the plenteous harvests of the Golden West might no more
+pass between nation and nation. For some time the trees and flowers
+grew on, despite the intense cold. Birds flew into the houses for
+safety, and those which winter had overtaken lay on the snow with wings
+spread in vain flight. At last the foliage and blossoms fell at the feet
+of Winter. The petals of the flowers were turned to rubies and
+sapphires. The leaves froze into emeralds. The trees moaned and tossed
+their branches as the frost pierced them through bark and sap, pierced
+into their very roots. I shivered myself awake, and with a tumult of joy
+I breathed the many sweet morning odours wakened by the summer sun.
+
+One need not visit an African jungle or an Indian forest to hunt the
+tiger. One can lie in bed amid downy pillows and dream tigers as
+terrible as any in the pathless wild. I was a little girl when one night
+I tried to cross the garden in front of my aunt's house in Alabama. I
+was in pursuit of a large cat with a great bushy tail. A few hours
+before he had clawed my little canary out of its cage and crunched it
+between his cruel teeth. I could not see the cat. But the thought in my
+mind was distinct: "He is making for the high grass at the end of the
+garden. I'll get there first!" I put my hand on the box border and ran
+swiftly along the path. When I reached the high grass, there was the cat
+gliding into the wavy tangle. I rushed forward and tried to seize him
+and take the bird from between his teeth. To my horror a huge beast, not
+the cat at all, sprang out from the grass, and his sinewy shoulder
+rubbed against me with palpitating strength! His ears stood up and
+quivered with anger. His eyes were hot. His nostrils were large and wet.
+His lips moved horribly. I knew it was a tiger, a real live tiger, and
+that I should be devoured--my little bird and I. I do not know what
+happened after that. The next important thing seldom happens in dreams.
+
+Some time earlier I had a dream which made a vivid impression upon me.
+My aunt was weeping because she could not find me. But I took an impish
+pleasure in the thought that she and others were searching for me, and
+making great noise which I felt through my feet. Suddenly the spirit of
+mischief gave way to uncertainty and fear. I felt cold. The air smelt
+like ice and salt. I tried to run; but the long grass tripped me, and I
+fell forward on my face. I lay very still, feeling with all my body.
+After a while my sensations seemed to be concentrated in my fingers, and
+I perceived that the grass blades were sharp as knives, and hurt my
+hands cruelly. I tried to get up cautiously, so as not to cut myself on
+the sharp grass. I put down a tentative foot, much as my kitten treads
+for the first time the primeval forest in the backyard. All at once I
+felt the stealthy patter of something creeping, creeping, creeping
+purposefully toward me. I do not know how at that time the idea was in
+my mind; I had no words for intention or purpose. Yet it was precisely
+the evil intent, and not the creeping animal that terrified me. I had
+no fear of living creatures. I loved my father's dogs, the frisky little
+calf, the gentle cows, the horses and mules that ate apples from my
+hand, and none of them had ever harmed me. I lay low, waiting in
+breathless terror for the creature to spring and bury its long claws in
+my flesh. I thought, "They will feel like turkey-claws." Something warm
+and wet touched my face. I shrieked, struck out frantically, and awoke.
+Something was still struggling in my arms. I held on with might and main
+until I was exhausted, then I loosed my hold. I found dear old Belle,
+the setter, shaking herself and looking at me reproachfully. She and I
+had gone to sleep together on the rug, and had naturally wandered to the
+dream-forest where dogs and little girls hunt wild game and have
+strange adventures. We encountered hosts of elfin foes, and it required
+all the dog tactics at Belle's command to acquit herself like the lady
+and huntress that she was. Belle had her dreams too. We used to lie
+under the trees and flowers in the old garden, and I used to laugh with
+delight when the magnolia leaves fell with little thuds, and Belle
+jumped up, thinking she had heard a partridge. She would pursue the
+leaf, point it, bring it back to me and lay it at my feet with a
+humorous wag of her tail as much as to say, "This is the kind of bird
+that waked me." I made a chain for her neck out of the lovely blue
+Paulownia flowers and covered her with great heart-shaped leaves.
+
+Dear old Belle, she has long been dreaming among the lotus-flowers and
+poppies of the dogs' paradise.
+
+Certain dreams have haunted me since my childhood. One which recurs
+often proceeds after this wise: A spirit seems to pass before my face. I
+feel an extreme heat like the blast from an engine. It is the embodiment
+of evil. I must have had it first after the day that I nearly got burnt.
+
+Another spirit which visits me often brings a sensation of cool
+dampness, such as one feels on a chill November night when the window is
+open. The spirit stops just beyond my reach, sways back and forth like a
+creature in grief. My blood is chilled, and seems to freeze in my veins.
+I try to move, but my body is still, and I cannot even cry out. After a
+while the spirit passes on, and I say to myself shudderingly, "That was
+Death. I wonder if he has taken her." The pronoun stands for my Teacher.
+
+In my dreams I have sensations, odours, tastes and ideas which I do not
+remember to have had in reality. Perhaps they are the glimpses which my
+mind catches through the veil of sleep of my earliest babyhood. I have
+heard "the trampling of many waters." Sometimes a wonderful light visits
+me in sleep. Such a flash and glory as it is! I gaze and gaze until it
+vanishes. I smell and taste much as in my waking hours; but the sense of
+touch plays a less important part. In sleep I almost never grope. No one
+guides me. Even in a crowded street I am self-sufficient, and I enjoy
+an independence quite foreign to my physical life. Now I seldom spell on
+my fingers, and it is still rarer for others to spell into my hand. My
+mind acts independent of my physical organs. I am delighted to be thus
+endowed, if only in sleep; for then my soul dons its winged sandals and
+joyfully joins the throng of happy beings who dwell beyond the reaches
+of bodily sense.
+
+The moral inconsistency of dreams is glaring. Mine grow less and less
+accordant with my proper principles. I am nightly hurled into an
+unethical medley of extremes. I must either defend another to the last
+drop of my blood or condemn him past all repenting. I commit murder,
+sleeping, to save the lives of others. I ascribe to those I love best
+acts and words which it mortifies me to remember, and I cast reproach
+after reproach upon them. It is fortunate for our peace of mind that
+most wicked dreams are soon forgotten. Death, sudden and awful, strange
+loves and hates remorselessly pursued, cunningly plotted revenge, are
+seldom more than dim haunting recollections in the morning, and during
+the day they are erased by the normal activities of the mind. Sometimes
+immediately on waking, I am so vexed at the memory of a dream-fracas, I
+wish I may dream no more. With this wish distinctly before me I drop off
+again into a new turmoil of dreams.
+
+Oh, dreams, what opprobrium I heap upon you--you, the most pointless
+things imaginable, saucy apes, brewers of odious contrasts, haunting
+birds of ill omen, mocking echoes, unseasonable reminders,
+oft-returning vexations, skeletons in my morris-chair, jesters in the
+tomb, death's-heads at the wedding feast, outlaws of the brain that
+every night defy the mind's police service, thieves of my Hesperidean
+apples, breakers of my domestic peace, murderers of sleep. "Oh, dreadful
+dreams that do fright my spirit from her propriety!" No wonder that
+Hamlet preferred the ills he knew rather than run the risk of one
+dream-vision.
+
+Yet remove the dream-world, and the loss is inconceivable. The magic
+spell which binds poetry together is broken. The splendour of art and
+the soaring might of imagination are lessened because no phantom of
+fadeless sunsets and flowers urges onward to a goal. Gone is the mute
+permission or connivance which emboldens the soul to mock the limits of
+time and space, forecast and gather in harvests of achievement for ages
+yet unborn. Blot out dreams, and the blind lose one of their chief
+comforts; for in the visions of sleep they behold their belief in the
+seeing mind and their expectation of light beyond the blank, narrow
+night justified. Nay, our conception of immortality is shaken. Faith,
+the motive-power of human life, flickers out. Before such vacancy and
+bareness the shocks of wrecked worlds were indeed welcome. In truth,
+dreams bring us the thought independently of us and in spite of us that
+the soul
+
+                                "may right
+          Her nature, shoot large sail on lengthening cord,
+          And rush exultant on the Infinite."
+
+
+
+
+DREAMS AND REALITY
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+DREAMS AND REALITY
+
+
+IT is astonishing to think how our real wide-awake world revolves around
+the shadowy unrealities of Dreamland. Despite all that we say about the
+inconsequence of dreams, we often reason by them. We stake our greatest
+hopes upon them. Nay, we build upon them the fabric of an ideal world. I
+can recall few fine, thoughtful poems, few noble works of art or any
+system of philosophy in which there is not evidence that dream-fantasies
+symbolize truths concealed by phenomena.
+
+The fact that in dreams confusion reigns, and illogical connections
+occur gives plausibility to the theory which Sir Arthur Mitchell and
+other scientific men hold, that our dream-thinking is uncontrolled and
+undirected by the will. The will--the inhibiting and guiding
+power--finds rest and refreshment in sleep, while the mind, like a
+barque without rudder or compass, drifts aimlessly upon an uncharted
+sea. But curiously enough, these fantasies and inter-twistings of
+thought are to be found in great imaginative poems like Spenser's "Færie
+Queene." Lamb was impressed by the analogy between our dream-thinking
+and the work of the imagination. Speaking of the episode in the cave of
+Mammon, Lamb wrote:
+
+"It is not enough to say that the whole episode is a copy of the mind's
+conceptions in sleep; it is--in some sort, but what a copy! Let the most
+romantic of us that has been entertained all night with the spectacle of
+some wild and magnificent vision, re-combine it in the morning and try
+it by his waking judgment. That which appeared so shifting and yet so
+coherent, when it came under cool examination, shall appear so
+reasonless and so unlinked, that we are ashamed to have been so deluded,
+and to have taken, though but in sleep, a monster for a god. The
+transitions in this episode are every whit as violent as in the most
+extravagant dream, and yet the waking judgment ratifies them."
+
+Perhaps I feel more than others the analogy between the world of our
+waking life and the world of dreams because before I was taught, I lived
+in a sort of perpetual dream. The testimony of parents and friends who
+watched me day after day is the only means that I have of knowing the
+actuality of those early, obscure years of my childhood. The physical
+acts of going to bed and waking in the morning alone mark the transition
+from reality to Dreamland. As near as I can tell, asleep or awake I only
+felt with my body. I can recollect no process which I should now dignify
+with the term of thought. It is true that my bodily sensations were
+extremely acute; but beyond a crude connection with physical wants they
+are not associated or directed. They had little relation to each other,
+to me or the experience of others. Idea--that which gives identity and
+continuity to experience--came into my sleeping and waking existence at
+the same moment with the awakening of self-consciousness. Before that
+moment my mind was in a state of anarchy in which meaningless sensations
+rioted, and if thought existed, it was so vague and inconsequent, it
+cannot be made a part of discourse. Yet before my education began, I
+dreamed. I know that I must have dreamed because I recall no break in my
+tactual experiences. Things fell suddenly, heavily. I felt my clothing
+afire, or I fell into a tub of cold water. Once I smelt bananas, and the
+odour in my nostrils was so vivid that in the morning, before I was
+dressed, I went to the sideboard to look for the bananas. There were no
+bananas, and no odour of bananas anywhere! My life was in fact a dream
+throughout.
+
+The likeness between my waking state and the sleeping one is still
+marked. In both states I see, but not with my eyes. I hear, but not with
+my ears. I speak, and am spoken to, without the sound of a voice. I am
+moved to pleasure by visions of ineffable beauty which I have never
+beheld in the physical world. Once in a dream I held in my hand a pearl.
+The one I saw in my dreams must, therefore, have been a creation of my
+imagination. It was a smooth, exquisitely moulded crystal. As I gazed
+into its shimmering deeps, my soul was flooded with an ecstasy of
+tenderness, and I was filled with wonder as one who should for the
+first time look into the cool, sweet heart of a rose. My pearl was dew
+and fire, the velvety green of moss, the soft whiteness of lilies, and
+the distilled hues and sweetness of a thousand roses. It seemed to me,
+the soul of beauty was dissolved in its crystal bosom. This beauteous
+vision strengthens my conviction that the world which the mind builds up
+out of countless subtle experiences and suggestions is fairer than the
+world of the senses. The splendour of the sunset my friends gaze at
+across the purpling hills is wonderful. But the sunset of the inner
+vision brings purer delight because it is the worshipful blending of all
+the beauty that we have known and desired.
+
+I believe that I am more fortunate in my dreams than most people; for
+as I think back over my dreams, the pleasant ones seem to predominate,
+although we naturally recall most vividly and tell most eagerly the
+grotesque and fantastic adventures in Slumberland. I have friends,
+however, whose dreams are always troubled and disturbed. They wake
+fatigued and bruised, and they tell me that they would give a kingdom
+for one dreamless night. There is one friend who declares that she has
+never had a felicitous dream in her life. The grind and worry of the day
+invade the sweet domain of sleep and weary her with incessant,
+profitless effort. I feel very sorry for this friend, and perhaps it is
+hardly fair to insist upon the pleasure of dreaming in the presence of
+one whose dream-experience is so unhappy. Still, it is true that my
+dreams have uses as many and sweet as those of adversity. All my
+yearning for the strange, the weird, the ghostlike is gratified in
+dreams. They carry me out of the accustomed and commonplace. In a flash,
+in the winking of an eye they snatch the burden from my shoulder, the
+trivial task from my hand and the pain and disappointment from my heart,
+and I behold the lovely face of my dream. It dances round me with merry
+measure and darts hither and thither in happy abandon. Sudden, sweet
+fancies spring forth from every nook and corner, and delightful
+surprises meet me at every turn. A happy dream is more precious than
+gold and rubies.
+
+I like to think that in dreams we catch glimpses of a life larger than
+our own. We see it as a little child, or as a savage who visits a
+civilized nation. Thoughts are imparted to us far above our ordinary
+thinking. Feelings nobler and wiser than any we have known thrill us
+between heart-beats. For one fleeting night a princelier nature captures
+us, and we become as great as our aspirations. I daresay we return to
+the little world of our daily activities with as distorted a half-memory
+of what we have seen as that of the African who visited England, and
+afterwards said he had been in a huge hill which carried him over great
+waters. The comprehensiveness of our thought, whether we are asleep or
+awake, no doubt depends largely upon our idiosyncrasies, constitution,
+habits, and mental capacity. But whatever may be the nature of our
+dreams, the mental processes that characterize them are analogous to
+those which go on when the mind is not held to attention by the will.
+
+
+
+
+A WAKING DREAM
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+A WAKING DREAM
+
+
+I HAVE sat for hours in a sort of reverie, letting my mind have its way
+without inhibition and direction, and idly noted down the incessant beat
+of thought upon thought, image upon image. I have observed that my
+thoughts make all kinds of connections, wind in and out, trace
+concentric circles, and break up in eddies of fantasy, just as in
+dreams. One day I had a literary frolic with a certain set of thoughts
+which dropped in for an afternoon call. I wrote for three or four hours
+as they arrived, and the resulting record is much like a dream. I found
+that the most disconnected, dissimilar thoughts came in arm-in-arm--I
+dreamed a wide-awake dream. The difference is that in waking dreams I
+can look back upon the endless succession of thoughts, while in the
+dreams of sleep I can recall but few ideas and images. I catch broken
+threads from the warp and woof of a pattern I cannot see, or glowing
+leaves which have floated on a slumber-wind from a tree that I cannot
+identify. In this reverie I held the key to the company of ideas. I give
+my record of them to show what analogies exist between thoughts when
+they are not directed and the behaviour of real dream-thinking.
+
+I had an essay to write. I wanted my mind fresh and obedient, and all
+its handmaidens ready to hold up my hands in the task. I intended to
+discourse learnedly upon my educational experiences, and I was unusually
+anxious to do my best. I had a working plan in my head for the essay,
+which was to be grave, wise, and abounding in ideas. Moreover, it was to
+have an academic flavour suggestive of sheepskin, and the reader was to
+be duly impressed with the austere dignity of cap and gown. I shut
+myself up in the study, resolved to beat out on the keys of my
+typewriter this immortal chapter of my life-history. Alexander was no
+more confident of conquering Asia with the splendid army which his
+father Philip had disciplined than I was of finding my mental house in
+order and my thoughts obedient. My mind had had a long vacation, and I
+was now coming back to it in an hour that it looked not for me. My
+situation was similar to that of the master who went into a far country
+and expected on his home coming to find everything as he left it. But
+returning he found his servants giving a party. Confusion was rampant.
+There was fiddling and dancing and the babble of many tongues, so that
+the voice of the master could not be heard. Though he shouted and beat
+upon the gate, it remained closed.
+
+So it was with me. I sounded the trumpet loud and long; but the vassals
+of thought would not rally to my standard. Each had his arm round the
+waist of a fair partner, and I know not what wild tunes "put life and
+mettle into their heels." There was nothing to do. I looked about
+helplessly upon my great retinue, and realized that it is not the
+possession of a thing but the ability to use it which is of value. I
+settled back in my chair to watch the pageant. It was rather pleasant
+sitting there, "idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean," watching
+my own thoughts at play. It was like thinking fine things to say without
+taking the trouble to write them. I felt like Alice in Wonderland when
+she ran at full speed with the red queen and never passed anything or
+got anywhere.
+
+The merry frolic went on madly. The dancers were all manner of thoughts.
+There were sad thoughts and happy thoughts, thoughts suited to every
+clime and weather, thoughts bearing the mark of every age and nation,
+silly thoughts and wise thoughts, thoughts of people, of things, and of
+nothing, good thoughts, impish thoughts, and large, gracious thoughts.
+There they went swinging hand-in-hand in corkscrew fashion. An antic
+jester in green and gold led the dance. The guests followed no order or
+precedent. No two thoughts were related to each other even by the
+fortieth cousinship. There was not so much as an international alliance
+between them. Each thought behaved like a newly created poet.
+
+          "His mouth he could not ope,
+           But there flew out a trope."
+
+Magical lyrics--oh, if I only had written them down! Pell-mell they came
+down the sequestered avenues of my mind, this merry throng. With
+bacchanal song and shout they came, and eye hath not since beheld
+confusion worse confounded.
+
+Shut your eyes, and see them come--the knights and ladies of my revel.
+Plumed and turbaned they come, clad in mail and silken broideries,
+gentle maids in Quaker gray, gay princes in scarlet cloaks, coquettes
+with roses in their hair, monks in cowls that might have covered the
+tall Minster Tower, demure little girls hugging paper dolls, and
+rollicking school-boys with ruddy morning faces, an absent-minded
+professor carrying his shoes under his arms and looking wise, followed
+by cronies, fairies, goblins, and all the troops just loosed from Noah's
+storm-tossed ark. They walked, they strutted, they soared, they swam,
+and some came in through fire. One sprite climbed up to the moon on a
+ladder made of leaves and frozen dew-drops. A peacock with a great
+hooked bill flew in and out among the branches of a pomegranate-tree
+pecking the rosy fruit. He screamed so loud that Apollo turned in his
+chariot of flame and from his burnished bow shot golden arrows at him.
+This did not disturb the peacock in the least; for he spread his
+gem-like wings and flourished his wonderful, fire-tipped tail in the
+very face of the sun-god! Then came Venus--an exact copy of my own
+plaster cast--serene, calm-eyed, dancing "high and disposedly" like
+Queen Elizabeth, surrounded by a troop of lovely Cupids mounted on
+rose-tinted clouds, blown hither and thither by sweet winds, while all
+around danced flowers and streams and queer little Japanese cherry-trees
+in pots! They were followed by jovial Pan with green hair and jewelled
+sandals, and by his side--I could scarcely believe my eyes!--walked a
+modest nun counting her beads. At a little distance were seen three
+dancers arm-in-arm, a lean, starved platitude, a rosy, dimpled joke, and
+a steel-ribbed sermon on predestination. Close upon them came a whole
+string of Nights with wind-blown hair and Days with faggots on their
+backs. All at once I saw the ample figure of Life rise above the
+whirling mass holding a naked child in one hand and in the other a
+gleaming sword. A bear crouched at her feet, and all about her swirled
+and glowed a multitudinous host of tiny atoms which sang all together,
+"We are the will of God." Atom wedded atom, and chemical married
+chemical, and the cosmic dance went on in changing, changeless measure,
+until my head sang like a buzz-saw.
+
+Just as I was thinking I would leave this scene of phantoms and take a
+stroll in the quiet groves of Slumber I noticed a commotion near one of
+the entrances to my enchanted palace. It was evident from the whispering
+and buzzing that went round that more celebrities had arrived. The first
+personage I saw was Homer, blind no more, leading by a golden chain the
+white-beaked ships of the Achaians bobbing their heads and squawking
+like so many white swans. Plato and Mother Goose with the numerous
+children of the shoe came next. Simple Simon, Jill, and Jack who had had
+his head mended, and the cat that fell into the cream--all these danced
+in a giddy reel, while Plato solemnly discoursed on the laws of
+Topsyturvy Land. Then followed grim-visaged Calvin and "violet-crowned,
+sweet-smiling Sappho" who danced a Schottische. Aristophanes and Molière
+joined for a measure, both talking at once, Molière in Greek and
+Aristophanes in German. I thought this odd, because it occurred to me
+that German was a dead language before Aristophanes was born.
+Bright-eyed Shelley brought in a fluttering lark which burst into the
+song of Chaucer's chanticleer. Henry Esmond gave his hand in a stately
+minuet to Diana of the Crossways. He evidently did not understand her
+nineteenth century wit; for he did not laugh. Perhaps he had lost his
+taste for clever women. Anon Dante and Swedenborg came together
+conversing earnestly about things remote and mystical. Swedenborg said
+it was very warm. Dante replied that it might rain in the night.
+
+Suddenly there was a great clamour, and I found that "The Battle of the
+Books" had begun raging anew. Two figures entered in lively dispute. One
+was dressed in plain homespun and the other wore a scholar's gown over a
+suit of motley. I gathered from their conversation that they were Cotton
+Mather and William Shakspere. Mather insisted that the witches in
+"Macbeth" should be caught and hanged. Shakspere replied that the
+witches had already suffered enough at the hands of commentators. They
+were pushed aside by the twelve knights of the Round Table, who marched
+in bearing on a salver the goose that laid golden eggs. "The Pope's
+Mule" and "The Golden Bull" had a combat of history and fiction such as
+I had read of in books, but never before witnessed. These little animals
+were put to rout by a huge elephant which lumbered in with Rudyard
+Kipling riding high on its trunk. The elephant changed suddenly to "a
+rakish craft." (I do not know what a rakish craft is; but this was very
+rakish and very crafty.) It must have been abandoned long ago by wild
+pirates of the southern seas; for clinging to the rigging, and jovially
+cheering as the ship went down, I made out a man with blazing eyes, clad
+in a velveteen jacket. As the ship disappeared from sight, Falstaff
+rushed to the rescue of the lonely navigator--and stole his purse! But
+Miranda persuaded him to give it back. Stevenson said, "Who steals my
+purse steals trash." Falstaff laughed and called this a good joke, as
+good as any he had heard in his day.
+
+This was the signal for a rushing swarm of quotations. They surged to
+and fro, an inchoate throng of half finished phrases, mutilated
+sentences, parodied sentiments, and brilliant metaphors. I could not
+distinguish any phrases or ideas of my own making. I saw a poor, ragged,
+shrunken sentence that might have been mine own catch the wings of a
+fair idea with the light of genius shining like a halo about its head.
+
+Ever and anon the dancers changed partners without invitation or
+permission. Thoughts fell in love at sight, married in a measure, and
+joined hands without previous courtship. An incongruity is the wedding
+of two thoughts which have had no reasonable courtship, and marriages
+without wooing are apt to lead to domestic discord, even to the breaking
+up of an ancient, time-honoured family. Among the wedded couples were
+certain similes hitherto inviolable in their bachelorhood and
+spinsterhood, and held in great respect. Their extraordinary proceedings
+nearly broke up the dance. But the fatuity of their union was evident to
+them, and they parted. Other similes seemed to have the habit of living
+in discord. They had been many times married and divorced. They belonged
+to the notorious society of Mixed Metaphors.
+
+A company of phantoms floated in and out wearing tantalizing garments
+of oblivion. They seemed about to dance, then vanished. They reappeared
+half a dozen times, but never unveiled their faces. The imp Curiosity
+pulled Memory by the sleeve and said, "Why do they run away? 'Tis
+strange knavery!" Out ran Memory to capture them. After a great deal of
+racing and puffing and collision it apprehended some of the fugitives
+and brought them in. But when it tore off their masks, lo! some were
+disappointingly commonplace, and others were gipsy quotations trying to
+conceal the punctuation marks that belonged to them. Memory was much
+chagrined to have had such a hard chase only to catch this sorry lot of
+graceless rogues.
+
+Into the rabble strode four stately giants who called themselves
+History, Philosophy, Law, and Medicine. They seemed too solemn and
+imposing to join in a masque. But even as I gazed at these formidable
+guests, they all split into fragments which went whirling, dancing in
+divisions, subdivisions, re-subdivisions of scientific nonsense! History
+split into philology, ethnology, anthropology, and mythology, and these
+again split finer than the splitting of hairs. Each speciality hugged
+its bit of knowledge and waltzed it round and round. The rest of the
+company began to nod, and I felt drowsy myself. To put an end to the
+solemn gyrations, a troop of fairies mercifully waved poppies over us
+all, the masque faded, my head fell, and I started. Sleep had wakened
+me. At my elbow I found my old friend Bottom.
+
+"Bottom," I said, "I have had a dream past the wit of man to say what
+dream it was. Methought I was--there is no man can tell what. The eye of
+man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, his hand is not able
+to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report what my dream
+was."
+
+
+
+
+A CHANT OF DARKNESS
+
+
+
+
+A CHANT OF DARKNESS
+
+          "_My wings are folded o'er mine ears,
+            My wings are crossèd o'er mine eyes,
+            Yet through their silver shade appears,
+            And through their lulling plumes arise,
+            A Shape, a throng of sounds._"
+
+                     _Shelley's "Prometheus Unbound."_
+
+
+          I DARE not ask why we are reft of light,
+          Banished to our solitary isles amid the unmeasured seas,
+          Or how our sight was nurtured to glorious vision,
+          To fade and vanish and leave us in the dark alone.
+          The secret of God is upon our tabernacle;
+          Into His mystery I dare not pry. Only this I know:
+          With Him is strength, with Him is wisdom,
+          And His wisdom hath set darkness in our paths.
+         _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          O Dark! thou awful, sweet, and holy Dark!
+          In thy solemn spaces, beyond the human eye,
+          God fashioned His universe; laid the foundations of the earth,
+          Laid the measure thereof, and stretched the line upon it;
+          Shut up the sea with doors, and made the glory
+          Of the clouds a covering for it;
+          Commanded His morning, and, behold! chaos fled
+          Before the uplifted face of the sun;
+          Divided a water-course for the overflowing of waters;
+          Sent rain upon the earth--
+          Upon the wilderness wherein there was no man,
+          Upon the desert where grew no tender herb,
+          And, lo! there was greenness upon the plains,
+          And the hills were clothed with beauty!
+         _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          O Dark! thou secret and inscrutable Dark!
+          In thy silent depths, the springs whereof man hath not fathomed,
+          God wrought the soul of man.
+          O Dark! compassionate, all-knowing Dark!
+          Tenderly, as shadows to the evening, comes thy message to man.
+          Softly thou layest thy hand on his tired eyelids,
+          And his soul, weary and homesick, returns
+          Unto thy soothing embrace.
+         _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          O Dark! wise, vital, thought-quickening Dark!
+          In thy mystery thou hidest the light
+          That is the soul's life.
+          Upon thy solitary shores I walk unafraid;
+          I dread no evil; though I walk in the valley of the shadow,
+          I shall not know the ecstasy of fear
+          When gentle Death leads me through life's open door,
+          When the bands of night are sundered,
+          And the day outpours its light.
+         _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          The timid soul, fear-driven, shuns the dark;
+          But upon the cheeks of him who must abide in shadow
+          Breathes the wind of rushing angel-wings,
+          And round him falls a light from unseen fires.
+          Magical beams glow athwart the darkness;
+          Paths of beauty wind through his black world
+          To another world of light,
+          Where no veil of sense shuts him out from Paradise.
+          _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          O Dark! thou blessèd, quiet Dark!
+          To the lone exile who must dwell with thee
+          Thou art benign and friendly;
+          From the harsh world thou dost shut him in;
+          To him thou whisperest the secrets of the wondrous night;
+          Upon him thou bestowest regions wide and boundless as his spirit;
+          Thou givest a glory to all humble things;
+          With thy hovering pinions thou coverest all unlovely objects;
+          Under thy brooding wings there is peace.
+          _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+
+II
+
+          Once in regions void of light I wandered;
+          In blank darkness I stumbled,
+          And fear led me by the hand;
+          My feet pressed earthward,
+          Afraid of pitfalls.
+          By many shapeless terrors of the night affrighted,
+          To the wakeful day
+          I held out beseeching arms.
+
+          Then came Love, bearing in her hand
+          The torch that is the light unto my feet,
+          And softly spoke Love: "Hast thou
+          Entered into the treasures of darkness?
+          Hast thou entered into the treasures of the night?
+          Search out thy blindness. It holdeth
+          Riches past computing."
+
+          The words of Love set my spirit aflame.
+          My eager fingers searched out the mysteries,
+          The splendours, the inmost sacredness, of things,
+          And in the vacancies discerned
+          With spiritual sense the fullness of life;
+          And the gates of Day stood wide.
+
+          I am shaken with gladness;
+          My limbs tremble with joy;
+          My heart and the earth
+          Tremble with happiness;
+          The ecstasy of life
+          Is abroad in the world.
+
+          Knowledge hath uncurtained heaven;
+          On the uttermost shores of darkness there is light;
+          Midnight hath sent forth a beam!
+          The blind that stumbled in darkness without light
+          Behold a new day!
+          In the obscurity gleams the star of Thought;
+          Imagination hath a luminous eye,
+          And the mind hath a glorious vision.
+
+
+III
+
+          "The man is blind. What is life to him?
+          A closed book held up against a sightless face.
+          Would that he could see
+          Yon beauteous star, and know
+          For one transcendent moment
+          The palpitating joy of sight!"
+
+          All sight is of the soul.
+          Behold it in the upward flight
+          Of the unfettered spirit! Hast thou seen
+          Thought bloom in the blind child's face?
+          Hast thou seen his mind grow,
+          Like the running dawn, to grasp
+          The vision of the Master?
+          It was the miracle of inward sight.
+
+          In the realms of wonderment where I dwell
+          I explore life with my hands;
+          I recognize, and am happy;
+          My fingers are ever athirst for the earth,
+          And drink up its wonders with delight,
+          Draw out earth's dear delights;
+          My feet are charged with the murmur,
+          The throb, of all things that grow.
+
+          This is touch, this quivering,
+          This flame, this ether,
+          This glad rush of blood,
+          This daylight in my heart,
+          This glow of sympathy in my palms!
+          Thou blind, loving, all-prying touch,
+          Thou openest the book of life to me.
+
+          The noiseless little noises of the earth
+          Come with softest rustle;
+          The shy, sweet feet of life;
+          The silky mutter of moth-wings
+          Against my restraining palm;
+          The strident beat of insect-wings,
+          The silvery trickle of water;
+          Little breezes busy in the summer grass;
+          The music of crisp, whisking, scurrying leaves,
+          The swirling, wind-swept, frost-tinted leaves;
+          The crystal splash of summer rain,
+          Saturate with the odours of the sod.
+
+          With alert fingers I listen
+          To the showers of sound
+          That the wind shakes from the forest.
+          I bathe in the liquid shade
+          Under the pines, where the air hangs cool
+          After the shower is done.
+          My saucy little friend the squirrel
+          Flips my shoulder with his tail,
+          Leaps from leafy billow to leafy billow,
+          Returns to eat his breakfast from my hand.
+          Between us there is glad sympathy;
+          He gambols; my pulses dance;
+          I am exultingly full of the joy of life!
+
+          Have not my fingers split the sand
+          On the sun-flooded beach?
+          Hath not my naked body felt the water sing
+          When the sea hath enveloped it
+          With rippling music?
+          Have I not felt
+          The lilt of waves beneath my boat,
+          The flap of sail,
+          The strain of mast,
+          The wild rush
+          Of the lightning-charged winds?
+          Have I not smelt the swift, keen flight
+          Of winged odours before the tempest?
+          Here is joy awake, aglow;
+          Here is the tumult of the heart.
+
+          My hands evoke sight and sound out of feeling,
+          Intershifting the senses endlessly;
+          Linking motion with sight, odour with sound
+          They give colour to the honeyed breeze,
+          The measure and passion of a symphony
+          To the beat and quiver of unseen wings.
+          In the secrets of earth and sun and air
+          My fingers are wise;
+          They snatch light out of darkness,
+          They thrill to harmonies breathed in silence.
+
+          I walked in the stillness of the night,
+          And my soul uttered her gladness.
+          O Night, still, odorous Night, I love thee!
+          O wide, spacious Night, I love thee!
+          O steadfast, glorious Night!
+          I touch thee with my hands;
+          I lean against thy strength;
+          I am comforted.
+
+          O fathomless, soothing Night!
+          Thou art a balm to my restless spirit,
+          I nestle gratefully in thy bosom,
+          Dark, gracious mother!
+          Like a dove, I rest in thy bosom.
+          _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+
+
+
+                  PRINTED BY
+          WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.
+                   PLYMOUTH
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+Page 223, "similies" changed to "similes" (Other similes seemed)
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORLD I LIVE IN***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 27683-8.txt or 27683-8.zip *******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/6/8/27683
+
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://www.gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit:
+https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
diff --git a/old/27683-8.zip b/old/27683-8.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3cb71bd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-8.zip
diff --git a/old/27683-h.zip b/old/27683-h.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ea5a5c0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-h.zip
diff --git a/old/27683-h/27683-h.htm b/old/27683-h/27683-h.htm
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1461188
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-h/27683-h.htm
@@ -0,0 +1,5000 @@
+<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
+    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
+<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
+<head>
+<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" />
+<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The World I Live In, by Helen Keller</title>
+    <style type="text/css">
+/*<![CDATA[  XML blockout */
+<!--
+    p {margin-top: .75em;
+       text-align: justify;
+       text-indent: 1.25em;
+       margin-bottom: .75em;
+        }
+    img {border: 0;}
+    .tnote      {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em;
+                  padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;}
+    ins {text-decoration:none;  border-bottom: thin dotted gray;}
+    h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {
+         text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
+         clear: both;
+         }
+    hr { width: 33%;
+	 margin-top: 2em;
+	 margin-bottom: 2em;
+         margin-left: auto;
+         margin-right: auto;
+         clear: both;
+       }
+
+    table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;}
+
+    body{margin-left: 10%;
+         margin-right: 10%;
+        }
+
+    .pagenum  { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
+            /*  visibility: hidden;  */
+                position: absolute;
+                left: 92%;
+                font-size: smaller;
+                text-align: right;
+              } /* page numbers */
+     .copyright {text-align: center; font-size: 70%;}
+    .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;}
+
+    .bbox     {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em;
+                  padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;}
+
+    .center   {text-align: center;}
+    .smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
+
+    .caption  {font-weight: bold;}
+
+    .figcenter   {margin: auto; text-align: center;}
+
+    .figleft     {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top:
+                 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;}
+
+    .figright    {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;
+                 margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;}
+
+    .unindent {margin-top: .75em;
+       text-align: justify;
+       margin-bottom: .75em;
+        }
+    .right    {text-align: right;}
+    .poem      {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;}
+    .poem2   {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;}
+    .sig    {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;}
+    .u        {text-decoration: underline;}
+    .linenum  {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */
+    .sidenote {width: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em;
+               padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em;
+               float: right; clear: right; margin-top: 1em;
+               font-size: smaller; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: dashed 1px;}
+
+    .footnotes        {border: dashed 1px;}
+    .footnote         {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;}
+    .fnanchor         {vertical-align:baseline;
+        position: relative;
+        bottom: 0.33em;
+        font-size: .8em;
+        text-decoration: none;}
+    .hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;}
+.cap:first-letter {float: left; clear: left;
+  margin: -0.2em 0.1em  0; margin-top: 0%;
+  padding: 0;
+  line-height: .75em; font-size: 300%; text-align: justify;}
+  .cap {text-align: justify;}
+
+    hr.full { width: 100%;
+              margin-top: 3em;
+              margin-bottom: 0em;
+              margin-left: auto;
+              margin-right: auto;
+              height: 4px;
+              border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */
+              border-style: solid;
+              border-color: #000000;
+              clear: both; }
+    pre      {font-size: 85%;}
+    // -->
+    /* XML end  ]]>*/
+    </style>
+</head>
+<body>
+<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The World I Live In, by Helen Keller</h1>
+<pre>
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre>
+<p>Title: The World I Live In</p>
+<p>Author: Helen Keller</p>
+<p>Release Date: January 1, 2009  [eBook #27683]</p>
+<p>Language: English</p>
+<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p>
+<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORLD I LIVE IN***</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<h3>E-text prepared by David Clarke, Emmy,<br />
+    and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br />
+    (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p>
+
+<h1>THE WORLD I LIVE IN</h1>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p>
+<div class='bbox'>
+<h3>HELEN KELLER</h3>
+
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>"The autobiography of Helen Keller is unquestionably
+one of the most remarkable records ever
+published."&mdash;<i>British Weekly.</i></p>
+
+<p>"This book is a human document of intense
+interest, and without a parallel, we suppose, in
+the history of literature."&mdash;<i>Yorkshire Post.</i></p>
+
+<p>"Miss Keller's autobiography, well written and
+full of practical interest in all sides of life, literary,
+artistic and social, records an extraordinary victory
+over physical disabilities."&mdash;<i>Times.</i></p>
+
+<p>"This book is a record of the miraculous. No
+one can read it without being profoundly touched
+by the patience and devotion which brought the
+blind, deaf-mute child into touch with human life,
+without being filled with wonder at the quick
+intelligence which made such communication with
+the outside world possible."&mdash;<i>Queen.</i></p></div>
+
+<div class='center'>
+<i>Illustrated, price 7s. 6d.</i><br />
+<br />
+<span class="smcap">Popular Edition</span>, <i>net, 1s.</i><br />
+</div>
+
+<h3>The Story of My Life</h3>
+<div class='center'>
+By HELEN KELLER<br />
+&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />
+<big>The Practice of Optimism</big><br />
+<br />
+<i>Cloth, net, 1s. 6d.; paper, net, 1s.</i><br />
+&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />
+<span class="smcap">London: Hodder &amp; Stoughton, E.C.</span><br /></div>
+</div>
+
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class="figcenter" style="width: 377px;"><a name="front" id="front"></a>
+<img src="images/frontis.jpg" width="377" height="500" alt="Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio Helen Keller in Her Study" title="" />
+<span class="caption">Helen Keller in Her Study</span>
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<h2>THE WORLD I LIVE IN</h2>
+
+<h3>BY</h3>
+
+<h2>HELEN KELLER</h2>
+
+<div class='center'>AUTHOR OF "THE STORY OF MY LIFE," ETC.<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+ILLUSTRATED<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+<br />
+HODDER AND STOUGHTON<br />
+LONDON &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; NEW YORK &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp; TORONTO</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>
+
+
+<div class='copyright'><i>Copyright 1904, 1908, by The Century Co.</i></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='copyright'>
+TO<br />
+<br />
+<big>HENRY H. ROGERS</big><br />
+<br />
+MY DEAR FRIEND OF<br />
+<br />
+MANY YEARS<br /></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>PREFACE</h2>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THE essays and the poem in this book
+appeared originally in the "Century
+Magazine," the essays under the
+titles "A Chat About the Hand," "Sense
+and Sensibility," and "My Dreams."
+Mr. Gilder suggested the articles, and I
+thank him for his kind interest and encouragement.
+But he must also accept
+the responsibility which goes with my
+gratitude. For it is owing to his wish
+and that of other editors that I talk so
+much about myself.</div>
+
+<p>Every book is in a sense autobiographical.
+But while other self-recording
+creatures are permitted at least to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span>
+seem to change the subject, apparently
+nobody cares what I think of the tariff,
+the conservation of our natural resources,
+or the conflicts which revolve
+about the name of Dreyfus. If I offer
+to reform the education system of the
+world, my editorial friends say, "That is
+interesting. But will you please tell us
+what idea you had of goodness and
+beauty when you were six years old?"
+First they ask me to tell the life of the
+child who is mother to the woman.
+Then they make me my own daughter
+and ask for an account of grown-up
+sensations. Finally I am requested to
+write about my dreams, and thus I become
+an anachronical grandmother; for
+it is the special privilege of old age to
+relate dreams. The editors are so kind
+that they are no doubt right in thinking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span>
+that nothing I have to say about the
+affairs of the universe would be interesting.
+But until they give me opportunity
+to write about matters that are not-me,
+the world must go on uninstructed and
+unreformed, and I can only do my best
+with the one small subject upon which I
+am allowed to discourse.</p>
+
+<p>In "The Chant of Darkness" I did not
+intend to set up as a poet. I thought I
+was writing prose, except for the magnificent
+passage from Job which I was
+paraphrasing. But this part seemed to
+my friends to separate itself from the
+exposition, and I made it into a kind of
+poem.</p>
+
+<div class='sig'>
+H. K.<br /></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents">
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER I</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>&nbsp;</td><td align='right'><small>PAGE</small></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Seeing Hand</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER II</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Hands of Others</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER III</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Hand of the Race</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER IV</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Power of Touch</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_45">45</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER V</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span><span class="smcap">The Finer Vibrations</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER VI</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Smell, the Fallen Angel</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_77">77</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER VII</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Relative Values of the Senses</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER VIII</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Five-sensed World</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER IX</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Inward Visions</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER X</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Analogies in Sense Perception</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER X</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Before the Soul Dawn</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_141">141</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER XII</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[xiii]</a></span><span class="smcap">The Larger Sanctions</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER XIII</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Dream World</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER XIV</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Dreams and Reality</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='center'><br />CHAPTER XV</td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">A Waking Dream</span></td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_209">209</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'><br />A CHANT OF DARKNESS</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_229">229</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[xv]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Illustrations">
+<tr><td align='left'>HELEN KELLER IN HER STUDY</td><td align='right' colspan='3'><a href="#front"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE MEDALLION</td><td align='right'><i>Facing</i>&nbsp;</td><td align='right'><i>page</i>&nbsp;</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>"LISTENING" TO THE TREES</td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_70">70</a></td></tr>
+<tr><td align='left'>THE LITTLE BOY NEXT DOOR</td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='center'>"</td><td align='right'><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr>
+</table></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>THE SEEING HAND</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
+<h2>I</h2>
+
+<h3>THE SEEING HAND</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;HAVE just touched my dog. He was
+rolling on the grass, with pleasure in
+every muscle and limb. I wanted to
+catch a picture of him in my fingers, and
+I touched him as lightly as I would cobwebs;
+but lo, his fat body revolved,
+stiffened and solidified into an upright
+position, and his tongue gave my hand a
+lick! He pressed close to me, as if he
+were fain to crowd himself into my
+hand. He loved it with his tail, with his
+paw, with his tongue. If he could
+speak, I believe he would say with me
+that paradise is attained by touch; for
+in touch is all love and intelligence.</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>This small incident started me on a
+chat about hands, and if my chat is
+fortunate I have to thank my dog-star.
+In any case, it is pleasant to have something
+to talk about that no one else has
+monopolized; it is like making a new
+path in the trackless woods, blazing the
+trail where no foot has pressed before.
+I am glad to take you by the hand and
+lead you along an untrodden way into a
+world where the hand is supreme. But
+at the very outset we encounter a difficulty.
+You are so accustomed to light,
+I fear you will stumble when I try to
+guide you through the land of darkness
+and silence. The blind are not supposed
+to be the best of guides. Still, though I
+cannot warrant not to lose you, I promise
+that you shall not be led into fire or
+water, or fall into a deep pit. If you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
+will follow me patiently, you will find
+that "there's a sound so fine, nothing
+lives 'twixt it and silence," and that
+there is more meant in things than meets
+the eye.</p>
+
+<p>My hand is to me what your hearing
+and sight together are to you. In large
+measure we travel the same highways,
+read the same books, speak the same
+language, yet our experiences are different.
+All my comings and goings
+turn on the hand as on a pivot. It is the
+hand that binds me to the world of men
+and women. The hand is my feeler with
+which I reach through isolation and
+darkness and seize every pleasure, every
+activity that my fingers encounter. With
+the dropping of a little word from
+another's hand into mine, a slight flutter
+of the fingers, began the intelligence,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
+the joy, the fullness of my life. Like
+Job, I feel as if a hand had made me,
+fashioned me together round about and
+moulded my very soul.</p>
+
+<p>In all my experiences and thoughts I
+am conscious of a hand. Whatever
+moves me, whatever thrills me, is as a
+hand that touches me in the dark, and
+that touch is my reality. You might as
+well say that a sight which makes you
+glad, or a blow which brings the stinging
+tears to your eyes, is unreal as to say
+that those impressions are unreal which
+I have accumulated by means of touch.
+The delicate tremble of a butterfly's
+wings in my hand, the soft petals of
+violets curling in the cool folds of their
+leaves or lifting sweetly out of the
+meadow-grass, the clear, firm outline of
+face and limb, the smooth arch of a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
+horse's neck and the velvety touch of his
+nose&mdash;all these, and a thousand resultant
+combinations, which take shape in
+my mind, constitute my world.</p>
+
+<p>Ideas make the world we live in, and
+impressions furnish ideas. My world is
+built of touch-sensations, devoid of
+physical colour and sound; but without
+colour and sound it breathes and throbs
+with life. Every object is associated in
+my mind with tactual qualities which,
+combined in countless ways, give me a
+sense of power, of beauty, or of incongruity:
+for with my hands I can feel the
+comic as well as the beautiful in the
+outward appearance of things. Remember
+that you, dependent on your
+sight, do not realize how many things
+are tangible. All palpable things are
+mobile or rigid, solid or liquid, big or<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
+small, warm or cold, and these qualities
+are variously modified. The coolness of
+a water-lily rounding into bloom is different
+from the coolness of an evening
+wind in summer, and different again
+from the coolness of the rain that soaks
+into the hearts of growing things and
+gives them life and body. The velvet
+of the rose is not that of a ripe peach
+or of a baby's dimpled cheek. The
+hardness of the rock is to the hardness
+of wood what a man's deep bass
+is to a woman's voice when it is low.
+What I call beauty I find in certain
+combinations of all these qualities, and
+is largely derived from the flow of
+curved and straight lines which is over
+all things.</p>
+
+<p>"What does the straight line mean to
+you?" I think you will ask.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It <i>means</i> several things. It symbolizes
+duty. It seems to have the quality
+of inexorableness that duty has. When
+I have something to do that must not be
+set aside, I feel as if I were going forward
+in a straight line, bound to arrive
+somewhere, or go on forever without
+swerving to the right or to the left.</p>
+
+<p>That is what it means. To escape this
+moralizing you should ask, "How does
+the straight line feel?" It feels, as I
+suppose it looks, straight&mdash;a dull
+thought drawn out endlessly. Eloquence
+to the touch resides not in
+straight lines, but in unstraight lines, or
+in many curved and straight lines
+together. They appear and disappear,
+are now deep, now shallow, now broken
+off or lengthened or swelling. They
+rise and sink beneath my fingers, they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
+are full of sudden starts and pauses, and
+their variety is inexhaustible and wonderful.
+So you see I am not shut out
+from the region of the beautiful, though
+my hand cannot perceive the brilliant
+colours in the sunset or on the mountain,
+or reach into the blue depths of the sky.</p>
+
+<p>Physics tells me that I am well
+off in a world which, I am told, knows
+neither cold nor sound, but is made in
+terms of size, shape, and inherent
+qualities; for at least every object
+appears to my fingers standing solidly
+right side up, and is not an inverted
+image on the retina which, I understand,
+your brain is at infinite though
+unconscious labour to set back on
+its feet. A tangible object passes complete
+into my brain with the warmth of
+life upon it, and occupies the same place<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
+that it does in space; for, without egotism,
+the mind is as large as the universe.
+When I think of hills, I think of the upward
+strength I tread upon. When
+water is the object of my thought, I feel
+the cool shock of the plunge and the
+quick yielding of the waves that crisp
+and curl and ripple about my body. The
+pleasing changes of rough and smooth,
+pliant and rigid, curved and straight in
+the bark and branches of a tree give the
+truth to my hand. The immovable rock,
+with its juts and warped surface, bends
+beneath my fingers into all manner of
+grooves and hollows. The bulge of a
+watermelon and the puffed-up rotundities
+of squashes that sprout, bud, and
+ripen in that strange garden planted
+somewhere behind my finger-tips are
+the ludicrous in my tactual memory and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
+imagination. My fingers are tickled to
+delight by the soft ripple of a baby's
+laugh, and find amusement in the lusty
+crow of the barnyard autocrat. Once I
+had a pet rooster that used to perch on
+my knee and stretch his neck and crow.
+A bird in my hand was then worth two
+in the&mdash;barnyard.</p>
+
+<p>My fingers cannot, of course, get the
+impression of a large whole at a glance;
+but I feel the parts, and my mind puts
+them together. I move around my
+house, touching object after object in
+order, before I can form an idea of the
+entire house. In other people's houses I
+can touch only what is shown to me&mdash;the
+chief objects of interest, carvings on the
+wall, or a curious architectural feature,
+exhibited like the family album. Therefore
+a house with which I am not familiar<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
+has for me, at first, no general effect
+or harmony of detail. It is not a complete
+conception, but a collection of
+object-impressions which, as they come
+to me, are disconnected and isolated.
+But my mind is full of associations, sensations,
+theories, and with them it constructs
+the house. The process reminds
+me of the building of Solomon's temple,
+where was neither saw, nor hammer, nor
+any tool heard while the stones were
+being laid one upon another. The
+silent worker is imagination which decrees
+reality out of chaos.</p>
+
+<p>Without imagination what a poor
+thing my world would be! My garden
+would be a silent patch of earth strewn
+with sticks of a variety of shapes and
+smells. But when the eye of my mind
+is opened to its beauty, the bare ground<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
+brightens beneath my feet, and the
+hedge-row bursts into leaf, and the rose-tree
+shakes its fragrance everywhere. I
+know how budding trees look, and I
+enter into the amorous joy of the mating
+birds, and this is the miracle of imagination.</p>
+
+<p>Twofold is the miracle when, through
+my fingers, my imagination reaches
+forth and meets the imagination of an
+artist which he has embodied in a sculptured
+form. Although, compared with
+the life-warm, mobile face of a friend,
+the marble is cold and pulseless and unresponsive,
+yet it is beautiful to my
+hand. Its flowing curves and bendings
+are a real pleasure; only breath is
+wanting; but under the spell of the
+imagination the marble thrills and becomes
+the divine reality of the ideal.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
+Imagination puts a sentiment into every
+line and curve, and the statue in my touch
+is indeed the goddess herself who breathes
+and moves and enchants.</p>
+
+<p>It is true, however, that some sculptures,
+even recognized masterpieces, do
+not please my hand. When I touch
+what there is of the Winged Victory,
+it reminds me at first of a headless, limbless
+dream that flies towards me in an
+unrestful sleep. The garments of the
+Victory thrust stiffly out behind, and do
+not resemble garments that I have felt
+flying, fluttering, folding, spreading in
+the wind. But imagination fulfils these
+imperfections, and straightway the Victory
+becomes a powerful and spirited
+figure with the sweep of sea-winds in
+her robes and the splendour of conquest
+in her wings.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I find in a beautiful statue perfection
+of bodily form, the qualities
+of balance and completeness. The
+Minerva, hung with a web of poetical
+allusion, gives me a sense of exhilaration
+that is almost physical; and I like the
+luxuriant, wavy hair of Bacchus and
+Apollo, and the wreath of ivy, so suggestive
+of pagan holidays.</p>
+
+<p>So imagination crowns the experience
+of my hands. And they learned their
+cunning from the wise hand of another,
+which, itself guided by imagination, led
+me safely in paths that I knew not,
+made darkness light before me, and
+made crooked ways straight.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE HANDS OF OTHERS</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
+<h2>II</h2>
+
+<h3>THE HANDS OF OTHERS</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THE warmth and protectiveness of
+the hand are most homefelt to me
+who have always looked to it for aid and
+joy. I understand perfectly how the
+Psalmist can lift up his voice with
+strength and gladness, singing, "I put
+my trust in the Lord at all times, and
+his hand shall uphold me, and I shall
+dwell in safety." In the strength of the
+human hand, too, there is something
+divine. I am told that the glance of a
+beloved eye thrills one from a distance;
+but there is no distance in the touch of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
+a beloved hand. Even the letters I receive
+are&mdash;</div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Kind letters that betray the heart's deep history,<br />
+In which we feel the presence of a hand.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p>It is interesting to observe the differences
+in the hands of people. They
+show all kinds of vitality, energy, stillness,
+and cordiality. I never realized
+how living the hand is until I saw those
+chill plaster images in Mr. Hutton's
+collection of casts. The hand I know in
+life has the fullness of blood in its veins,
+and is elastic with spirit. How different
+dear Mr. Hutton's hand was from its
+dull, insensate image! To me the cast
+lacks the very form of the hand. Of
+the many casts in Mr. Hutton's collection
+I did not recognize any, not even<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
+my own. But a loving hand I never
+forget. I remember in my fingers the
+large hands of Bishop Brooks, brimful
+of tenderness and a strong man's joy.
+If you were deaf and blind, and could
+have held Mr. Jefferson's hand, you
+would have seen in it a face and heard a
+kind voice unlike any other you have
+known. Mark Twain's hand is full of
+whimsies and the drollest humours, and
+while you hold it the drollery changes to
+sympathy and championship.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 285px;">
+<img src="images/fp22.jpg" width="285" height="500" alt="Copyright, 1907, by the Whitman Studio The Medallion The bas-relief on the wall is a portrait of the Queen Dowager of Spain, which Her Majesty had made for Miss Keller To face page 22" title="" />
+<span class="caption">The Medallion<br />The bas-relief on the wall is a portrait of the Queen Dowager of Spain, which Her Majesty had made for Miss Keller<br /><small><span style="margin-left: 12em;">To face page 22</span></small></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>I am told that the words I have just
+written do not "describe" the hands of
+my friends, but merely endow them with
+the kindly human qualities which I
+know they possess, and which language
+conveys in abstract words. The criticism
+implies that I am not giving the
+primary truth of what I feel; but how<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
+otherwise do descriptions in books I
+read, written by men who can see, render
+the visible look of a face? I read
+that a face is strong, gentle; that it is
+full of patience, of intellect; that it is
+fine, sweet, noble, beautiful. Have I
+not the same right to use these words in
+describing what I feel as you have in
+describing what you see? They express
+truly what I feel in the hand. I am seldom
+conscious of physical qualities, and
+I do not remember whether the fingers
+of a hand are short or long, or the skin
+is moist or dry. No more can you, without
+conscious effort, recall the details of
+a face, even when you have seen it many
+times. If you do recall the features,
+and say that an eye is blue, a chin sharp,
+a nose short, or a cheek sunken, I fancy
+that you do not succeed well in giving<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
+the impression of the person,&mdash;not so
+well as when you interpret at once to the
+heart the essential moral qualities of
+the face&mdash;its humour, gravity, sadness,
+spirituality. If I should tell you in physical
+terms how a hand feels, you would
+be no wiser for my account than a blind
+man to whom you describe a face in detail.
+Remember that when a blind man
+recovers his sight, he does not recognize
+the commonest thing that has been familiar
+to his touch, the dearest face intimate
+to his fingers, and it does not help
+him at all that things and people have
+been described to him again and again.
+So you, who are untrained of touch, do
+not recognize a hand by the grasp; and
+so, too, any description I might give
+would fail to make you acquainted with
+a friendly hand which my fingers have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
+often folded about, and which my affection
+translates to my memory.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot describe hands under any
+class or type; there is no democracy of
+hands. Some hands tell me that they do
+everything with the maximum of bustle
+and noise. Other hands are fidgety and
+unadvised, with nervous, fussy fingers
+which indicate a nature sensitive to the
+little pricks of daily life. Sometimes I
+recognize with foreboding the kindly
+but stupid hand of one who tells with
+many words news that is no news. I
+have met a bishop with a jocose hand, a
+humourist with a hand of leaden gravity,
+a man of pretentious valour with a
+timorous hand, and a quiet, apologetic
+man with a fist of iron. When I was
+a little girl I was taken to see<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> a woman<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
+who was blind and paralysed. I shall
+never forget how she held out her small,
+trembling hand and pressed sympathy
+into mine. My eyes fill with tears as I
+think of her. The weariness, pain, darkness,
+and sweet patience were all to be
+felt in her thin, wasted, groping, loving
+hand.</p>
+
+<p>Few people who do not know me will
+understand, I think, how much I get of
+the mood of a friend who is engaged in
+oral conversation with somebody else.
+My hand follows his motions; I touch
+his hand, his arm, his face. I can tell
+when he is full of glee over a good joke
+which has not been repeated to me, or
+when he is telling a lively story. One<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
+of my friends is rather aggressive, and
+his hand always announces the coming
+of a dispute. By his impatient jerk I
+know he has argument ready for some
+one. I have felt him start as a sudden
+recollection or a new idea shot through
+his mind. I have felt grief in his hand.
+I have felt his soul wrap itself in darkness
+majestically as in a garment. Another
+friend has positive, emphatic hands
+which show great pertinacity of opinion.
+She is the only person I know who
+emphasizes her spelled words and accents
+them as she emphasizes and accents
+her spoken words when I read her lips. I
+like this varied emphasis better than
+the monotonous pound of unmodulated
+people who hammer their meaning into
+my palm.</p>
+
+<p>Some hands, when they clasp yours,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>
+beam and bubble over with gladness.
+They throb and expand with life.
+Strangers have clasped my hand like
+that of a long-lost sister. Other people
+shake hands with me as if with the fear
+that I may do them mischief. Such persons
+hold out civil finger-tips which they
+permit you to touch, and in the moment
+of contract they retreat, and inwardly
+you hope that you will not be called
+upon again to take that hand of "dormouse
+valour." It betokens a prudish
+mind, ungracious pride, and not seldom
+mistrust. It is the antipode to the
+hand of those who have large, lovable
+natures.</p>
+
+<p>The handshake of some people makes
+you think of accident and sudden death.
+Contrast this ill-boding hand with the
+quick, skilful, quiet hand of a nurse<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
+whom I remember with affection because
+she took the best care of my
+teacher. I have clasped the hands of
+some rich people that spin not and toil
+not, and yet are not beautiful. Beneath
+their soft, smooth roundness what a
+chaos of undeveloped character!</p>
+
+<p>I am sure there is no hand comparable
+to the physician's in patient skill, merciful
+gentleness and splendid certainty.
+No wonder that Ruskin finds in the sure
+strokes of the surgeon the perfection of
+control and delicate precision for the
+artist to emulate. If the physician is a
+man of great nature, there will be healing
+for the spirit in his touch. This
+magic touch of well-being was in the
+hand of a dear friend of mine who was
+our doctor in sickness and health. His
+happy cordial spirit did his patients<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
+good whether they needed medicine or
+not.</p>
+
+<p>As there are many beauties of the face,
+so the beauties of the hand are many.
+Touch has its ecstasies. The hands
+of people of strong individuality and
+sensitiveness are wonderfully mobile.
+In a glance of their finger-tips they
+express many shades of thought. Now
+and again I touch a fine, graceful,
+supple-wristed hand which spells with
+the same beauty and distinction that you
+must see in the handwriting of some
+highly cultivated people. I wish you
+could see how prettily little children
+spell in my hand. They are wild flowers
+of humanity, and their finger motions
+wild flowers of speech.</p>
+
+<p>All this is my private science of
+palmistry, and when I tell your fortune<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
+it is by no mysterious intuition or gipsy
+witchcraft, but by natural, explicable
+recognition of the embossed character in
+your hand. Not only is the hand as easy
+to recognize as the face, but it reveals its
+secrets more openly and unconsciously.
+People control their countenances, but
+the hand is under no such restraint. It
+relaxes and becomes listless when the
+spirit is low and dejected; the muscles
+tighten when the mind is excited or the
+heart glad; and permanent qualities
+stand written on it all the time.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE HAND OF THE RACE</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
+<h2>III</h2>
+
+<h3>THE HAND OF THE RACE</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>LOOK in your "Century Dictionary," or
+if you are blind, ask your teacher
+to do it for you, and learn how many
+idioms are made on the idea of hand,
+and how many words are formed from
+the Latin root <i>manus</i>&mdash;enough words to
+name all the essential affairs of life.
+"Hand," with quotations and compounds,
+occupies twenty-four columns,
+eight pages of this dictionary. The
+hand is defined as "the organ of apprehension."
+How perfectly the definition
+fits my case in both senses of the word
+"apprehend"! With my hand I seize<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
+and hold all that I find in the three
+worlds&mdash;physical, intellectual, and spiritual.</div>
+
+<p>Think how man has regarded the
+world in terms of the hand. All life is
+divided between what lies <i>on one hand</i>
+and on the other. The products of skill
+are <i>manu</i>factures. The conduct of affairs
+is <i>man</i>agement. History seems to
+be the record&mdash;alas for our chronicles of
+war!&mdash;of the <i>man</i>&#339;uvres of armies.
+But the history of peace, too, the narrative
+of labour in the field, the forest, and
+the vineyard, is written in the victorious
+sign <i>manual</i>&mdash;the sign of the hand that
+has conquered the wilderness. The
+labourer himself is called a <i>hand</i>. In
+<i>man</i>acle and <i>manu</i>mission we read the
+story of human slavery and freedom.</p>
+
+<p>The minor idioms are myriad; but I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span>
+will not recall too many, lest you cry,
+"Hands off!" I cannot desist, however,
+from this word-game until I have set
+down a few. Whatever is not one's own
+by first possession is <i>second-hand</i>. That
+is what I am told my knowledge is. But
+my well-meaning friends come to my
+defence, and, not content with endowing
+me with natural <i>first-hand</i> knowledge
+which is rightfully mine, ascribe to me
+a preternatural sixth sense and credit to
+miracles and heaven-sent compensations
+all that I have won and discovered with
+my good right hand. And with my left
+hand too; for with that I read, and it is
+as true and honourable as the other. By
+what half-development of human power
+has the left hand been neglected?
+When we arrive at the acme of civilization
+shall we not all be ambidextrous,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
+and in our <i>hand-to-hand</i> contests against
+difficulties shall we not be doubly triumphant?
+It occurs to me, by the way,
+that when my teacher was training my
+unreclaimed spirit, her struggle against
+the powers of darkness, with the stout
+arm of discipline and the light of the
+manual alphabet, was in two senses a
+hand-to-hand conflict.</p>
+
+<p>No essay would be complete without
+quotations from Shakspere. In the
+field which, in the presumption of my
+youth, I thought was my own he has
+reaped before me. In almost every
+play there are passages where the hand
+plays a part. Lady Macbeth's heart-broken
+soliloquy over her little hand,
+from which all the perfumes of Arabia
+will not wash the stain, is the most pitiful
+moment in the tragedy. Mark Antony<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span>
+rewards Scarus, the bravest of his soldiers,
+by asking Cleopatra to give him her hand:
+"Commend unto his lips thy favouring
+hand." In a different mood he
+is enraged because Thyreus, whom he
+despises, has presumed to kiss the
+hand of the queen, "my playfellow,
+the kingly seal of high hearts."
+When Cleopatra is threatened with the
+humiliation of gracing C&aelig;sar's triumph,
+she snatches a dagger, exclaiming,
+"I will trust my resolution and my
+good hands." With the same swift instinct,
+Cassius trusts to his hands when
+he stabs C&aelig;sar: "Speak, hands, for me!"
+"Let me kiss your hand," says the blind
+Gloster to Lear. "Let me wipe it first,"
+replies the broken old king; "it smells of
+mortality." How charged is this single
+touch with sad meaning! How it opens<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
+our eyes to the fearful purging Lear
+has undergone, to learn that royalty is
+no defence against ingratitude and
+cruelty! Gloster's exclamation about
+his son, "Did I but live to see thee in my
+touch, I'd say I had eyes again," is as
+true to a pulse within me as the grief he
+feels. The ghost in "Hamlet" recites the
+wrongs from which springs the tragedy:</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand.<br />
+At once of life, of crown, of queen dispatch'd.<br />
+</div>
+
+<p>How that passage in "Othello" stops
+your breath&mdash;that passage full of bitter
+double intention in which Othello's suspicion
+tips with evil what he says about
+Desdemona's hand; and she in innocence
+answers only the innocent meaning of
+his words: "For 'twas that hand that
+gave away my heart."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Not all Shakspere's great passages
+about the hand are tragic. Remember
+the light play of words in "Romeo and
+Juliet" where the dialogue, flying nimbly
+back and forth, weaves a pretty
+sonnet about the hand. And who knows
+the hand, if not the lover?</p>
+
+<p>The touch of the hand is in every
+chapter of the Bible. Why, you could
+almost rewrite Exodus as the story of
+the hand. Everything is done by the
+hand of the Lord and of Moses. The
+oppression of the Hebrews is translated
+thus: "The hand of Pharaoh was heavy
+upon the Hebrews." Their departure
+out of the land is told in these vivid
+words: "The Lord brought the children
+of Israel out of the house of bondage
+with a strong hand and a stretched-out
+arm." At the stretching out of the hand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
+of Moses the waters of the Red Sea part
+and stand all on a heap. When the
+Lord lifts his hand in anger, thousands
+perish in the wilderness. Every act,
+every decree in the history of Israel, as
+indeed in the history of the human race,
+is sanctioned by the hand. Is it not used
+in the great moments of swearing, blessing,
+cursing, smiting, agreeing, marrying,
+building, destroying? Its sacredness
+is in the law that no sacrifice is valid
+unless the sacrificer lay his hand upon
+the head of the victim. The congregation
+lay their hands on the heads of those
+who are sentenced to death. How
+terrible the dumb condemnation of their
+hands must be to the condemned!
+When Moses builds the altar on Mount
+Sinai, he is commanded to use no tool,
+but rear it with his own hands. Earth,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
+sea, sky, man, and all lower animals are
+holy unto the Lord because he has
+formed them with his hand. When the
+Psalmist considers the heavens and the
+earth, he exclaims: "What is man, O
+Lord, that thou art mindful of him?
+For thou hast made him to have dominion
+over the works of thy hands." The supplicating
+gesture of the hand always accompanies
+the spoken prayer, and with
+clean hands goes the pure heart.</p>
+
+<p>Christ comforted and blessed and
+healed and wrought many miracles with
+his hands. He touched the eyes of the
+blind, and they were opened. When
+Jairus sought him, overwhelmed with
+grief, Jesus went and laid his hands on
+the ruler's daughter, and she awoke
+from the sleep of death to her father's
+love. You also remember how he healed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
+the crooked woman. He said to her,
+"Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity,"
+and he laid his hands on her,
+and immediately she was made straight,
+and she glorified God.</p>
+
+<p>Look where we will, we find the hand
+in time and history, working, building,
+inventing, bringing civilization out of
+barbarism. The hand symbolizes power
+and the excellence of work. The mechanic's
+hand, that minister of elemental
+forces, the hand that hews, saws, cuts,
+builds, is useful in the world equally
+with the delicate hand that paints a wild
+flower or moulds a Grecian urn, or the
+hand of a statesman that writes a law.
+The eye cannot say to the hand, "I have
+no need of thee." Blessed be the hand!
+Thrice blessed be the hands that work!</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE POWER OF TOUCH</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p>
+<h2>IV</h2>
+
+<h3>THE POWER OF TOUCH</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>SOME months ago, in a newspaper
+which announced the publication of
+the "Matilda Ziegler Magazine for the
+Blind," appeared the following paragraph:</div>
+
+<p>"Many poems and stories must be
+omitted because they deal with sight.
+Allusion to moonbeams, rainbows, starlight,
+clouds, and beautiful scenery may
+not be printed, because they serve to
+emphasize the blind man's sense of his
+affliction."</p>
+
+<p>That is to say, I may not talk about
+beautiful mansions and gardens because<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
+I am poor. I may not read about Paris
+and the West Indies because I cannot
+visit them in their territorial reality. I
+may not dream of heaven because it is
+possible that I may never go there. Yet
+a venturesome spirit impels me to use
+words of sight and sound whose meaning
+I can guess only from analogy and
+fancy. This hazardous game is half the
+delight, the frolic, of daily life. I glow
+as I read of splendours which the eye
+alone can survey. Allusions to moonbeams
+and clouds do not emphasize the
+sense of my affliction: they carry my
+soul beyond affliction's narrow actuality.</p>
+
+<p>Critics delight to tell us what we cannot
+do. They assume that blindness and
+deafness sever us completely from the
+things which the seeing and the hearing
+enjoy, and hence they assert we have no<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
+moral right to talk about beauty, the
+skies, mountains, the song of birds, and
+colours. They declare that the very sensations
+we have from the sense of touch
+are "vicarious," as though our friends
+felt the sun for us! They deny <i>a priori</i>
+what they have not seen and I have felt.
+Some brave doubters have gone so far
+even as to deny my existence. In order,
+therefore, that I may know that I exist,
+I resort to Descartes's method: "I
+think, therefore I am." Thus I am metaphysically
+established, and I throw upon
+the doubters the burden of proving my
+non-existence. When we consider how
+little has been found out about the mind,
+is it not amazing that any one should presume
+to define what one can know or
+cannot know? I admit that there are
+innumerable marvels in the visible universe<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
+unguessed by me. Likewise, O
+confident critic, there are a myriad sensations
+perceived by me of which you do
+not dream.</p>
+
+<p>Necessity gives to the eye a precious
+power of seeing, and in the same way it
+gives a precious power of feeling to the
+whole body. Sometimes it seems as if
+the very substance of my flesh were so
+many eyes looking out at will upon a
+world new created every day. The
+silence and darkness which are said to
+shut me in, open my door most hospitably
+to countless sensations that distract,
+inform, admonish, and amuse.
+With my three trusty guides, touch,
+smell, and taste, I make many excursions
+into the borderland of experience
+which is in sight of the city of Light.
+Nature accommodates itself to every<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
+man's necessity. If the eye is maimed,
+so that it does not see the beauteous face
+of day, the touch becomes more poignant
+and discriminating. Nature proceeds
+through practice to strengthen
+and augment the remaining senses.
+For this reason the blind often hear with
+greater ease and distinctness than other
+people. The sense of smell becomes
+almost a new faculty to penetrate the
+tangle and vagueness of things. Thus,
+according to an immutable law, the
+senses assist and reinforce one another.</p>
+
+<p>It is not for me to say whether we see
+best with the hand or the eye. I only
+know that the world I see with my
+fingers is alive, ruddy, and satisfying.
+Touch brings the blind many sweet certainties
+which our more fortunate fellows
+miss, because their sense of touch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span>
+is uncultivated. When they look at
+things, they put their hands in their
+pockets. No doubt that is one reason
+why their knowledge is often so vague,
+inaccurate, and useless. It is probable,
+too, that our knowledge of phenomena
+beyond the reach of the hand is equally
+imperfect. But, at all events, we behold
+them through a golden mist of fantasy.</p>
+
+<p>There is nothing, however, misty or
+uncertain about what we can touch.
+Through the sense of touch I know the
+faces of friends, the illimitable variety
+of straight and curved lines, all surfaces,
+the exuberance of the soil, the delicate
+shapes of flowers, the noble forms of
+trees, and the range of mighty winds.
+Besides objects, surfaces, and atmospherical
+changes, I perceive countless
+vibrations. I derive much knowledge<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
+of everyday matter from the jars and
+jolts which are to be felt everywhere in
+the house.</p>
+
+<p>Footsteps, I discover, vary tactually
+according to the age, the sex, and the
+manners of the walker. It is impossible
+to mistake a child's patter for the tread
+of a grown person. The step of the
+young man, strong and free, differs
+from the heavy, sedate tread of the
+middle-aged, and from the step of the old
+man, whose feet drag along the floor, or
+beat it with slow, faltering accents. On
+a bare floor a girl walks with a rapid,
+elastic rhythm which is quite distinct
+from the graver step of the elderly
+woman. I have laughed over the creak
+of new shoes and the clatter of a stout
+maid performing a jig in the kitchen.
+One day, in the dining-room of an hotel,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span>
+a tactual dissonance arrested my attention.
+I sat still and listened with my
+feet. I found that two waiters were
+walking back and forth, but not with
+the same gait. A band was playing,
+and I could feel the music-waves along
+the floor. One of the waiters walked in
+time to the band, graceful and light,
+while the other disregarded the music
+and rushed from table to table to the
+beat of some discord in his own
+mind. Their steps reminded me of a
+spirited war-steed harnessed with a cart-horse.</p>
+
+<p>Often footsteps reveal in some measure
+the character and the mood of the
+walker. I feel in them firmness and indecision,
+hurry and deliberation, activity
+and laziness, fatigue, carelessness, timidity,
+anger, and sorrow. I am most<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span>
+conscious of these moods and traits in
+persons with whom I am familiar.</p>
+
+<p>Footsteps are frequently interrupted
+by certain jars and jerks, so that I know
+when one kneels, kicks, shakes something,
+sits down, or gets up. Thus I
+follow to some extent the actions of people
+about me and the changes of their
+postures. Just now a thick, soft patter
+of bare, padded feet and a slight jolt
+told me that my dog had jumped on the
+chair to look out of the window. I do
+not, however, allow him to go uninvestigated;
+for occasionally I feel the same
+motion, and find him, not on the chair,
+but trespassing on the sofa.</p>
+
+<p>When a carpenter works in the house
+or in the barn near by, I know by the
+slanting, up-and-down, toothed vibration,
+and the ringing concussion of blow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
+upon blow, that he is sawing or hammering.
+If I am near enough, a certain
+vibration, travelling back and forth
+along a wooden surface, brings me the
+information that he is using a plane.</p>
+
+<p>A slight flutter on the rug tells me
+that a breeze has blown my papers off
+the table. A round thump is a signal
+that a pencil has rolled on the floor. If
+a book falls, it gives a flat thud. A
+wooden rap on the balustrade announces
+that dinner is ready. Many of these
+vibrations are obliterated out of doors.
+On a lawn or the road, I can feel only
+running, stamping, and the rumble of
+wheels.</p>
+
+<p>By placing my hand on a person's lips
+and throat, I gain an idea of many specific
+vibrations, and interpret them: a
+boy's chuckle, a man's "Whew!" of surprise,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
+the "Hem!" of annoyance or perplexity,
+the moan of pain, a scream, a
+whisper, a rasp, a sob, a choke, and a
+gasp. The utterances of animals, though
+wordless, are eloquent to me&mdash;the cat's
+purr, its mew, its angry, jerky, scolding
+spit; the dog's bow-wow of
+warning or of joyous welcome, its yelp
+of despair, and its contented snore; the
+cow's moo; a monkey's chatter; the
+snort of a horse; the lion's roar, and the
+terrible snarl of the tiger. Perhaps I
+ought to add, for the benefit of the critics
+and doubters who may peruse this essay,
+that with my own hands I have felt all
+these sounds. From my childhood to
+the present day I have availed myself
+of every opportunity to visit zoological
+gardens, menageries, and the circus, and
+all the animals, except the tiger, have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span>
+talked into my hand. I have touched
+the tiger only in a museum, where he is
+as harmless as a lamb. I have, however,
+heard him talk by putting my hand on
+the bars of his cage. I have touched
+several lions in the flesh, and felt them
+roar royally, like a cataract over rocks.</p>
+
+<p>To continue, I know the <i>plop</i> of liquid
+in a pitcher. So if I spill my milk, I
+have not the excuse of ignorance. I am
+also familiar with the pop of a cork, the
+sputter of a flame, the tick-tack of the
+clock, the metallic swing of the windmill,
+the laboured rise and fall of the
+pump, the voluminous spurt of the hose,
+the deceptive tap of the breeze at door
+and window, and many other vibrations
+past computing.</p>
+
+<p>There are tactual vibrations which do
+not belong to skin-touch. They penetrate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span>
+the skin, the nerves, the bones, like
+pain, heat, and cold. The beat of a
+drum smites me through from the chest
+to the shoulder-blades. The din of the
+train, the bridge, and grinding machinery
+retains its "old-man-of-the-sea"
+grip upon me long after its cause has
+been left behind. If vibration and motion
+combine in my touch for any length
+of time, the earth seems to run away
+while I stand still. When I step off the
+train, the platform whirls round, and I
+find it difficult to walk steadily.</p>
+
+<p>Every atom of my body is a vibroscope.
+But my sensations are not infallible.
+I reach out, and my fingers
+meet something furry, which jumps
+about, gathers itself together as if to
+spring, and acts like an animal. I pause
+a moment for caution. I touch it again<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span>
+more firmly, and find it is a fur coat fluttering
+and flapping in the wind. To
+me, as to you, the earth seems motionless,
+and the sun appears to move; for
+the rays of the afternoon withdraw more
+and more, as they touch my face, until
+the air becomes cool. From this I
+understand how it is that the shore seems
+to recede as you sail away from it.
+Hence I feel no incredulity when you
+say that parallel lines appear to converge,
+and the earth and sky to meet.
+My few senses long ago revealed to me
+their imperfections and deceptivity.</p>
+
+<p>Not only are the senses deceptive, but
+numerous usages in our language indicate
+that people who have five senses
+find it difficult to keep their functions
+distinct. I understand that we hear
+views, see tones, taste music. I am told<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
+that voices have colour. Tact, which I
+have supposed to be a matter of nice perception,
+turns out to be a matter of
+taste. Judging from the large use of
+the word, taste appears to be the most
+important of all the senses. Taste governs
+the great and small conventions of
+life. Certainly the language of the
+senses is full of contradictions, and my
+fellows who have five doors to their house
+are not more surely at home in themselves
+than I. May I not, then, be
+excused if this account of my sensations
+lacks precision?</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE FINER VIBRATIONS</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
+<h2>V</h2>
+
+<h3>THE FINER VIBRATIONS</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;HAVE spoken of the numerous jars
+and jolts which daily minister to my
+faculties. The loftier and grander vibrations
+which appeal to my emotions
+are varied and abundant. I listen with
+awe to the roll of the thunder and the
+muffled avalanche of sound when the sea
+flings itself upon the shore. And I love
+the instrument by which all the diapasons
+of the ocean are caught and released in
+surging floods&mdash;the many-voiced organ.
+If music could be seen, I could point
+where the organ-notes go, as they rise
+and fall, climb up and up, rock and
+sway, now loud and deep, now high and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>
+stormy, anon soft and solemn, with
+lighter vibrations interspersed between
+and running across them. I should say
+that organ-music fills to an ecstasy the act
+of feeling.</div>
+
+<p>There is tangible delight in other instruments,
+too. The violin seems beautifully
+alive as it responds to the lightest
+wish of the master. The distinction between
+its notes is more delicate than
+between the notes of the piano.</p>
+
+<p>I enjoy the music of the piano most
+when I touch the instrument. If I keep
+my hand on the piano-case, I detect tiny
+quavers, returns of melody, and the hush
+that follows. This explains to me how
+sound can die away to the listening ear:</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 2em;">... How thin and clear,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And thinner, clearer, farther going!</span><br />
+O sweet and far from cliff and scar<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!</span><br />
+</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
+
+<div class='unindent'>I am able to follow the dominant spirit
+and mood of the music. I catch the
+joyous dance as it bounds over the keys,
+the slow dirge, the reverie. I thrill to
+the fiery sweep of notes crossed by
+thunderous tones in the "Walk&uuml;re,"
+where <i>Wotan</i> kindles the dread flames
+that guard the sleeping <i>Brunhild</i>.
+How wonderful is the instrument on
+which a great musician sings with his
+hands! I have never succeeded in distinguishing
+one composition from another.
+I think this is impossible; but the
+concentration and strain upon my attention
+would be so great that I doubt if
+the pleasure derived would be commensurate
+to the effort.</div>
+
+<p>Nor can I distinguish easily a tune
+that is sung. But by placing my hand
+on another's throat and cheek, I enjoy<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
+the changes of the voice. I know when
+it is low or high, clear or muffled, sad or
+cheery. The thin, quavering sensation
+of an old voice differs in my touch from
+the sensation of a young voice. A
+Southerner's drawl is quite unlike the
+Yankee twang. Sometimes the flow
+and ebb of a voice is so enchanting that
+my fingers quiver with exquisite pleasure,
+even if I do not understand a word
+that is spoken.</p>
+
+<p>On the other hand, I am exceedingly
+sensitive to the harshness of noises like
+grinding, scraping, and the hoarse creak
+of rusty locks. Fog-whistles are my vibratory
+nightmares. I have stood near
+a bridge in process of construction, and
+felt the tactual din, the rattle of heavy
+masses of stone, the roll of loosened
+earth, the rumble of engines, the dumping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
+of dirt-cars, the triple blows of vulcan
+hammers. I can also smell the fire-pots,
+the tar and cement. So I have a
+vivid idea of mighty labours in steel and
+stone, and I believe that I am acquainted
+with all the fiendish noises which can be
+made by man or machinery. The whack
+of heavy falling bodies, the sudden
+shivering splinter of chopped logs, the
+crystal shatter of pounded ice, the crash
+of a tree hurled to the earth by a hurricane,
+the irrational, persistent chaos of
+noise made by switching freight-trains,
+the explosion of gas, the blasting of stone,
+and the terrific grinding of rock upon
+rock which precedes the collapse&mdash;all
+these have been in my touch-experience,
+and contribute to my idea of Bedlam, of a
+battle, a waterspout, an earthquake, and
+other enormous accumulations of sound.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Touch brings me into contact with the
+traffic and manifold activity of the city.
+Besides the bustle and crowding of people
+and the nondescript grating and electric
+howling of street-cars, I am conscious
+of exhalations from many different kinds
+of shops; from automobiles, drays,
+horses, fruit stands, and many varieties
+of smoke.</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Odours strange and musty,<br />
+The air sharp and dusty<br />
+With lime and with sand,<br />
+That no one can stand,<br />
+Make the street impassable,<br />
+The people irascible,<br />
+Until every one cries,<br />
+As he trembling goes<br />
+With the sight of his eyes<br />
+And the scent of his nose<br />
+Quite stopped&mdash;or at least much diminished&mdash;<br />
+"Gracious! when will this city be finished?"<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a><br />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>
+<div class="figright" style="width: 318px;">
+<img src="images/fp70.jpg" width="318" height="500" alt="Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio &quot;Listening&quot; to the Trees" title="" />
+<span class="caption">&quot;Listening&quot; to the Trees<br /><small><span style="margin-left: 12em;">To face page 70</span></small></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>The city is interesting; but the tactual
+silence of the country is always most
+welcome after the din of town and
+the irritating concussions of the train.
+How noiseless and undisturbing are the
+demolition, the repairs and the alterations,
+of nature! With no sound of
+hammer or saw or stone severed from
+stone, but a music of rustles and ripe
+thumps on the grass come the fluttering
+leaves and mellow fruits which the wind
+tumbles all day from the branches.
+Silently all droops, all withers, all is
+poured back into the earth that it may
+recreate; all sleeps while the busy architects
+of day and night ply their silent
+work elsewhere. The same serenity
+reigns when all at once the soil yields
+up a newly wrought creation. Softly
+the ocean of grass, moss, and flowers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
+rolls surge upon surge across the earth.
+Curtains of foliage drape the bare
+branches. Great trees make ready in
+their sturdy hearts to receive again birds
+which occupy their spacious chambers
+to the south and west. Nay, there is no
+place so lowly that it may not lodge
+some happy creature. The meadow
+brook undoes its icy fetters with rippling
+notes, gurgles, and runs free.
+And all this is wrought in less than two
+months to the music of nature's orchestra,
+in the midst of balmy incense.</p>
+
+<p>The thousand soft voices of the earth
+have truly found their way to me&mdash;the
+small rustle in tufts of grass, the
+silky swish of leaves, the buzz of insects,
+the hum of bees in blossoms I have
+plucked, the flutter of a bird's wings
+after his bath, and the slender rippling<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span>
+vibration of water running over pebbles.
+Once having been felt, these loved voices
+rustle, buzz, hum, flutter, and ripple in
+my thought forever, an undying part of
+happy memories.</p>
+
+<p>Between my experiences and the experiences
+of others there is no gulf of
+mute space which I may not bridge.
+For I have endlessly varied, instructive
+contacts with all the world, with life,
+with the atmosphere whose radiant activity
+enfolds us all. The thrilling
+energy of the all-encasing air is warm
+and rapturous. Heat-waves and sound-waves
+play upon my face in infinite
+variety and combination, until I am able
+to surmise what must be the myriad
+sounds that my senseless ears have not
+heard.</p>
+
+<p>The air varies in different regions, at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
+different seasons of the year, and even
+different hours of the day. The odorous,
+fresh sea-breezes are distinct from
+the fitful breezes along river banks,
+which are humid and freighted with inland
+smells. The bracing, light, dry air
+of the mountains can never be mistaken
+for the pungent salt air of the ocean.
+The air of winter is dense, hard, compressed.
+In the spring it has new vitality.
+It is light, mobile, and laden with a
+thousand palpitating odours from earth,
+grass, and sprouting leaves. The air of
+midsummer is dense, saturated, or dry
+and burning, as if it came from a furnace.
+When a cool breeze brushes the
+sultry stillness, it brings fewer odours
+than in May, and frequently the odour
+of a coming tempest. The avalanche of
+coolness which sweeps through the low-hanging<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
+air bears little resemblance to
+the stinging coolness of winter.</p>
+
+<p>The rain of winter is raw, without
+odour, and dismal. The rain of spring is
+brisk, fragrant, charged with life-giving
+warmth. I welcome it delightedly as
+it visits the earth, enriches the streams,
+waters the hills abundantly, makes the
+furrows soft with showers for the seed,
+elicits a perfume which I cannot breathe
+deep enough. Spring rain is beautiful,
+impartial, lovable. With pearly drops
+it washes every leaf on tree and bush,
+ministers equally to salutary herbs and
+noxious growths, searches out every
+living thing that needs its beneficence.</p>
+
+<p>The senses assist and reinforce each
+other to such an extent that I am not
+sure whether touch or smell tells me the
+most about the world. Everywhere the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
+river of touch is joined by the brooks
+of odour-perception. Each season has its
+distinctive odours. The spring is earthy
+and full of sap. July is rich with the
+odour of ripening grain and hay. As the
+season advances, a crisp, dry, mature
+odour predominates, and golden-rod,
+tansy, and everlastings mark the onward
+march of the year. In autumn,
+soft, alluring scents fill the air, floating
+from thicket, grass, flower, and tree,
+and they tell me of time and change, of
+death and life's renewal, desire and its
+fulfilment.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p>
+<h2>SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VI</h2>
+
+<h3>SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>FOR some inexplicable reason the
+sense of smell does not hold the
+high position it deserves among its sisters.
+There is something of the fallen
+angel about it. When it woos us with
+woodland scents and beguiles us with
+the fragrance of lovely gardens, it is admitted
+frankly to our discourse. But
+when it gives us warning of something
+noxious in our vicinity, it is treated as if
+the demon had got the upper hand of
+the angel, and is relegated to outer
+darkness, punished for its faithful service.
+It is most difficult to keep the true<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
+significance of words when one discusses
+the prejudices of mankind, and I find it
+hard to give an account of odour-perceptions
+which shall be at once dignified
+and truthful.</div>
+
+<p>In my experience smell is most important,
+and I find that there is high
+authority for the nobility of the sense
+which we have neglected and disparaged.
+It is recorded that the Lord
+commanded that incense be burnt before
+him continually with a sweet savour.
+I doubt if there is any sensation arising
+from sight more delightful than the odours
+which filter through sun-warmed, wind-tossed
+branches, or the tide of scents
+which swells, subsides, rises again wave
+on wave, filling the wide world with invisible
+sweetness. A whiff of the universe
+makes us dream of worlds we have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>
+never seen, recalls in a flash entire
+epochs of our dearest experience. I
+never smell daisies without living over
+again the ecstatic mornings that my
+teacher and I spent wandering in the
+fields, while I learned new words and
+the names of things. Smell is a potent
+wizard that transports us across a thousand
+miles and all the years we have
+lived. The odour of fruits wafts me
+to my Southern home, to my childish
+frolics in the peach orchard. Other
+odours, instantaneous and fleeting, cause
+my heart to dilate joyously or contract
+with remembered grief. Even as I
+think of smells, my nose is full of scents
+that start awake sweet memories of
+summers gone and ripening grain fields
+far away.</p>
+
+<p>The faintest whiff from a meadow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span>
+where the new-mown hay lies in the hot
+sun displaces the here and the now. I
+am back again in the old red barn. My
+little friends and I are playing in the haymow.
+A huge mow it is, packed with
+crisp, sweet hay, from the top of which
+the smallest child can reach the straining
+rafters. In their stalls beneath are the
+farm animals. Here is Jerry, unresponsive,
+unbeautiful Jerry, crunching
+his oats like a true pessimist, resolved to
+find his feed not good&mdash;at least not so
+good as it ought to be. Again I touch
+Brownie, eager, grateful little Brownie,
+ready to leave the juiciest fodder for a
+pat, straining his beautiful, slender neck
+for a caress. Near by stands Lady
+Belle, with sweet, moist mouth, lazily
+extracting the sealed-up cordial from
+timothy and clover, and dreaming of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span>
+deep June pastures and murmurous
+streams.</p>
+
+<p>The sense of smell has told me of a
+coming storm hours before there was
+any sign of it visible. I notice first a
+throb of expectancy, a slight quiver, a
+concentration in my nostrils. As the
+storm draws nearer, my nostrils dilate
+the better to receive the flood of earth-odours
+which seem to multiply and extend,
+until I feel the splash of rain
+against my cheek. As the tempest
+departs, receding farther and farther,
+the odours fade, become fainter and
+fainter, and die away beyond the bar
+of space.</p>
+
+<p>I know by smell the kind of house we
+enter. I have recognized an old-fashioned
+country house because it has several
+layers of odours, left by a succession of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
+families, of plants, perfumes, and draperies.</p>
+
+<p>In the evening quiet there are fewer
+vibrations than in the daytime, and then
+I rely more largely upon smell. The
+sulphuric scent of a match tells me
+that the lamps are being lighted. Later
+I note the wavering trail of odour that
+flits about and disappears. It is the
+curfew signal; the lights are out for the
+night.</p>
+
+<p>Out of doors I am aware by smell and
+touch of the ground we tread and the
+places we pass. Sometimes, when there
+is no wind, the odours are so grouped
+that I know the character of the country,
+and can place a hayfield, a country
+store, a garden, a barn, a grove of pines,
+a farmhouse with the windows open.</p>
+
+<p>The other day I went to walk toward a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span>
+familiar wood. Suddenly a disturbing
+odour made me pause in dismay. Then
+followed a peculiar, measured jar, followed
+by dull, heavy thunder. I understood
+the odour and the jar only too well.
+The trees were being cut down. We
+climbed the stone wall to the left. It
+borders the wood which I have loved so
+long that it seems to be my peculiar possession.
+But to-day an unfamiliar rush
+of air and an unwonted outburst of sun
+told me that my tree friends were gone.
+The place was empty, like a deserted
+dwelling. I stretched out my hand.
+Where once stood the steadfast pines,
+great, beautiful, sweet, my hand touched
+raw, moist stumps. All about lay
+broken branches, like the antlers of
+stricken deer. The fragrant, piled-up
+sawdust swirled and tumbled about me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span>
+An unreasoning resentment flashed
+through me at this ruthless destruction
+of the beauty that I love. But there is
+no anger, no resentment in nature. The
+air is equally charged with the odours of
+life and of destruction, for death equally
+with growth forever ministers to all-conquering
+life. The sun shines as ever, and
+the winds riot through the newly opened
+spaces. I know that a new forest will
+spring where the old one stood, as beautiful,
+as beneficent.</p>
+
+<p>Touch sensations are permanent and
+definite. Odours deviate and are fugitive,
+changing in their shades, degrees,
+and location. There is something else
+in odour which gives me a sense of distance.
+I should call it horizon&mdash;the line
+where odour and fancy meet at the
+farthest limit of scent.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Smell gives me more idea than touch
+or taste of the manner in which sight
+and hearing probably discharge their
+functions. Touch seems to reside in the
+object touched, because there is a contact
+of surfaces. In smell there is no
+notion of relievo, and odour seems to reside
+not in the object smelt, but in the
+organ. Since I smell a tree at a distance,
+it is comprehensible to me that a person
+sees it without touching it. I am
+not puzzled over the fact that he receives
+it as an image on his retina without
+relievo, since my smell perceives the
+tree as a thin sphere with no fullness or
+content. By themselves, odours suggest
+nothing. I must learn by association to
+judge from them of distance, of place,
+and of the actions or the surroundings
+which are the usual occasions for them,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
+just as I am told people judge from
+colour, light, and sound.</p>
+
+<p>From exhalations I learn much about
+people. I often know the work they are
+engaged in. The odours of wood, iron,
+paint, and drugs cling to the garments
+of those that work in them. Thus I can
+distinguish the carpenter from the ironworker,
+the artist from the mason or the
+chemist. When a person passes quickly
+from one place to another I get a scent
+impression of where he has been&mdash;the
+kitchen, the garden, or the sick-room. I
+gain pleasurable ideas of freshness and
+good taste from the odours of soap, toilet
+water, clean garments, woollen and silk
+stuffs, and gloves.</p>
+
+<p>I have not, indeed, the all-knowing
+scent of the hound or the wild animal.
+None but the halt and the blind need<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
+fear my skill in pursuit; for there are
+other things besides water, stale trails,
+confusing cross tracks to put me at
+fault. Nevertheless, human odours are
+as varied and capable of recognition as
+hands and faces. The dear odours of
+those I love are so definite, so unmistakable,
+that nothing can quite obliterate
+them. If many years should elapse before
+I saw an intimate friend again, I
+think I should recognize his odour instantly
+in the heart of Africa, as
+promptly as would my brother that
+barks.</p>
+
+<p>Once, long ago, in a crowded railway
+station, a lady kissed me as she hurried
+by. I had not touched even her dress.
+But she left a scent with her kiss
+which gave me a glimpse of her.
+The years are many since she kissed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
+me. Yet her odour is fresh in my
+memory.</p>
+
+<p>It is difficult to put into words the thing
+itself, the elusive person-odour. There
+seems to be no adequate vocabulary
+of smells, and I must fall back on
+approximate phrase and metaphor.</p>
+
+<p>Some people have a vague, unsubstantial
+odour that floats about, mocking
+every effort to identify it. It is the will-o'-the-wisp
+of my olfactive experience.
+Sometimes I meet one who lacks a distinctive
+person-scent, and I seldom find
+such a one lively or entertaining. On
+the other hand, one who has a pungent
+odour often possesses great vitality, energy,
+and vigour of mind.</p>
+
+<p>Masculine exhalations are as a rule
+stronger, more vivid, more widely differentiated
+than those of women. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
+the odour of young men there is something
+elemental, as of fire, storm, and
+salt sea. It pulsates with buoyancy and
+desire. It suggests all things strong
+and beautiful and joyous, and gives me
+a sense of physical happiness. I wonder
+if others observe that all infants have
+the same scent&mdash;pure, simple, undecipherable
+as their dormant personality.
+It is not until the age of six or seven
+that they begin to have perceptible individual
+odours. These develop and mature
+along with their mental and bodily
+powers.</p>
+
+<p>What I have written about smell, especially
+person-smell, will perhaps be
+regarded as the abnormal sentiment of
+one who can have no idea of the "world
+of reality and beauty which the eye perceives."
+There are people who are<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span>
+colour-blind, people who are tone-deaf.
+Most people are smell-blind-and-deaf.
+We should not condemn a musical composition
+on the testimony of an ear
+which cannot distinguish one chord from
+another, or judge a picture by the verdict
+of a colour-blind critic. The sensations
+of smell which cheer, inform, and
+broaden my life are not less pleasant
+merely because some critic who treads
+the wide, bright pathway of the eye has
+not cultivated his olfactive sense. Without
+the shy, fugitive, often unobserved
+sensations and the certainties which taste,
+smell, and touch give me, I should be
+obliged to take my conception of the
+universe wholly from others. I should
+lack the alchemy by which I now infuse
+into my world light, colour, and the
+Protean spark. The sensuous reality<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
+which interthreads and supports all the
+gropings of my imagination would be
+shattered. The solid earth would melt
+from under my feet and disperse itself
+in space. The objects dear to my
+hands would become formless, dead
+things, and I should walk among them as
+among invisible ghosts.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
+<h2>RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VII</h2>
+
+<h3>RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;WAS once without the sense of smell
+and taste for several days. It seemed
+incredible, this utter detachment from
+odours, to breathe the air in and observe
+never a single scent. The feeling was
+probably similar, though less in degree,
+to that of one who first loses sight
+and cannot but expect to see the light
+again any day, any minute. I knew I
+should smell again some time. Still,
+after the wonder had passed off, a loneliness
+crept over me as vast as the air
+whose myriad odours I missed. The
+multitudinous subtle delights that smell<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
+makes mine became for a time wistful
+memories. When I recovered the lost
+sense, my heart bounded with gladness.
+It is a fine dramatic touch that Hans
+Andersen gives to the story of Kay and
+Gerda in the passage about flowers.
+Kay, whom the wicked magician's glass
+has blinded to human love, rushes away
+fiercely from home when he discovers
+that the roses have lost their sweetness.</div>
+
+<p>The loss of smell for a few days gave
+me a clearer idea than I had ever had
+what it is to be blinded suddenly, helplessly.
+With a little stretch of the imagination
+I knew then what it must be
+when the great curtain shuts out suddenly
+the light of day, the stars, and
+the firmament itself. I see the blind
+man's eyes strain for the light, as he
+fearfully tries to walk his old rounds,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
+until the unchanging blank that everywhere
+spreads before him stamps the
+reality of the dark upon his consciousness.</p>
+
+<p>My temporary loss of smell proved
+to me, too, that the absence of a sense
+need not dull the mental faculties and
+does not distort one's view of the world,
+and so I reason that blindness and
+deafness need not pervert the inner
+order of the intellect. I know that if
+there were no odours for me I should
+still possess a considerable part of the
+world. Novelties and surprises would
+abound, adventures would thicken in the
+dark.</p>
+
+<p>In my classification of the senses,
+smell is a little the ear's inferior, and
+touch is a great deal the eye's superior.
+I find that great artists and philosophers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
+agree with me in this. Diderot
+says:</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Je trouvais que de tous les sens, l'&#339;il &eacute;tait
+le plus superficiel; l'oreille, le plus orgueilleux;
+l'odorat, le plus voluptueux; le go&ucirc;t,
+le plus superstitieux et le plus inconstant; le
+toucher, le plus profond et le plus philosophe.<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a></p></div>
+
+<p>A friend whom I have never seen
+sends me a quotation from Symonds's
+"Renaissance in Italy":</p>
+
+<div class="blockquot"><p>Lorenzo Ghiberti, after describing a piece
+of antique sculpture he saw in Rome adds,
+"To express the perfection of learning,
+mastery, and art displayed in it is beyond
+the power of language. Its more exquisite
+beauties could not be discovered by the sight,
+but only by the touch of the hand passed over
+it." Of another classic marble at Padua he<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
+says, "This statue, when the Christian faith
+triumphed, was hidden in that place by some
+gentle soul, who, seeing it so perfect, fashioned
+with art so wonderful, and with such power
+of genius, and being moved to reverent pity,
+caused a sepulchre of bricks to be built, and
+there within buried the statue, and covered
+it with a broad slab of stone, that it might
+not in any way be injured. It has very
+many sweet beauties which the eyes alone
+can comprehend not, either by strong or
+tempered light; only the hand by touching
+them finds them out."</p></div>
+
+<p>Hold out your hands to feel the luxury
+of the sunbeams. Press the soft blossoms
+against your cheek, and finger their
+graces of form, their delicate mutability
+of shape, their pliancy and freshness.
+Expose your face to the aerial floods
+that sweep the heavens, "inhale great
+draughts of space," wonder, wonder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span>
+at the wind's unwearied activity.
+Pile note on note the infinite music
+that flows increasingly to your soul
+from the tactual sonorities of a thousand
+branches and tumbling waters.
+How can the world be shrivelled when
+this most profound, emotional sense,
+touch, is faithful to its service? I
+am sure that if a fairy bade me choose
+between the sense of light and that of
+touch, I would not part with the warm,
+endearing contact of human hands or
+the wealth of form, the nobility and
+fullness that press into my palms.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>
+<h2>VIII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>THE poets have taught us how full
+of wonders is the night; and the
+night of blindness has its wonders, too.
+The only lightless dark is the night of
+ignorance and insensibility. We differ,
+blind and seeing, one from another, not
+in our senses, but in the use we make of
+them, in the imagination and courage
+with which we seek wisdom beyond our
+senses.</div>
+
+<p>It is more difficult to teach ignorance
+to think than to teach an intelligent
+blind man to see the grandeur of Niagara.
+I have walked with people whose eyes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span>
+are full of light, but who see nothing
+in wood, sea, or sky, nothing in city
+streets, nothing in books. What a witless
+masquerade is this seeing! It were
+better far to sail forever in the night of
+blindness, with sense and feeling and
+mind, than to be thus content with the
+mere act of seeing. They have the sunset,
+the morning skies, the purple of distant
+hills, yet their souls voyage through
+this enchanted world with a barren
+stare.</p>
+
+<p>The calamity of the blind is immense,
+irreparable. But it does not take away
+our share of the things that count&mdash;service,
+friendship, humour, imagination,
+wisdom. It is the secret inner will that
+controls one's fate. We are capable of
+willing to be good, of loving and being
+loved, of thinking to the end that we may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span>
+be wiser. We possess these spirit-born
+forces equally with all God's children.
+Therefore we, too, see the lightnings
+and hear the thunders of Sinai. We,
+too, march through the wilderness and
+the solitary place that shall be glad for us,
+and as we pass, God maketh the desert
+to blossom like the rose. We, too, go
+in unto the Promised Land to possess
+the treasures of the spirit, the unseen
+permanence of life and nature.</p>
+
+<p>The blind man of spirit faces the unknown
+and grapples with it, and what
+else does the world of seeing men do?
+He has imagination, sympathy, humanity,
+and these ineradicable existences
+compel him to share by a sort of proxy
+in a sense he has not. When he meets
+terms of colour, light, physiognomy, he
+guesses, divines, puzzles out their meaning<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
+by analogies drawn from the senses
+he has. I naturally tend to think, reason,
+draw inferences as if I had five senses
+instead of three. This tendency is beyond
+my control; it is involuntary, habitual,
+instinctive. I cannot compel my mind
+to say "I feel" instead of "I see"
+or "I hear." The word "feel" proves
+on examination to be no less a convention
+than "see" and "hear" when I seek
+for words accurately to describe the
+outward things that affect my three
+bodily senses. When a man loses a leg,
+his brain persists in impelling him to
+use what he has not and yet feels to be
+there. Can it be that the brain is so constituted
+that it will continue the activity
+which animates the sight and the
+hearing, after the eye and the ear have
+been destroyed?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>It might seem that the five senses
+would work intelligently together only
+when resident in the same body. Yet
+when two or three are left unaided, they
+reach out for their complements in another
+body, and find that they yoke
+easily with the borrowed team. When
+my hand aches from overtouching, I
+find relief in the sight of another.
+When my mind lags, wearied with the
+strain of forcing out thoughts about
+dark, musicless, colourless, detached substance,
+it recovers its elasticity as soon
+as I resort to the powers of another
+mind which commands light, harmony,
+colour. Now, if the five senses will not
+remain disassociated, the life of the
+deaf-blind cannot be severed from the
+life of the seeing, hearing race.</p>
+
+<p>The deaf-blind person may be<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
+plunged and replunged like Schiller's
+diver into seas of the unknown. But,
+unlike the doomed hero, he returns triumphant,
+grasping the priceless truth
+that his mind is not crippled, not limited
+to the infirmity of his senses. The
+world of the eye and the ear becomes to
+him a subject of fateful interest. He
+seizes every word of sight and hearing
+because his sensations compel it. Light
+and colour, of which he has no tactual evidence,
+he studies fearlessly, believing that
+all humanly knowable truth is open
+to him. He is in a position similar to
+that of the astronomer who, firm, patient,
+watches a star night after night
+for many years and feels rewarded if he
+discovers a single fact about it. The
+man deaf-blind to ordinary outward
+things, and the man deaf-blind to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
+immeasurable universe, are both limited
+by time and space; but they have made
+a compact to wring service from their
+limitations.</p>
+
+<p>The bulk of the world's knowledge is
+an imaginary construction. History is
+but a mode of imagining, of making us
+see civilizations that no longer appear
+upon the earth. Some of the most significant
+discoveries in modern science
+owe their origin to the imagination of
+men who had neither accurate knowledge
+nor exact instruments to demonstrate
+their beliefs. If astronomy had
+not kept always in advance of the telescope,
+no one would ever have thought
+a telescope worth making. What great
+invention has not existed in the inventor's
+mind long before he gave it tangible
+shape?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>A more splendid example of imaginative
+knowledge is the unity with which
+philosophers start their study of the
+world. They can never perceive the
+world in its entire reality. Yet their
+imagination, with its magnificent allowance
+for error, its power of treating uncertainty
+as negligible, has pointed the
+way for empirical knowledge.</p>
+
+<p>In their highest creative moments the
+great poet, the great musician cease to
+use the crude instruments of sight and
+hearing. They break away from their
+sense-moorings, rise on strong, compelling
+wings of spirit far above our misty
+hills and darkened valleys into the region
+of light, music, intellect.</p>
+
+<p>What eye hath seen the glories of the
+New Jerusalem? What ear hath heard
+the music of the spheres, the steps of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
+time, the strokes of chance, the blows of
+death? Men have not heard with their
+physical sense the tumult of sweet voices
+above the hills of Judea nor seen the
+heavenly vision; but millions have
+listened to that spiritual message
+through many ages.</p>
+
+<p>Our blindness changes not a whit the
+course of inner realities. Of us it is
+as true as it is of the seeing that the
+most beautiful world is always entered
+through the imagination. If you wish
+to be something that you are not,&mdash;something
+fine, noble, good,&mdash;you shut
+your eyes, and for one dreamy moment
+you are that which you long to be.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
+<h2>INWARD VISIONS</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
+<h2>IX</h2>
+
+<h3>INWARD VISIONS</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>ACCORDING to all art, all nature, all
+coherent human thought, we know
+that order, proportion, form, are essential
+elements of beauty. Now order,
+proportion, and form, are palpable to
+the touch. But beauty and rhythm are
+deeper than sense. They are like love
+and faith. They spring out of a spiritual
+process only slightly dependent upon
+sensations. Order, proportion, form,
+cannot generate in the mind the abstract
+idea of beauty, unless there is already
+a soul intelligence to breathe life into the
+elements. Many persons, having perfect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
+eyes, are blind in their perceptions.
+Many persons, having perfect ears, are
+emotionally deaf. Yet these are the very
+ones who dare to set limits to the vision
+of those who, lacking a sense or two, have
+will, soul, passion, imagination. Faith
+is a mockery if it teaches us not that
+we may construct a world unspeakably
+more complete and beautiful than the
+material world. And I, too, may construct
+my better world, for I am a child of God,
+an inheritor of a fragment of the Mind
+that created all worlds.</div>
+
+<p>There is a consonance of all things, a
+blending of all that we know about the
+material world and the spiritual. It
+consists for me of all the impressions, vibrations,
+heat, cold, taste, smell, and the
+sensations which these convey to the
+mind, infinitely combined, interwoven<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
+with associated ideas and acquired
+knowledge. No thoughtful person will
+believe that what I said about the meaning
+of footsteps is strictly true of mere
+jolts and jars. It is an array of the
+spiritual in certain natural elements,
+tactual beats, and an acquired knowledge
+of physical habits and moral traits of
+highly organized human beings. What
+would odours signify if they were not associated
+with the time of the year, the
+place I live in, and the people I know?</p>
+
+<p>The result of such a blending is sometimes
+a discordant trying of strings far
+removed from a melody, very far from
+a symphony. (For the benefit of those
+who must be reassured, I will say that I
+have felt a musician tuning his violin,
+that I have read about a symphony, and
+so have a fair intellectual perception of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
+my metaphor.) But with training and
+experience the faculties gather up the
+stray notes and combine them into a
+full, harmonious whole. If the person
+who accomplishes this task is peculiarly
+gifted, we call him a poet. The blind
+and the deaf are not great poets, it is
+true. Yet now and again you find one
+deaf and blind who has attained to his
+royal kingdom of beauty.</p>
+
+<p>I have a little volume of poems by
+a deaf-blind lady, Madame Bertha Galeron.
+Her poetry has versatility of
+thought. Now it is tender and sweet,
+now full of tragic passion and the sternness
+of destiny. Victor Hugo called
+her "La Grande Voyante." She has
+written several plays, two of which
+have been acted in Paris. The French
+Academy has crowned her work.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The infinite wonders of the universe
+are revealed to us in exact measure as
+we are capable of receiving them. The
+keenness of our vision depends not on
+how much we can see, but on how much
+we feel. Nor yet does mere knowledge
+create beauty. Nature sings her
+most exquisite songs to those who love
+her. She does not unfold her secrets to
+those who come only to gratify their desire
+of analysis, to gather facts, but to
+those who see in her manifold phenomena
+suggestions of lofty, delicate sentiments.</p>
+
+<div class="figleft" style="width: 338px;">
+<img src="images/fp120.jpg" width="338" height="500" alt="Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio The Little Boy Next Door" title="" />
+<span class="caption">The Little Boy Next Door<br /><small><span style="margin-left: 12em;">To face page 120</span></small></span>
+</div>
+
+<p>Am I to be denied the use of such adjectives
+as "freshness" and "sparkle,"
+"dark" and "gloomy"? I have walked
+in the fields at early morning. I have
+felt a rose-bush laden with dew and
+fragrance. I have felt the curves and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
+graces of my kitten at play. I have
+known the sweet, shy ways of little children.
+I have known the sad opposites
+of all these, a ghastly touch picture.
+Remember, I have sometimes travelled
+over a dusty road as far as my feet could
+go. At a sudden turn I have stepped
+upon starved, ignoble weeds, and reaching
+out my hands, I have touched a fair
+tree out of which a parasite had taken
+the life like a vampire. I have touched
+a pretty bird whose soft wings hung limp,
+whose little heart beat no more. I have
+wept over the feebleness and deformity
+of a child, lame, or born blind, or, worse
+still, mindless. If I had the genius of
+Thomson, I, too, could depict a "City
+of Dreadful Night" from mere touch
+sensations. From contrasts so irreconcilable
+can we fail to form an idea of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
+beauty and know surely when we meet
+with loveliness?</p>
+
+<p>Here is a sonnet eloquent of a blind
+man's power of vision:</p>
+
+
+<div class='center'><br /><br />THE MOUNTAIN TO THE PINE<br /><br /></div>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+Thou tall, majestic monarch of the wood,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That standest where no wild vines dare to creep,</span><br />
+Men call thee old, and say that thou hast stood<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A century upon my rugged steep;</span><br />
+Yet unto me thy life is but a day,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When I recall the things that I have seen,&mdash;</span><br />
+The forest monarchs that have passed away<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the spot where first I saw thy green;</span><br />
+For I am older than the age of man,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or all the living things that crawl or creep,</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or birds of air, or creatures of the deep;</span><br />
+I was the first dim outline of God's plan:<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Only the waters of the restless sea</span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And the infinite stars in heaven are old to me.</span><br />
+</div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>I am glad my friend Mr. Stedman
+knew that poem while he was making
+his Anthology, for knowing it, so fine a
+poet and critic could not fail to give it a
+place in his treasure-house of American
+poetry. The poet, Mr. Clarence Hawkes,
+has been blind since childhood; yet he
+finds in nature hints of combinations
+for his mental pictures. Out of the
+knowledge and impressions that come
+to him he constructs a masterpiece
+which hangs upon the walls of his
+thought. And into the poet's house
+come all the true spirits of the world.</p>
+
+<p>It was a rare poet who thought of the
+mountain as "the first dim outline of
+God's plan." That is the real wonder
+of the poem, and not that a blind man
+should speak so confidently of sky and
+sea. Our ideas of the sky are an accumulation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
+of touch-glimpses, literary allusions,
+and the observations of others,
+with an emotional blending of all. My
+face feels only a tiny portion of the atmosphere;
+but I go through continuous
+space and feel the air at every point,
+every instant. I have been told about
+the distances from our earth to the sun,
+to the other planets, and to the fixed
+stars. I multiply a thousand times the
+utmost height and width that my touch
+compasses, and thus I gain a deep sense
+of the sky's immensity.</p>
+
+<p>Move me along constantly over
+water, water, nothing but water, and
+you give me the solitude, the vastness
+of ocean which fills the eye. I have
+been in a little sail-boat on the sea, when
+the rising tide swept it toward the
+shore. May I not understand the poet's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
+figure: "The green of spring overflows
+the earth like a tide"? I have felt the
+flame of a candle blow and flutter in the
+breeze. May I not, then, say: "Myriads
+of fireflies flit hither and thither in
+the dew-wet grass like little fluttering
+tapers"?</p>
+
+<p>Combine the endless space of air, the
+sun's warmth, the clouds that are described
+to my understanding spirit, the
+frequent breaking through the soil of a
+brook or the expanse of the wind-ruffled
+lake, the tactual undulation of the hills,
+which I recall when I am far away from
+them, the towering trees upon trees as I
+walk by them, the bearings that I try to
+keep while others tell me the directions of
+the various points of the scenery, and you
+will begin to feel surer of my mental
+landscape. The utmost bound to which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
+my thought will go with clearness is the
+horizon of my mind. From this horizon
+I imagine the one which the eye marks.</p>
+
+<p>Touch cannot bridge distance,&mdash;it is
+fit only for the contact of surfaces,&mdash;but
+thought leaps the chasm. For this
+reason I am able to use words descriptive
+of objects distant from my senses.
+I have felt the rondure of the infant's
+tender form. I can apply this perception
+to the landscape and to the far-off
+hills.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>
+<h2>X</h2>
+
+<h3>ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;HAVE not touched the outline of a
+star nor the glory of the moon, but
+I believe that God has set two lights in
+mind, the greater to rule by day and
+the lesser by night, and by them I know
+that I am able to navigate my life-bark,
+as certain of reaching the haven as he
+who steers by the North Star. Perhaps
+my sun shines not as yours. The colours
+that glorify my world, the blue of the
+sky, the green of the fields, may not correspond
+exactly with those you delight
+in; but they are none the less colour to
+me. The sun does not shine for my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
+physical eyes, nor does the lightning
+flash, nor do the trees turn green in the
+spring; but they have not therefore
+ceased to exist, any more than the landscape
+is annihilated when you turn your
+back on it.</div>
+
+<p>I understand how scarlet can differ
+from crimson because I know that the
+smell of an orange is not the smell of
+a grape-fruit. I can also conceive that
+colours have shades, and guess what
+shades are. In smell and taste there are
+varieties not broad enough to be fundamental;
+so I call them shades. There
+are half a dozen roses near me. They
+all have the unmistakable rose scent; yet
+my nose tells me that they are not the
+same. The American Beauty is distinct
+from the Jacqueminot and La
+France. Odours in certain grasses fade<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
+as really to my sense as certain colours do
+to yours in the sun. The freshness of a
+flower in my hand is analogous to the
+freshness I taste in an apple newly
+picked. I make use of analogies like
+these to enlarge my conceptions of
+colours. Some analogies which I draw
+between qualities in surface and vibration,
+taste and smell, are drawn by
+others between sight, hearing, and touch.
+This fact encourages me to persevere,
+to try and bridge the gap between the
+eye and the hand.</p>
+
+<p>Certainly I get far enough to sympathize
+with the delight that my kind feel
+in beauty they see and harmony they
+hear. This bond between humanity and
+me is worth keeping, even if the idea on
+which I base it prove erroneous.</p>
+
+<p>Sweet, beautiful vibrations exist for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
+my touch, even though they travel
+through other substances than air to
+reach me. So I imagine sweet, delightful
+sounds, and the artistic arrangement
+of them which is called music, and I remember
+that they travel through the air
+to the ear, conveying impressions somewhat
+like mine. I also know what tones
+are, since they are perceptible tactually
+in a voice. Now, heat varies greatly in
+the sun, in the fire, in hands, and in the
+fur of animals; indeed, there is such a
+thing for me as a cold sun. So I think
+of the varieties of light that touch the
+eye, cold and warm, vivid and dim, soft
+and glaring, but always light, and I
+imagine their passage through the air
+to an extensive sense, instead of to a
+narrow one like touch. From the experience
+I have had with voices I guess<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
+how the eye distinguishes shades in the
+midst of light. While I read the lips of
+a woman whose voice is soprano, I note
+a low tone or a glad tone in the midst of
+a high, flowing voice. When I feel my
+cheeks hot, I know that I am red. I
+have talked so much and read so much
+about colours that through no will of my
+own I attach meanings to them, just as
+all people attach certain meanings to
+abstract terms like hope, idealism, monotheism,
+intellect, which cannot be represented
+truly by visible objects, but
+which are understood from analogies between
+immaterial concepts and the
+ideas they awaken of external things.
+The force of association drives me to
+say that white is exalted and pure, green
+is exuberant, red suggests love or shame
+or strength. Without the colour or its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span>
+equivalent, life to me would be dark,
+barren, a vast blackness.</p>
+
+<p>Thus through an inner law of completeness
+my thoughts are not permitted
+to remain colourless. It strains my mind
+to separate colour and sound from objects.
+Since my education began I have
+always had things described to me with
+their colours and sounds by one with keen
+senses and a fine feeling for the significant.
+Therefore I habitually think of
+things as coloured and resonant. Habit
+accounts for part. The soul sense accounts
+for another part. The brain with
+its five-sensed construction asserts its
+right and accounts for the rest. Inclusive
+of all, the unity of the world demands
+that colour be kept in it, whether I
+have cognizance of it or not. Rather
+than be shut out, I take part in it by discussing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
+it, imagining it, happy in the
+happiness of those near me who gaze at
+the lovely hues of the sunset or the rainbow.</p>
+
+<p>My hand has its share in this multiple
+knowledge, but it must never be forgotten
+that with the fingers I see only a
+very small portion of a surface, and that
+I must pass my hand continually over it
+before my touch grasps the whole. It
+is still more important, however, to remember
+that my imagination is not
+tethered to certain points, locations, and
+distances. It puts all the parts together
+simultaneously as if it saw or knew instead
+of feeling them. Though I feel
+only a small part of my horse at a time,&mdash;my
+horse is nervous and does not submit
+to manual explorations,&mdash;yet, because
+I have many times felt hock, nose,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
+hoof and mane, I can see the steeds of
+Ph&#339;bus Apollo coursing the heavens.</p>
+
+<p>With such a power active it is impossible
+that my thought should be vague,
+indistinct. It must needs be potent,
+definite. This is really a corollary of
+the philosophical truth that the real
+world exists only for the mind. That is
+to say, I can never touch the world in its
+entirety; indeed, I touch less of it than
+the portion that others see or hear. But
+all creatures, all objects, pass into my
+brain entire, and occupy the same extent
+there that they do in material space. I
+declare that for me branched thoughts,
+instead of pines, wave, sway, rustle,
+make musical the ridges of mountains
+rising summit upon summit. Mention
+a rose too far away for me to smell it.
+Straightway a scent steals into my nostril,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
+a form presses against my palm in
+all its dilating softness, with rounded
+petals, slightly curled edges, curving
+stem, leaves drooping. When I would
+fain view the world as a whole, it rushes
+into vision&mdash;man, beast, bird, reptile,
+fly, sky, ocean, mountains, plain, rock,
+pebble. The warmth of life, the reality
+of creation is over all&mdash;the throb of
+human hands, glossiness of fur, lithe
+windings of long bodies, poignant buzzing
+of insects, the ruggedness of the
+steeps as I climb them, the liquid mobility
+and boom of waves upon the rocks.
+Strange to say, try as I may, I cannot
+force my touch to pervade this universe
+in all directions. The moment I try, the
+whole vanishes; only small objects or
+narrow portions of a surface, mere
+touch-signs, a chaos of things scattered<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
+at random, remain. No thrill, no delight
+is excited thereby. Restore to the
+artistic, comprehensive internal sense its
+rightful domain, and you give me joy
+which best proves the reality.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN</h2><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XI</h2>
+
+<h3>BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>BEFORE my teacher came to me, I
+did not know that I am. I lived in
+a world that was a no-world. I cannot
+hope to describe adequately that unconscious,
+yet conscious time of nothingness.
+I did not know that I knew
+aught, or that I lived or acted or desired.
+I had neither will nor intellect.
+I was carried along to objects and acts
+by a certain blind natural impetus. I
+had a mind which caused me to feel
+anger, satisfaction, desire. These two
+facts led those about me to suppose that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
+I willed and thought. I can remember
+all this, not because I knew that it was
+so, but because I have tactual memory.
+It enables me to remember that I never
+contracted my forehead in the act of
+thinking. I never viewed anything beforehand
+or chose it. I also recall tactually
+the fact that never in a start of the
+body or a heart-beat did I feel that I
+loved or cared for anything. My inner
+life, then, was a blank without past,
+present, or future, without hope or anticipation,
+without wonder or joy or
+faith.</div>
+
+<div class='poem'><br />
+It was not night&mdash;it was not day.<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 1.5em;"><b>.&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  .&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  .&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  .&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;  .</b></span><br />
+But vacancy absorbing space,<br />
+And fixedness, without a place;<br />
+There were no stars&mdash;no earth&mdash;no time&mdash;<br />
+No check&mdash;no change&mdash;no good&mdash;no crime.<br /></div>
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>My dormant being had no idea of
+God or immortality, no fear of death.</p>
+
+<p>I remember, also through touch, that
+I had a power of association. I felt
+tactual jars like the stamp of a foot, the
+opening of a window or its closing, the
+slam of a door. After repeatedly smelling
+rain and feeling the discomfort of
+wetness, I acted like those about me: I
+ran to shut the window. But that was
+not thought in any sense. It was the
+same kind of association that makes animals
+take shelter from the rain. From
+the same instinct of aping others, I
+folded the clothes that came from the
+laundry, and put mine away, fed the
+turkeys, sewed bead-eyes on my doll's
+face, and did many other things of
+which I have the tactual remembrance.
+When I wanted anything I liked,&mdash;ice-cream,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span>
+for instance, of which I was very
+fond,&mdash;I had a delicious taste on my
+tongue (which, by the way, I never have
+now), and in my hand I felt the turning
+of the freezer. I made the sign, and my
+mother knew I wanted ice-cream. I
+"thought" and desired in my fingers.
+If I had made a man, I should certainly
+have put the brain and soul in his finger-tips.
+From reminiscences like these I
+conclude that it is the opening of the
+two faculties, freedom of will, or choice,
+and rationality, or the power of thinking
+from one thing to another, which
+makes it possible to come into being first
+as a child, afterwards as a man.</p>
+
+<p>Since I had no power of thought, I
+did not compare one mental state with
+another. So I was not conscious of any
+change or process going on in my brain<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span>
+when my teacher began to instruct me.
+I merely felt keen delight in obtaining
+more easily what I wanted by means of
+the finger motions she taught me. I
+thought only of objects, and only objects
+I wanted. It was the turning of
+the freezer on a larger scale. When I
+learned the meaning of "I" and "me"
+and found that I was something, I
+began to think. Then consciousness
+first existed for me. Thus it was not
+the sense of touch that brought me
+knowledge. It was the awakening of
+my soul that first rendered my senses
+their value, their cognizance of objects,
+names, qualities, and properties.
+Thought made me conscious of love,
+joy, and all the emotions. I was eager
+to know, then to understand, afterward
+to reflect on what I knew and understood,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
+and the blind impetus, which had
+before driven me hither and thither at
+the dictates of my sensations, vanished
+forever.</p>
+
+<p>I cannot represent more clearly than
+any one else the gradual and subtle
+changes from first impressions to abstract
+ideas. But I know that my
+physical ideas, that is, ideas derived
+from material objects, appear to me
+first an idea similar to those of touch.
+Instantly they pass into intellectual
+meanings. Afterward the meaning finds
+expression in what is called "inner
+speech." When I was a child, my inner
+speech was inner spelling. Although I
+am even now frequently caught spelling
+to myself on my fingers, yet I talk
+to myself, too, with my lips, and it is
+true that when I first learned to speak,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
+my mind discarded the finger-symbols
+and began to articulate. However,
+when I try to recall what some one has
+said to me, I am conscious of a hand
+spelling into mine.</p>
+
+<p>It has often been asked what were
+my earliest impressions of the world in
+which I found myself. But one who
+thinks at all of his first impressions
+knows what a riddle this is. Our impressions
+grow and change unnoticed, so
+that what we suppose we thought as
+children may be quite different from
+what we actually experienced in our
+childhood. I only know that after my
+education began the world which came
+within my reach was all alive. I spelled
+to my blocks and my dogs. I sympathized
+with plants when the flowers were
+picked, because I thought it hurt them,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
+and that they grieved for their lost blossoms.
+It was two years before I could be
+made to believe that my dogs did not
+understand what I said, and I always
+apologized to them when I ran into or
+stepped on them.</p>
+
+<p>As my experiences broadened and
+deepened, the indeterminate, poetic feelings
+of childhood began to fix themselves
+in definite thoughts. Nature&mdash;the
+world I could touch&mdash;was folded
+and filled with myself. I am inclined to
+believe those philosophers who declare
+that we know nothing but our own feelings
+and ideas. With a little ingenious
+reasoning one may see in the material
+world simply a mirror, an image of permanent
+mental sensations. In either
+sphere self-knowledge is the condition
+and the limit of our consciousness. That<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
+is why, perhaps, many people know
+so little about what is beyond their
+short range of experience. They look
+within themselves&mdash;and find nothing!
+Therefore they conclude that there is
+nothing outside themselves, either.</p>
+
+<p>However that may be, I came later to
+look for an image of my emotions and
+sensations in others. I had to learn the
+outward signs of inward feelings. The
+start of fear, the suppressed, controlled
+tensity of pain, the beat of happy muscles
+in others, had to be perceived and
+compared with my own experiences before
+I could trace them back to the intangible
+soul of another. Groping, uncertain,
+I at last found my identity, and
+after seeing my thoughts and feelings
+repeated in others, I gradually constructed
+my world of men and of God.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
+As I read and study, I find that this is
+what the rest of the race has done. Man
+looks within himself and in time finds
+the measure and the meaning of the universe.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<h2>THE LARGER SANCTIONS</h2><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE LARGER SANCTIONS</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>SO, in the midst of life, eager, imperious
+life, the deaf-blind child,
+fettered to the bare rock of circumstance,
+spider-like, sends out gossamer
+threads of thought into the measureless
+void that surrounds him. Patiently he
+explores the dark, until he builds up a
+knowledge of the world he lives in, and
+his soul meets the beauty of the world,
+where the sun shines always, and the
+birds sing. To the blind child the dark
+is kindly. In it he finds nothing extraordinary
+or terrible. It is his familiar
+world; even the groping from place to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>
+place, the halting steps, the dependence
+upon others, do not seem strange to him.
+He does not know how many countless
+pleasures the dark shuts out from him.
+Not until he weighs his life in the scale
+of others' experience does he realize
+what it is to live forever in the dark.
+But the knowledge that teaches him this
+bitterness also brings its consolation&mdash;spiritual
+light, the promise of the day
+that shall be.</div>
+
+<p>The blind child&mdash;the deaf-blind child&mdash;has
+inherited the mind of seeing and
+hearing ancestors&mdash;a mind measured to
+five senses. Therefore he must be influenced,
+even if it be unknown to himself,
+by the light, colour, song which have been
+transmitted through the language he is
+taught, for the chambers of the mind
+are ready to receive that language. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
+brain of the race is so permeated with
+colour that it dyes even the speech of the
+blind. Every object I think of is
+stained with the hue that belongs to it
+by association and memory. The experience
+of the deaf-blind person, in a
+world of seeing, hearing people, is like
+that of a sailor on an island where the
+inhabitants speak a language unknown
+to him, whose life is unlike that he has
+lived. He is one, they are many; there
+is no chance of compromise. He must
+learn to see with their eyes, to hear with
+their ears, to think their thoughts, to
+follow their ideals.</p>
+
+<p>If the dark, silent world which surrounds
+him were essentially different
+from the sunlit, resonant world, it would
+be incomprehensible to his kind, and
+could never be discussed. If his feelings<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
+and sensations were fundamentally
+different from those of others, they
+would be inconceivable except to those
+who had similar sensations and feelings.
+If the mental consciousness of the deaf-blind
+person were absolutely dissimilar
+to that of his fellows, he would have no
+means of imagining what they think.
+Since the mind of the sightless is essentially
+the same as that of the seeing in
+that it admits of no lack, it must supply
+some sort of equivalent for missing physical
+sensations. It must perceive a likeness
+between things outward and things
+inward, a correspondence between the
+seen and the unseen. I make use of
+such a correspondence in many relations,
+and no matter how far I pursue
+it to things I cannot see, it does not
+break under the test.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>As a working hypothesis, correspondence
+is adequate to all life, through the
+whole range of phenomena. The flash of
+thought and its swiftness explain the
+lightning flash and the sweep of a comet
+through the heavens. My mental sky
+opens to me the vast celestial spaces, and
+I proceed to fill them with the images of
+my spiritual stars. I recognize truth by
+the clearness and guidance that it gives
+my thought, and, knowing what that
+clearness is, I can imagine what light is
+to the eye. It is not a convention of
+language, but a forcible feeling of the
+reality, that at times makes me start
+when I say, "Oh, I see my mistake!"
+or "How dark, cheerless is his life!" I
+know these are metaphors. Still, I must
+prove with them, since there is nothing
+in our language to replace them. Deaf-blind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
+metaphors to correspond do not
+exist and are not necessary. Because
+I can understand the word "reflect"
+figuratively, a mirror has never perplexed
+me. The manner in which my
+imagination perceives absent things enables
+me to see how glasses can magnify
+things, bring them nearer, or remove
+them farther.</p>
+
+<p>Deny me this correspondence, this internal
+sense, confine me to the fragmentary,
+incoherent touch-world, and lo, I
+become as a bat which wanders about on
+the wing. Suppose I omitted all words
+of seeing, hearing, colour, light, landscape,
+the thousand phenomena, instruments
+and beauties connected with them.
+I should suffer a great diminution of
+the wonder and delight in attaining
+knowledge; also&mdash;more dreadful loss&mdash;my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>
+emotions would be blunted, so that I
+could not be touched by things unseen.</p>
+
+<p>Has anything arisen to disprove the
+adequacy of correspondence? Has any
+chamber of the blind man's brain been
+opened and found empty? Has any
+psychologist explored the mind of the
+sightless and been able to say, "There is
+no sensation here"?</p>
+
+<p>I tread the solid earth; I breathe the
+scented air. Out of these two experiences
+I form numberless associations
+and correspondences. I observe, I feel,
+I think, I imagine. I associate the
+countless varied impressions, experiences,
+concepts. Out of these materials
+Fancy, the cunning artisan of the
+brain, welds an image which the sceptic
+would deny me, because I cannot see
+with my physical eyes the changeful,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
+lovely face of my thought-child. He
+would break the mind's mirror. This
+spirit-vandal would humble my soul and
+force me to bite the dust of material
+things. While I champ the bit of circumstance,
+he scourges and goads me
+with the spur of fact. If I heeded him,
+the sweet-visaged earth would vanish
+into nothing, and I should hold in my
+hand nought but an aimless, soulless
+lump of dead matter. But although the
+body physical is rooted alive to the Promethean
+rock, the spirit-proud huntress
+of the air will still pursue the shining,
+open highways of the universe.</p>
+
+<p>Blindness has no limiting effect upon
+mental vision. My intellectual horizon is
+infinitely wide. The universe it encircles
+is immeasurable. Would they
+who bid me keep within the narrow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
+bound of my meagre senses demand of
+Herschel that he roof his stellar universe
+and give us back Plato's solid firmament
+of glassy spheres? Would they command
+Darwin from the grave and bid
+him blot out his geological time, give
+us back a paltry few thousand years?
+Oh, the supercilious doubters! They
+ever strive to clip the upward daring
+wings of the spirit.</p>
+
+<p>A person deprived of one or more
+senses is not, as many seem to think,
+turned out into a trackless wilderness
+without landmark or guide. The blind
+man carries with him into his dark environment
+all the faculties essential to
+the apprehension of the visible world
+whose door is closed behind him. He
+finds his surroundings everywhere homogeneous
+with those of the sunlit world;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
+for there is an inexhaustible ocean of
+likenesses between the world within, and
+the world without, and these likenesses,
+these correspondences, he finds equal to
+every exigency his life offers.</p>
+
+<p>The necessity of some such thing as
+correspondence or symbolism appears
+more and more urgent as we consider
+the duties that religion and philosophy
+enjoin upon us.</p>
+
+<p>The blind are expected to read the
+Bible as a means of attaining spiritual
+happiness. Now, the Bible is filled
+throughout with references to clouds,
+stars, colours, and beauty, and often the
+mention of these is essential to the meaning
+of the parable or the message in
+which they occur. Here one must needs
+see the inconsistency of people who believe
+in the Bible, and yet deny us a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
+right to talk about what we do not see,
+and for that matter what <i>they</i> do not
+see, either. Who shall forbid my heart
+to sing: "Yea, he did fly upon the wings
+of the wind. He made darkness his
+secret place; his pavilion round about
+him were dark waters and thick clouds
+of the skies"?</p>
+
+<p>Philosophy constantly points out the
+untrustworthiness of the five senses and
+the important work of reason which corrects
+the errors of sight and reveals its
+illusions. If we cannot depend on five
+senses, how much less may we rely on
+three! What ground have we for discarding
+light, sound, and colour as an integral
+part of our world? How are we
+to know that they have ceased to exist
+for us? We must take their reality for
+granted, even as the philosopher assumes<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
+the reality of the world without
+being able to see it physically as a whole.</p>
+
+<p>Ancient philosophy offers an argument
+which seems still valid. There is
+in the blind as in the seeing an Absolute
+which gives truth to what we know to be
+true, order to what is orderly, beauty to
+the beautiful, touchableness to what is
+tangible. If this is granted, it follows
+that this Absolute is not imperfect, incomplete,
+partial. It must needs go beyond
+the limited evidence of our sensations,
+and also give light to what is invisible,
+music to the musical that silence
+dulls. Thus mind itself compels us to
+acknowledge that we are in a world of
+intellectual order, beauty, and harmony.
+The essences, or absolutes of these ideas,
+necessarily dispel their opposites which
+belong with evil, disorder and discord.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
+Thus deafness and blindness do not exist
+in the immaterial mind, which is philosophically
+the real world, but are banished
+with the perishable material senses.
+Reality, of which visible things are the
+symbol, shines before my mind. While
+I walk about my chamber with unsteady
+steps, my spirit sweeps skyward on eagle
+wings and looks out with unquenchable
+vision upon the world of eternal
+beauty.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p>
+<h2>THE DREAM WORLD</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XIII</h2>
+
+<h3>THE DREAM WORLD</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>EVERYBODY takes his own dreams
+seriously, but yawns at the breakfast-table
+when somebody else begins to
+tell the adventures of the night before. I
+hesitate, therefore, to enter upon an account
+of my dreams; for it is a literary
+sin to bore the reader, and a scientific sin
+to report the facts of a far country with
+more regard to point and brevity than
+to complete and literal truth. The psychologists
+have trained a pack of theories
+and facts which they keep in leash,
+like so many bulldogs, and which they
+let loose upon us whenever we depart<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
+from the straight and narrow path of
+dream probability. One may not even
+tell an entertaining dream without being
+suspected of having liberally edited
+it,&mdash;as if editing were one of the seven
+deadly sins, instead of a useful and
+honourable occupation! Be it understood,
+then, that I am discoursing at
+my own breakfast-table, and that no
+scientific man is present to trip the
+autocrat.</div>
+
+<p>I used to wonder why scientific men
+and others were always asking me about
+my dreams. But I am not surprised
+now, since I have discovered what some
+of them believe to be the ordinary waking
+experience of one who is both deaf and
+blind. They think that I can know very
+little about objects even a few feet beyond
+the reach of my arms. Everything<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
+outside of myself, according to them,
+is a hazy blur. Trees, mountains, cities,
+the ocean, even the house I live in
+are but fairy fabrications, misty unrealities.
+Therefore it is assumed that my
+dreams should have peculiar interest for
+the man of science. In some undefined
+way it is expected that they should reveal
+the world I dwell in to be flat,
+formless, colourless, without perspective,
+with little thickness and less solidity&mdash;a
+vast solitude of soundless space. But
+who shall put into words limitless,
+visionless, silent void? One should be a
+disembodied spirit indeed to make anything
+out of such insubstantial experiences.
+A world, or a dream for that
+matter, to be comprehensible to us,
+must, I should think, have a warp of
+substance woven into the woof of fantasy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
+We cannot imagine even in
+dreams an object which has no counterpart
+in reality. Ghosts always resemble
+somebody, and if they do not appear
+themselves, their presence is indicated
+by circumstances with which we are perfectly
+familiar.</p>
+
+<p>During sleep we enter a strange,
+mysterious realm which science has
+thus far not explored. Beyond the
+border-line of slumber the investigator
+may not pass with his common-sense
+rule and test. Sleep with softest touch
+locks all the gates of our physical senses
+and lulls to rest the conscious will&mdash;the
+disciplinarian of our waking
+thoughts. Then the spirit wrenches itself
+free from the sinewy arms of reason
+and like a winged courser spurns
+the firm green earth and speeds away<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span>
+upon wind and cloud, leaving neither
+trace nor footprint by which science
+may track its flight and bring us
+knowledge of the distant, shadowy
+country that we nightly visit. When
+we come back from the dream-realm,
+we can give no reasonable report of what
+we met there. But once across the
+border, we feel at home as if we had
+always lived there and had never made
+any excursions into this rational daylight
+world.</p>
+
+<p>My dreams do not seem to differ very
+much from the dreams of other people.
+Some of them are coherent and safely
+hitched to an event or a conclusion.
+Others are inconsequent and fantastic.
+All attest that in Dreamland there is no
+such thing as repose. We are always
+up and doing with a mind for any adventure.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
+We act, strive, think, suffer
+and are glad to no purpose. We leave
+outside the portals of Sleep all troublesome
+incredulities and vexatious speculations
+as to probability. I float wraith-like
+upon clouds in and out among the
+winds, without the faintest notion that I
+am doing anything unusual. In Dreamland
+I find little that is altogether strange
+or wholly new to my experience. No
+matter what happens, I am not astonished,
+however extraordinary the circumstances
+may be. I visit a foreign land
+where I have not been in reality, and I
+converse with peoples whose language I
+have never heard. Yet we manage to
+understand each other perfectly. Into
+whatsoever situation or society my wanderings
+bring me, there is the same
+homogeneity. If I happen into Vagabondia,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
+I make merry with the jolly
+folk of the road or the tavern.</p>
+
+<p>I do not remember ever to have met
+persons with whom I could not at once
+communicate, or to have been shocked
+or surprised at the doings of my dream-companions.
+In its strange wanderings
+in those dusky groves of Slumberland
+my soul takes everything for granted
+and adapts itself to the wildest phantoms.
+I am seldom confused. Everything
+is as clear as day. I know events
+the instant they take place, and wherever
+I turn my steps, Mind is my faithful
+guide and interpreter.</p>
+
+<p>I suppose every one has had in a
+dream the exasperating, profitless experience
+of seeking something urgently
+desired at the moment, and the aching,
+weary sensation that follows each failure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span>
+to track the thing to its hiding-place.
+Sometimes with a singing dizziness
+in my head I climb and climb, I
+know not where or why. Yet I cannot
+quit the torturing, passionate endeavour,
+though again and again I reach out
+blindly for an object to hold to. Of
+course according to the perversity of
+dreams there is no object near. I clutch
+empty air, and then I fall downward,
+and still downward, and in the midst of
+the fall I dissolve into the atmosphere
+upon which I have been floating so precariously.</p>
+
+<p>Some of my dreams seem to be traced
+one within another like a series of concentric
+circles. In sleep I think I cannot
+sleep. I toss about in the toils of
+tasks unfinished. I decide to get up
+and read for a while. I know the shelf in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
+my library where I keep the book I want.
+The book has no name, but I find
+it without difficulty. I settle myself
+comfortably in the morris-chair, the
+great book open on my knee. Not a
+word can I make out, the pages are utterly
+blank. I am not surprised, but
+keenly disappointed. I finger the pages,
+I bend over them lovingly, the tears fall
+on my hands. I shut the book quickly
+as the thought passes through my mind,
+"The print will be all rubbed out if I
+get it wet." Yet there is no print tangible
+on the page!</p>
+
+<p>This morning I thought that I awoke.
+I was certain that I had overslept.
+I seized my watch, and sure enough, it
+pointed to an hour after my rising time.
+I sprang up in the greatest hurry,
+knowing that breakfast was ready.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span>
+I called my mother, who declared that
+my watch must be wrong. She was
+positive it could not be so late. I
+looked at my watch again, and lo! the
+hands wiggled, whirled, buzzed and disappeared.
+I awoke more fully as my
+dismay grew, until I was at the antipodes
+of sleep. Finally my eyes opened actually,
+and I knew that I had been dreaming.
+I had only waked into sleep.
+What is still more bewildering, there is
+no difference between the consciousness
+of the sham waking and that of the
+real one.</p>
+
+<p>It is fearful to think that all that we
+have ever seen, felt, read, and done may
+suddenly rise to our dream-vision, as the
+sea casts up objects it has swallowed. I
+have held a little child in my arms in the
+midst of a riot and spoken vehemently,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
+imploring the Russian soldiers not to
+massacre the Jews. I have re-lived the
+agonizing scenes of the Sepoy Rebellion
+and the French Revolution. Cities have
+burned before my eyes, and I have
+fought the flames until I fell exhausted.
+Holocausts overtake the world, and I
+struggle in vain to save my friends.</p>
+
+<p>Once in a dream a message came
+speeding over land and sea that winter
+was descending upon the world from
+the North Pole, that the Arctic zone
+was shifting to our mild climate. Far
+and wide the message flew. The ocean
+was congealed in midsummer. Ships
+were held fast in the ice by thousands,
+the ships with large, white sails were held
+fast. Riches of the Orient and the
+plenteous harvests of the Golden West
+might no more pass between nation and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
+nation. For some time the trees and
+flowers grew on, despite the intense
+cold. Birds flew into the houses for
+safety, and those which winter had
+overtaken lay on the snow with wings
+spread in vain flight. At last the foliage
+and blossoms fell at the feet of Winter.
+The petals of the flowers were turned
+to rubies and sapphires. The leaves froze
+into emeralds. The trees moaned and
+tossed their branches as the frost pierced
+them through bark and sap, pierced
+into their very roots. I shivered
+myself awake, and with a tumult
+of joy I breathed the many sweet
+morning odours wakened by the summer
+sun.</p>
+
+<p>One need not visit an African jungle
+or an Indian forest to hunt the tiger.
+One can lie in bed amid downy pillows<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span>
+and dream tigers as terrible as any in
+the pathless wild. I was a little girl
+when one night I tried to cross the garden
+in front of my aunt's house in
+Alabama. I was in pursuit of a large
+cat with a great bushy tail. A few
+hours before he had clawed my little
+canary out of its cage and crunched it
+between his cruel teeth. I could not see
+the cat. But the thought in my mind
+was distinct: "He is making for the
+high grass at the end of the garden.
+I'll get there first!" I put my hand on
+the box border and ran swiftly along
+the path. When I reached the high
+grass, there was the cat gliding into the
+wavy tangle. I rushed forward and
+tried to seize him and take the bird
+from between his teeth. To my horror
+a huge beast, not the cat at all, sprang<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
+out from the grass, and his sinewy
+shoulder rubbed against me with palpitating
+strength! His ears stood up and
+quivered with anger. His eyes were
+hot. His nostrils were large and wet.
+His lips moved horribly. I knew it was
+a tiger, a real live tiger, and that I
+should be devoured&mdash;my little bird and
+I. I do not know what happened after
+that. The next important thing seldom
+happens in dreams.</p>
+
+<p>Some time earlier I had a dream
+which made a vivid impression upon me.
+My aunt was weeping because she
+could not find me. But I took an impish
+pleasure in the thought that she and
+others were searching for me, and making
+great noise which I felt through my feet.
+Suddenly the spirit of mischief gave way
+to uncertainty and fear. I felt cold.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span>
+The air smelt like ice and salt. I tried
+to run; but the long grass tripped
+me, and I fell forward on my face.
+I lay very still, feeling with all my
+body. After a while my sensations
+seemed to be concentrated in my fingers,
+and I perceived that the grass blades
+were sharp as knives, and hurt my
+hands cruelly. I tried to get up cautiously,
+so as not to cut myself on the
+sharp grass. I put down a tentative
+foot, much as my kitten treads for the
+first time the primeval forest in the
+backyard. All at once I felt the stealthy
+patter of something creeping, creeping,
+creeping purposefully toward me. I do
+not know how at that time the idea
+was in my mind; I had no words for intention
+or purpose. Yet it was precisely
+the evil intent, and not the creeping<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
+animal that terrified me. I had no
+fear of living creatures. I loved my
+father's dogs, the frisky little calf, the
+gentle cows, the horses and mules that
+ate apples from my hand, and none
+of them had ever harmed me. I lay
+low, waiting in breathless terror for the
+creature to spring and bury its long claws
+in my flesh. I thought, "They will
+feel like turkey-claws." Something warm
+and wet touched my face. I shrieked,
+struck out frantically, and awoke. Something
+was still struggling in my arms. I
+held on with might and main until I was
+exhausted, then I loosed my hold. I
+found dear old Belle, the setter, shaking
+herself and looking at me reproachfully.
+She and I had gone to sleep together
+on the rug, and had naturally wandered
+to the dream-forest where dogs and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span>
+little girls hunt wild game and have
+strange adventures. We encountered
+hosts of elfin foes, and it required
+all the dog tactics at Belle's command
+to acquit herself like the lady and
+huntress that she was. Belle had her
+dreams too. We used to lie under the
+trees and flowers in the old garden, and
+I used to laugh with delight when the
+magnolia leaves fell with little thuds,
+and Belle jumped up, thinking she had
+heard a partridge. She would pursue
+the leaf, point it, bring it back to
+me and lay it at my feet with a humorous
+wag of her tail as much as to say,
+"This is the kind of bird that waked
+me." I made a chain for her neck
+out of the lovely blue Paulownia
+flowers and covered her with great heart-shaped
+leaves.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>Dear old Belle, she has long been
+dreaming among the lotus-flowers and
+poppies of the dogs' paradise.</p>
+
+<p>Certain dreams have haunted me
+since my childhood. One which recurs
+often proceeds after this wise: A spirit
+seems to pass before my face. I feel an
+extreme heat like the blast from an engine.
+It is the embodiment of evil. I
+must have had it first after the day that
+I nearly got burnt.</p>
+
+<p>Another spirit which visits me often
+brings a sensation of cool dampness,
+such as one feels on a chill November
+night when the window is open. The
+spirit stops just beyond my reach, sways
+back and forth like a creature in grief.
+My blood is chilled, and seems to freeze
+in my veins. I try to move, but my body
+is still, and I cannot even cry out.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span>
+After a while the spirit passes on,
+and I say to myself shudderingly, "That
+was Death. I wonder if he has taken
+her." The pronoun stands for my
+Teacher.</p>
+
+<p>In my dreams I have sensations,
+odours, tastes and ideas which I do not
+remember to have had in reality. Perhaps
+they are the glimpses which my
+mind catches through the veil of sleep
+of my earliest babyhood. I have heard
+"the trampling of many waters." Sometimes
+a wonderful light visits me in
+sleep. Such a flash and glory as it is!
+I gaze and gaze until it vanishes. I
+smell and taste much as in my waking
+hours; but the sense of touch plays a
+less important part. In sleep I almost
+never grope. No one guides me. Even
+in a crowded street I am self-sufficient,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
+and I enjoy an independence quite foreign
+to my physical life. Now I seldom
+spell on my fingers, and it is still rarer
+for others to spell into my hand. My
+mind acts independent of my physical
+organs. I am delighted to be thus endowed,
+if only in sleep; for then my
+soul dons its winged sandals and joyfully
+joins the throng of happy beings who
+dwell beyond the reaches of bodily sense.</p>
+
+<p>The moral inconsistency of dreams is
+glaring. Mine grow less and less accordant
+with my proper principles. I
+am nightly hurled into an unethical
+medley of extremes. I must either defend
+another to the last drop of my blood
+or condemn him past all repenting.
+I commit murder, sleeping, to save
+the lives of others. I ascribe to those I
+love best acts and words which it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span>
+mortifies me to remember, and I cast
+reproach after reproach upon them.
+It is fortunate for our peace of mind
+that most wicked dreams are soon forgotten.
+Death, sudden and awful,
+strange loves and hates remorselessly
+pursued, cunningly plotted revenge, are
+seldom more than dim haunting recollections
+in the morning, and during the
+day they are erased by the normal activities
+of the mind. Sometimes immediately
+on waking, I am so vexed at the
+memory of a dream-fracas, I wish I
+may dream no more. With this wish
+distinctly before me I drop off again
+into a new turmoil of dreams.</p>
+
+<p>Oh, dreams, what opprobrium I heap
+upon you&mdash;you, the most pointless things
+imaginable, saucy apes, brewers of odious
+contrasts, haunting birds of ill omen,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
+mocking echoes, unseasonable reminders,
+oft-returning vexations, skeletons in my
+morris-chair, jesters in the tomb, death's-heads
+at the wedding feast, outlaws of
+the brain that every night defy the mind's
+police service, thieves of my Hesperidean
+apples, breakers of my domestic peace,
+murderers of sleep. "Oh, dreadful
+dreams that do fright my spirit from
+her propriety!" No wonder that Hamlet
+preferred the ills he knew rather
+than run the risk of one dream-vision.</p>
+
+<p>Yet remove the dream-world, and the
+loss is inconceivable. The magic spell
+which binds poetry together is broken.
+The splendour of art and the soaring
+might of imagination are lessened because
+no phantom of fadeless sunsets
+and flowers urges onward to a goal.
+Gone is the mute permission or connivance<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
+which emboldens the soul to mock
+the limits of time and space, forecast
+and gather in harvests of achievement
+for ages yet unborn. Blot out dreams,
+and the blind lose one of their chief
+comforts; for in the visions of sleep
+they behold their belief in the seeing
+mind and their expectation of light beyond
+the blank, narrow night justified.
+Nay, our conception of immortality is
+shaken. Faith, the motive-power of
+human life, flickers out. Before such
+vacancy and bareness the shocks of
+wrecked worlds were indeed welcome.
+In truth, dreams bring us the thought
+independently of us and in spite of us
+that the soul</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+<span style="margin-left: 11em;">"may right</span><br />
+Her nature, shoot large sail on lengthening cord,<br />
+And rush exultant on the Infinite."<br /></div>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p>
+
+<h2>DREAMS AND REALITY</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XIV</h2>
+
+<h3>DREAMS AND REALITY</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>IT is astonishing to think how our real
+wide-awake world revolves around
+the shadowy unrealities of Dreamland.
+Despite all that we say about the inconsequence
+of dreams, we often reason by
+them. We stake our greatest hopes
+upon them. Nay, we build upon them
+the fabric of an ideal world. I can recall
+few fine, thoughtful poems, few
+noble works of art or any system of
+philosophy in which there is not evidence
+that dream-fantasies symbolize
+truths concealed by phenomena.</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>The fact that in dreams confusion
+reigns, and illogical connections occur
+gives plausibility to the theory which
+Sir Arthur Mitchell and other scientific
+men hold, that our dream-thinking is
+uncontrolled and undirected by the will.
+The will&mdash;the inhibiting and guiding
+power&mdash;finds rest and refreshment in
+sleep, while the mind, like a barque without
+rudder or compass, drifts aimlessly
+upon an uncharted sea. But curiously
+enough, these fantasies and inter-twistings
+of thought are to be found
+in great imaginative poems like
+Spenser's "F&aelig;rie Queene." Lamb was
+impressed by the analogy between
+our dream-thinking and the work of
+the imagination. Speaking of the
+episode in the cave of Mammon, Lamb
+wrote:<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"It is not enough to say that the whole
+episode is a copy of the mind's conceptions
+in sleep; it is&mdash;in some sort, but
+what a copy! Let the most romantic of
+us that has been entertained all night
+with the spectacle of some wild and
+magnificent vision, re-combine it in the
+morning and try it by his waking judgment.
+That which appeared so shifting
+and yet so coherent, when it came under
+cool examination, shall appear so reasonless
+and so unlinked, that we are
+ashamed to have been so deluded, and to
+have taken, though but in sleep, a monster
+for a god. The transitions in
+this episode are every whit as violent
+as in the most extravagant dream,
+and yet the waking judgment ratifies
+them."</p>
+
+<p>Perhaps I feel more than others the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
+analogy between the world of our waking
+life and the world of dreams because
+before I was taught, I lived in a
+sort of perpetual dream. The testimony
+of parents and friends who
+watched me day after day is the only
+means that I have of knowing the actuality
+of those early, obscure years of
+my childhood. The physical acts of going
+to bed and waking in the morning alone
+mark the transition from reality to
+Dreamland. As near as I can tell,
+asleep or awake I only felt with my
+body. I can recollect no process which
+I should now dignify with the term of
+thought. It is true that my bodily sensations
+were extremely acute; but beyond
+a crude connection with physical
+wants they are not associated or
+directed. They had little relation to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>
+each other, to me or the experience
+of others. Idea&mdash;that which gives identity
+and continuity to experience&mdash;came
+into my sleeping and waking existence
+at the same moment with the awakening
+of self-consciousness. Before
+that moment my mind was in a
+state of anarchy in which meaningless
+sensations rioted, and if thought
+existed, it was so vague and inconsequent,
+it cannot be made a part of
+discourse. Yet before my education
+began, I dreamed. I know that I must
+have dreamed because I recall no break
+in my tactual experiences. Things fell
+suddenly, heavily. I felt my clothing
+afire, or I fell into a tub of cold water.
+Once I smelt bananas, and the odour in
+my nostrils was so vivid that in the
+morning, before I was dressed, I went<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
+to the sideboard to look for the bananas.
+There were no bananas, and no odour of
+bananas anywhere! My life was in fact
+a dream throughout.</p>
+
+<p>The likeness between my waking state
+and the sleeping one is still marked.
+In both states I see, but not with my
+eyes. I hear, but not with my ears. I
+speak, and am spoken to, without the
+sound of a voice. I am moved to
+pleasure by visions of ineffable beauty
+which I have never beheld in the physical
+world. Once in a dream I held in
+my hand a pearl. The one I saw in
+my dreams must, therefore, have been a
+creation of my imagination. It was a
+smooth, exquisitely moulded crystal.
+As I gazed into its shimmering deeps,
+my soul was flooded with an ecstasy of
+tenderness, and I was filled with wonder<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
+as one who should for the first time
+look into the cool, sweet heart of a rose.
+My pearl was dew and fire, the velvety
+green of moss, the soft whiteness of
+lilies, and the distilled hues and sweetness
+of a thousand roses. It seemed to
+me, the soul of beauty was dissolved in
+its crystal bosom. This beauteous vision
+strengthens my conviction that the
+world which the mind builds up out of
+countless subtle experiences and suggestions
+is fairer than the world of the
+senses. The splendour of the sunset my
+friends gaze at across the purpling hills
+is wonderful. But the sunset of the
+inner vision brings purer delight because
+it is the worshipful blending of all
+the beauty that we have known and
+desired.</p>
+
+<p>I believe that I am more fortunate in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
+my dreams than most people; for as I
+think back over my dreams, the pleasant
+ones seem to predominate, although
+we naturally recall most vividly and tell
+most eagerly the grotesque and fantastic
+adventures in Slumberland. I have
+friends, however, whose dreams are always
+troubled and disturbed. They
+wake fatigued and bruised, and they
+tell me that they would give a kingdom
+for one dreamless night. There is one
+friend who declares that she has never
+had a felicitous dream in her life. The
+grind and worry of the day invade the
+sweet domain of sleep and weary her
+with incessant, profitless effort. I feel
+very sorry for this friend, and perhaps
+it is hardly fair to insist upon the pleasure
+of dreaming in the presence of one
+whose dream-experience is so unhappy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
+Still, it is true that my dreams have uses
+as many and sweet as those of adversity.
+All my yearning for the strange, the
+weird, the ghostlike is gratified in dreams.
+They carry me out of the accustomed and
+commonplace. In a flash, in the winking
+of an eye they snatch the burden
+from my shoulder, the trivial task from
+my hand and the pain and disappointment
+from my heart, and I behold
+the lovely face of my dream. It dances
+round me with merry measure and darts
+hither and thither in happy abandon.
+Sudden, sweet fancies spring forth from
+every nook and corner, and delightful
+surprises meet me at every turn. A happy
+dream is more precious than gold and
+rubies.</p>
+
+<p>I like to think that in dreams we
+catch glimpses of a life larger than our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
+own. We see it as a little child, or as a
+savage who visits a civilized nation.
+Thoughts are imparted to us far above
+our ordinary thinking. Feelings nobler
+and wiser than any we have known thrill
+us between heart-beats. For one fleeting
+night a princelier nature captures us,
+and we become as great as our aspirations.
+I daresay we return to the
+little world of our daily activities with
+as distorted a half-memory of what we
+have seen as that of the African who
+visited England, and afterwards said he
+had been in a huge hill which carried
+him over great waters. The comprehensiveness
+of our thought, whether we
+are asleep or awake, no doubt depends
+largely upon our idiosyncrasies, constitution,
+habits, and mental capacity.
+But whatever may be the nature of our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
+dreams, the mental processes that characterize
+them are analogous to those
+which go on when the mind is not held
+to attention by the will.</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A WAKING DREAM</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p>
+<h2>XV</h2>
+
+<h3>A WAKING DREAM</h3>
+
+
+<div class='cap'>I &nbsp;&nbsp;HAVE sat for hours in a sort of reverie,
+letting my mind have its way
+without inhibition and direction, and
+idly noted down the incessant beat of
+thought upon thought, image upon image.
+I have observed that my thoughts
+make all kinds of connections, wind in
+and out, trace concentric circles, and
+break up in eddies of fantasy, just as in
+dreams. One day I had a literary frolic
+with a certain set of thoughts which
+dropped in for an afternoon call. I
+wrote for three or four hours as they arrived,
+and the resulting record is much<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
+like a dream. I found that the most disconnected,
+dissimilar thoughts came in
+arm-in-arm&mdash;I dreamed a wide-awake
+dream. The difference is that in waking
+dreams I can look back upon the
+endless succession of thoughts, while in
+the dreams of sleep I can recall but few
+ideas and images. I catch broken
+threads from the warp and woof of a
+pattern I cannot see, or glowing leaves
+which have floated on a slumber-wind
+from a tree that I cannot identify. In
+this reverie I held the key to the company
+of ideas. I give my record of
+them to show what analogies exist between
+thoughts when they are not
+directed and the behaviour of real
+dream-thinking.</div>
+
+<p>I had an essay to write. I wanted my
+mind fresh and obedient, and all its<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
+handmaidens ready to hold up my hands
+in the task. I intended to discourse
+learnedly upon my educational experiences,
+and I was unusually anxious to
+do my best. I had a working plan in
+my head for the essay, which was to be
+grave, wise, and abounding in ideas.
+Moreover, it was to have an academic
+flavour suggestive of sheepskin, and the
+reader was to be duly impressed with
+the austere dignity of cap and gown. I
+shut myself up in the study, resolved to
+beat out on the keys of my typewriter
+this immortal chapter of my life-history.
+Alexander was no more confident of
+conquering Asia with the splendid army
+which his father Philip had disciplined
+than I was of finding my mental house
+in order and my thoughts obedient.
+My mind had had a long vacation, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span>
+I was now coming back to it in an hour
+that it looked not for me. My situation
+was similar to that of the master
+who went into a far country and expected
+on his home coming to find
+everything as he left it. But returning he
+found his servants giving a party. Confusion
+was rampant. There was fiddling
+and dancing and the babble of many
+tongues, so that the voice of the master
+could not be heard. Though he shouted
+and beat upon the gate, it remained
+closed.</p>
+
+<p>So it was with me. I sounded the
+trumpet loud and long; but the vassals
+of thought would not rally to my standard.
+Each had his arm round the waist
+of a fair partner, and I know not what
+wild tunes "put life and mettle into
+their heels." There was nothing to do.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
+I looked about helplessly upon my
+great retinue, and realized that it is not
+the possession of a thing but the ability
+to use it which is of value. I settled
+back in my chair to watch the pageant.
+It was rather pleasant sitting there,
+"idle as a painted ship upon a painted
+ocean," watching my own thoughts at
+play. It was like thinking fine things
+to say without taking the trouble to write
+them. I felt like Alice in Wonderland
+when she ran at full speed with the
+red queen and never passed anything
+or got anywhere.</p>
+
+<p>The merry frolic went on madly.
+The dancers were all manner of
+thoughts. There were sad thoughts and
+happy thoughts, thoughts suited to
+every clime and weather, thoughts bearing
+the mark of every age and nation,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span>
+silly thoughts and wise thoughts,
+thoughts of people, of things, and of
+nothing, good thoughts, impish thoughts,
+and large, gracious thoughts. There
+they went swinging hand-in-hand in corkscrew
+fashion. An antic jester in green
+and gold led the dance. The guests
+followed no order or precedent. No
+two thoughts were related to each other
+even by the fortieth cousinship. There
+was not so much as an international
+alliance between them. Each thought
+behaved like a newly created poet.</p>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"His mouth he could not ope,<br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">But there flew out a trope."</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='unindent'>Magical lyrics&mdash;oh, if I only had written
+them down! Pell-mell they came down
+the sequestered avenues of my mind,
+this merry throng. With bacchanal
+song and shout they came, and eye<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>
+hath not since beheld confusion worse
+confounded.</div>
+
+<p>Shut your eyes, and see them come&mdash;the
+knights and ladies of my revel.
+Plumed and turbaned they come, clad in
+mail and silken broideries, gentle maids
+in Quaker gray, gay princes in scarlet
+cloaks, coquettes with roses in their hair,
+monks in cowls that might have covered
+the tall Minster Tower, demure little
+girls hugging paper dolls, and rollicking
+school-boys with ruddy morning
+faces, an absent-minded professor carrying
+his shoes under his arms and looking
+wise, followed by cronies, fairies,
+goblins, and all the troops just loosed
+from Noah's storm-tossed ark. They
+walked, they strutted, they soared, they
+swam, and some came in through fire.
+One sprite climbed up to the moon on a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
+ladder made of leaves and frozen dew-drops.
+A peacock with a great hooked
+bill flew in and out among the branches
+of a pomegranate-tree pecking the rosy
+fruit. He screamed so loud that Apollo
+turned in his chariot of flame and from his
+burnished bow shot golden arrows at
+him. This did not disturb the peacock
+in the least; for he spread his gem-like
+wings and flourished his wonderful, fire-tipped
+tail in the very face of the sun-god!
+Then came Venus&mdash;an exact copy
+of my own plaster cast&mdash;serene, calm-eyed,
+dancing "high and disposedly"
+like Queen Elizabeth, surrounded by a
+troop of lovely Cupids mounted on
+rose-tinted clouds, blown hither and
+thither by sweet winds, while all around
+danced flowers and streams and queer
+little Japanese cherry-trees in pots!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
+They were followed by jovial Pan
+with green hair and jewelled sandals,
+and by his side&mdash;I could scarcely believe
+my eyes!&mdash;walked a modest nun counting
+her beads. At a little distance were seen
+three dancers arm-in-arm, a lean,
+starved platitude, a rosy, dimpled joke,
+and a steel-ribbed sermon on predestination.
+Close upon them came a whole
+string of Nights with wind-blown
+hair and Days with faggots on their
+backs. All at once I saw the ample figure
+of Life rise above the whirling mass
+holding a naked child in one hand and
+in the other a gleaming sword. A bear
+crouched at her feet, and all about her
+swirled and glowed a multitudinous host
+of tiny atoms which sang all together,
+"We are the will of God." Atom wedded
+atom, and chemical married chemical,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
+and the cosmic dance went on in
+changing, changeless measure, until my
+head sang like a buzz-saw.</p>
+
+<p>Just as I was thinking I would leave
+this scene of phantoms and take a stroll
+in the quiet groves of Slumber I noticed
+a commotion near one of the entrances
+to my enchanted palace. It was evident
+from the whispering and buzzing that
+went round that more celebrities had arrived.
+The first personage I saw was
+Homer, blind no more, leading by a
+golden chain the white-beaked ships of
+the Achaians bobbing their heads and
+squawking like so many white swans.
+Plato and Mother Goose with the numerous
+children of the shoe came next.
+Simple Simon, Jill, and Jack who had
+had his head mended, and the cat that
+fell into the cream&mdash;all these danced in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span>
+a giddy reel, while Plato solemnly discoursed
+on the laws of Topsyturvy
+Land. Then followed grim-visaged
+Calvin and "violet-crowned, sweet-smiling
+Sappho" who danced a Schottische.
+Aristophanes and Moli&egrave;re joined for a
+measure, both talking at once, Moli&egrave;re
+in Greek and Aristophanes in German.
+I thought this odd, because it occurred
+to me that German was a dead language
+before Aristophanes was born. Bright-eyed
+Shelley brought in a fluttering
+lark which burst into the song of
+Chaucer's chanticleer. Henry Esmond
+gave his hand in a stately minuet to
+Diana of the Crossways. He evidently
+did not understand her nineteenth century
+wit; for he did not laugh. Perhaps
+he had lost his taste for clever women.
+Anon Dante and Swedenborg came together<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span>
+conversing earnestly about things
+remote and mystical. Swedenborg said
+it was very warm. Dante replied that it
+might rain in the night.</p>
+
+<p>Suddenly there was a great clamour,
+and I found that "The Battle of the
+Books" had begun raging anew. Two
+figures entered in lively dispute. One
+was dressed in plain homespun and the
+other wore a scholar's gown over a suit
+of motley. I gathered from their conversation
+that they were Cotton Mather
+and William Shakspere. Mather insisted
+that the witches in "Macbeth"
+should be caught and hanged. Shakspere
+replied that the witches had already
+suffered enough at the hands of
+commentators. They were pushed aside
+by the twelve knights of the Round
+Table, who marched in bearing on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
+a salver the goose that laid golden
+eggs. "The Pope's Mule" and "The
+Golden Bull" had a combat of history
+and fiction such as I had read of in
+books, but never before witnessed. These
+little animals were put to rout by a
+huge elephant which lumbered in with
+Rudyard Kipling riding high on its
+trunk. The elephant changed suddenly
+to "a rakish craft." (I do not know
+what a rakish craft is; but this was very
+rakish and very crafty.) It must have
+been abandoned long ago by wild
+pirates of the southern seas; for clinging
+to the rigging, and jovially cheering as
+the ship went down, I made out a man
+with blazing eyes, clad in a velveteen
+jacket. As the ship disappeared from
+sight, Falstaff rushed to the rescue of
+the lonely navigator&mdash;and stole his purse!<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
+But Miranda persuaded him to give
+it back. Stevenson said, "Who steals
+my purse steals trash." Falstaff laughed
+and called this a good joke, as good
+as any he had heard in his day.</p>
+
+<p>This was the signal for a rushing swarm
+of quotations. They surged to and fro,
+an inchoate throng of half finished
+phrases, mutilated sentences, parodied
+sentiments, and brilliant metaphors. I
+could not distinguish any phrases or
+ideas of my own making. I saw a
+poor, ragged, shrunken sentence that
+might have been mine own catch the
+wings of a fair idea with the light of
+genius shining like a halo about its head.</p>
+
+<p>Ever and anon the dancers changed
+partners without invitation or permission.
+Thoughts fell in love at sight,
+married in a measure, and joined hands<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
+without previous courtship. An incongruity
+is the wedding of two thoughts
+which have had no reasonable courtship,
+and marriages without wooing are apt
+to lead to domestic discord, even to the
+breaking up of an ancient, time-honoured
+family. Among the wedded couples
+were certain similes hitherto inviolable
+in their bachelorhood and spinsterhood,
+and held in great respect. Their
+extraordinary proceedings nearly broke
+up the dance. But the fatuity of their
+union was evident to them, and they
+parted. Other <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'similies'">similes</ins> seemed to have
+the habit of living in discord. They had
+been many times married and divorced.
+They belonged to the notorious society
+of Mixed Metaphors.</p>
+
+<p>A company of phantoms floated in
+and out wearing tantalizing garments<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
+of oblivion. They seemed about to
+dance, then vanished. They reappeared
+half a dozen times, but never unveiled
+their faces. The imp Curiosity pulled
+Memory by the sleeve and said, "Why
+do they run away? 'Tis strange knavery!"
+Out ran Memory to capture
+them. After a great deal of racing and
+puffing and collision it apprehended
+some of the fugitives and brought them
+in. But when it tore off their masks,
+lo! some were disappointingly commonplace,
+and others were gipsy quotations
+trying to conceal the punctuation
+marks that belonged to them. Memory
+was much chagrined to have had such a
+hard chase only to catch this sorry lot of
+graceless rogues.</p>
+
+<p>Into the rabble strode four stately
+giants who called themselves History,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
+Philosophy, Law, and Medicine. They
+seemed too solemn and imposing to join
+in a masque. But even as I gazed at
+these formidable guests, they all split
+into fragments which went whirling,
+dancing in divisions, subdivisions, re-subdivisions
+of scientific nonsense! History
+split into philology, ethnology,
+anthropology, and mythology, and these
+again split finer than the splitting of
+hairs. Each speciality hugged its bit of
+knowledge and waltzed it round and
+round. The rest of the company began
+to nod, and I felt drowsy myself. To
+put an end to the solemn gyrations, a
+troop of fairies mercifully waved poppies
+over us all, the masque faded, my
+head fell, and I started. Sleep had
+wakened me. At my elbow I found my
+old friend Bottom.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span></p>
+
+<p>"Bottom," I said, "I have had a
+dream past the wit of man to say what
+dream it was. Methought I was&mdash;there
+is no man can tell what. The eye of
+man hath not heard, the ear of man hath
+not seen, his hand is not able to taste, his
+tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report
+what my dream was."</p>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A CHANT OF DARKNESS</h2>
+
+
+
+<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p>
+<h2>A CHANT OF DARKNESS</h2>
+
+<div class='poem'>
+"<i>My wings are folded o'er mine ears,</i><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>My wings are cross&egrave;d o'er mine eyes,</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>Yet through their silver shade appears,</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>And through their lulling plumes arise,</i></span><br />
+<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;"><i>A Shape, a throng of sounds.</i>"</span><br />
+</div>
+
+<div class='sig'>
+<i>Shelley's "Prometheus Unbound."</i><br /><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<div class='poem2'><div class='cap'>
+I &nbsp;&nbsp;DARE not ask why we are reft of light,<br />
+Banished to our solitary isles amid the unmeasured seas,<br />
+Or how our sight was nurtured to glorious vision,<br />
+To fade and vanish and leave us in the dark alone.<br />
+The secret of God is upon our tabernacle;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span>Into His mystery I dare not pry. Only this I know:<br />
+With Him is strength, with Him is wisdom,<br />
+And His wisdom hath set darkness in our paths.<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br /></div>
+<br />
+O Dark! thou awful, sweet, and holy Dark!<br />
+In thy solemn spaces, beyond the human eye,<br />
+God fashioned His universe; laid the foundations of the earth,<br />
+Laid the measure thereof, and stretched the line upon it;<br />
+Shut up the sea with doors, and made the glory<br />
+Of the clouds a covering for it;<br />
+Commanded His morning, and, behold! chaos fled<br />
+Before the uplifted face of the sun;<br />
+Divided a water-course for the overflowing of waters;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span>Sent rain upon the earth&mdash;<br />
+Upon the wilderness wherein there was no man,<br />
+Upon the desert where grew no tender herb,<br />
+And, lo! there was greenness upon the plains,<br />
+And the hills were clothed with beauty!<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br />
+<br />
+O Dark! thou secret and inscrutable Dark!<br />
+In thy silent depths, the springs whereof man hath not fathomed,<br />
+God wrought the soul of man.<br />
+O Dark! compassionate, all-knowing Dark!<br />
+Tenderly, as shadows to the evening, comes thy message to man.<br />
+Softly thou layest thy hand on his tired eyelids,<br />
+And his soul, weary and homesick, returns<br />
+Unto thy soothing embrace.<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br />
+<br />
+O Dark! wise, vital, thought-quickening Dark!<br />
+In thy mystery thou hidest the light<br />
+That is the soul's life.<br />
+Upon thy solitary shores I walk unafraid;<br />
+I dread no evil; though I walk in the valley of the shadow,<br />
+I shall not know the ecstasy of fear<br />
+When gentle Death leads me through life's open door,<br />
+When the bands of night are sundered,<br />
+And the day outpours its light.<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br />
+<br />
+The timid soul, fear-driven, shuns the dark;<br />
+But upon the cheeks of him who must abide in shadow<br />
+Breathes the wind of rushing angel-wings,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>And round him falls a light from unseen fires.<br />
+Magical beams glow athwart the darkness;<br />
+Paths of beauty wind through his black world<br />
+To another world of light,<br />
+Where no veil of sense shuts him out from Paradise.<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br />
+<br />
+O Dark! thou bless&egrave;d, quiet Dark!<br />
+To the lone exile who must dwell with thee<br />
+Thou art benign and friendly;<br />
+From the harsh world thou dost shut him in;<br />
+To him thou whisperest the secrets of the wondrous night;<br />
+Upon him thou bestowest regions wide and boundless as his spirit;<br />
+Thou givest a glory to all humble things;<br />
+With thy hovering pinions thou coverest all unlovely objects;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>Under thy brooding wings there is peace.<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br />
+</div>
+
+
+<h3>II</h3>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+<span class='smcap'>Once</span> in regions void of light I wandered;<br />
+In blank darkness I stumbled,<br />
+And fear led me by the hand;<br />
+My feet pressed earthward,<br />
+Afraid of pitfalls.<br />
+By many shapeless terrors of the night affrighted,<br />
+To the wakeful day<br />
+I held out beseeching arms.<br />
+<br />
+Then came Love, bearing in her hand<br />
+The torch that is the light unto my feet,<br />
+And softly spoke Love: "Hast thou<br />
+Entered into the treasures of darkness?<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>Hast thou entered into the treasures of the night?<br />
+Search out thy blindness. It holdeth<br />
+Riches past computing."<br />
+<br />
+The words of Love set my spirit aflame.<br />
+My eager fingers searched out the mysteries,<br />
+The splendours, the inmost sacredness, of things,<br />
+And in the vacancies discerned<br />
+With spiritual sense the fullness of life;<br />
+And the gates of Day stood wide.<br />
+<br />
+I am shaken with gladness;<br />
+My limbs tremble with joy;<br />
+My heart and the earth<br />
+Tremble with happiness;<br />
+The ecstasy of life<br />
+Is abroad in the world.<br />
+<br />
+Knowledge hath uncurtained heaven;<br />
+On the uttermost shores of darkness there is light;<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>Midnight hath sent forth a beam!<br />
+The blind that stumbled in darkness without light<br />
+Behold a new day!<br />
+In the obscurity gleams the star of Thought;<br />
+Imagination hath a luminous eye,<br />
+And the mind hath a glorious vision.<br />
+</div>
+
+
+<h3>III</h3>
+
+<div class='poem2'>
+"<span class='smcap'>The</span> man is blind. What is life to him?<br />
+A closed book held up against a sightless face.<br />
+Would that he could see<br />
+Yon beauteous star, and know<br />
+For one transcendent moment<br />
+The palpitating joy of sight!"<br />
+<br />
+All sight is of the soul.<br />
+Behold it in the upward flight<br />
+Of the unfettered spirit! Hast thou seen<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span>Thought bloom in the blind child's face?<br />
+Hast thou seen his mind grow,<br />
+Like the running dawn, to grasp<br />
+The vision of the Master?<br />
+It was the miracle of inward sight.<br />
+<br />
+In the realms of wonderment where I dwell<br />
+I explore life with my hands;<br />
+I recognize, and am happy;<br />
+My fingers are ever athirst for the earth,<br />
+And drink up its wonders with delight,<br />
+Draw out earth's dear delights;<br />
+My feet are charged with the murmur,<br />
+The throb, of all things that grow.<br />
+<br />
+This is touch, this quivering,<br />
+This flame, this ether,<br />
+This glad rush of blood,<br />
+This daylight in my heart,<br />
+This glow of sympathy in my palms!<br />
+Thou blind, loving, all-prying touch,<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span>Thou openest the book of life to me.<br />
+<br />
+The noiseless little noises of the earth<br />
+Come with softest rustle;<br />
+The shy, sweet feet of life;<br />
+The silky mutter of moth-wings<br />
+Against my restraining palm;<br />
+The strident beat of insect-wings,<br />
+The silvery trickle of water;<br />
+Little breezes busy in the summer grass;<br />
+The music of crisp, whisking, scurrying leaves,<br />
+The swirling, wind-swept, frost-tinted leaves;<br />
+The crystal splash of summer rain,<br />
+Saturate with the odours of the sod.<br />
+<br />
+With alert fingers I listen<br />
+To the showers of sound<br />
+That the wind shakes from the forest.<br />
+I bathe in the liquid shade<br />
+Under the pines, where the air hangs cool<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span>After the shower is done.<br />
+My saucy little friend the squirrel<br />
+Flips my shoulder with his tail,<br />
+Leaps from leafy billow to leafy billow,<br />
+Returns to eat his breakfast from my hand.<br />
+Between us there is glad sympathy;<br />
+He gambols; my pulses dance;<br />
+I am exultingly full of the joy of life!<br />
+<br />
+Have not my fingers split the sand<br />
+On the sun-flooded beach?<br />
+Hath not my naked body felt the water sing<br />
+When the sea hath enveloped it<br />
+With rippling music?<br />
+Have I not felt<br />
+The lilt of waves beneath my boat,<br />
+The flap of sail,<br />
+The strain of mast,<br />
+The wild rush<br />
+Of the lightning-charged winds?<br />
+Have I not smelt the swift, keen flight<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>Of winged odours before the tempest?<br />
+Here is joy awake, aglow;<br />
+Here is the tumult of the heart.<br />
+<br />
+My hands evoke sight and sound out of feeling,<br />
+Intershifting the senses endlessly;<br />
+Linking motion with sight, odour with sound<br />
+They give colour to the honeyed breeze,<br />
+The measure and passion of a symphony<br />
+To the beat and quiver of unseen wings.<br />
+In the secrets of earth and sun and air<br />
+My fingers are wise;<br />
+They snatch light out of darkness,<br />
+They thrill to harmonies breathed in silence.<br />
+<br />
+I walked in the stillness of the night,<br />
+And my soul uttered her gladness.<br />
+O Night, still, odorous Night, I love thee!<br />
+O wide, spacious Night, I love thee!<br />
+<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>O steadfast, glorious Night!<br />
+I touch thee with my hands;<br />
+I lean against thy strength;<br />
+I am comforted.<br />
+<br />
+O fathomless, soothing Night!<br />
+Thou art a balm to my restless spirit,<br />
+I nestle gratefully in thy bosom,<br />
+Dark, gracious mother!<br />
+Like a dove, I rest in thy bosom.<br />
+<i>Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,<br />
+And in a little time we shall return again<br />
+Into the vast, unanswering dark.</i><br /></div>
+<hr style="width: 65%;" />
+<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p>
+
+
+
+
+<div class='center'>
+PRINTED BY<br />
+WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.<br />
+PLYMOUTH<br />
+</div>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> The excellent proof-reader has put a query to my use
+of the word "see." If I had said "visit," he would have
+asked no questions, yet what does "visit" mean but
+"see" (<i>visitare</i>)? Later I will try to defend myself for
+using as much of the English language as I have succeeded
+in learning.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> George Arnold.</p></div>
+
+<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> I found that of the senses, the eye is the most superficial,
+the ear the most arrogant, smell the most voluptuous,
+taste the most superstitious and fickle, touch the
+most profound and the most philosophical.</p></div></div>
+
+<hr style="width: 45%;" />
+<div class='tnote'>Transcriber's Note: The one correction made is indicated by a dotted
+line under the word that was changed.</div>
+
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<p>&nbsp;</p>
+<hr class="full" />
+<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORLD I LIVE IN***</p>
+<p>******* This file should be named 27683-h.txt or 27683-h.zip *******</p>
+<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br />
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/6/8/27683">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/7/6/8/27683</a></p>
+<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.</p>
+
+<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.</p>
+
+
+
+<pre>
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license)</a>.
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS,' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's
+eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII,
+compressed (zipped), HTML and others.
+
+Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over
+the old filename and etext number.  The replaced older file is renamed.
+VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving
+new filenames and etext numbers.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org">http://www.gutenberg.org</a>
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
+EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000,
+are filed in directories based on their release date.  If you want to
+download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular
+search system you may utilize the following addresses and just
+download by the etext year.
+
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext06/</a>
+
+    (Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99,
+     98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90)
+
+EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are
+filed in a different way.  The year of a release date is no longer part
+of the directory path.  The path is based on the etext number (which is
+identical to the filename).  The path to the file is made up of single
+digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename.  For
+example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at:
+
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234
+
+or filename 24689 would be found at:
+http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689
+
+An alternative method of locating eBooks:
+<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a>
+
+*** END: FULL LICENSE ***
+</pre>
+</body>
+</html>
diff --git a/old/27683-h/images/fp120.jpg b/old/27683-h/images/fp120.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..070df08
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-h/images/fp120.jpg
diff --git a/old/27683-h/images/fp22.jpg b/old/27683-h/images/fp22.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7d13f3f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-h/images/fp22.jpg
diff --git a/old/27683-h/images/fp70.jpg b/old/27683-h/images/fp70.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..304f9ba
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-h/images/fp70.jpg
diff --git a/old/27683-h/images/frontis.jpg b/old/27683-h/images/frontis.jpg
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..61b3563
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-h/images/frontis.jpg
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0001.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0001.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a6cd26c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0001.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0002-insert1.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0002-insert1.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..28c3a9c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0002-insert1.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0002.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0002.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1eeec87
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0002.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0003.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0520831
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0003.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0004.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0004.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0227536
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0004.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0005.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0005.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..657fc07
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0005.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0007.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0007.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..94fefec
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0007.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0008.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0008.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..62ea3b9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0008.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0009.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0009.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2ef0966
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0009.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0011.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0011.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5103424
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0011.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0012.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0012.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a5aacde
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0012.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0013.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0013.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ce46a96
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0013.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/f0015.png b/old/27683-page-images/f0015.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2de1144
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/f0015.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0001.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0001.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0acd64e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0001.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0003.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0003.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..23b05c0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0003.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0004.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0004.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fbc554f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0004.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0005.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0005.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8ee9d28
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0005.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0006.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0006.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..11d1a0e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0006.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0007.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0007.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3e31253
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0007.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0008.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0008.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..02cfc32
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0008.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0009.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0009.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4400552
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0009.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0010.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0010.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..de1359f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0010.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0011.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0011.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7265afe
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0011.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0012.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0012.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..04ba3ef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0012.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0013.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0013.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..706addf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0013.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0014.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0014.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2684180
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0014.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0015.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0015.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cf60718
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0015.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0016.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0016.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..486773f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0016.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0017.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0017.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1bf5b2a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0017.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0019.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0019.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2bbd4c1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0019.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0020.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0020.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e546439
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0020.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0021.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0021.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8d92a85
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0021.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0022.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0022.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..533dfe3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0022.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0022a.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0022a.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e22d2b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0022a.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0023.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0023.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..932acea
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0023.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0024.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0024.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..04b8f5c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0024.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0025.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0025.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..31d4593
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0025.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0026.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0026.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e00b065
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0026.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0027.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0027.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c4817f2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0027.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0028.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0028.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0cf1b28
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0028.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0029.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0029.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..107b622
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0029.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0030.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0030.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ac87bab
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0030.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0031.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0031.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fd7be3b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0031.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0033.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0033.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f9974a1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0033.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0034.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0034.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d3ba2c8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0034.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0035.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0035.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ab627ed
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0035.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0036.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0036.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..31526a6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0036.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0037.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0037.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5ce5dde
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0037.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0038.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0038.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..696f486
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0038.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0039.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0039.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0270c34
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0039.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0040.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0040.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..222ea67
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0040.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0041.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0041.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1f3451b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0041.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0042.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0042.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..27b51e4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0042.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0043.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0043.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c35dadf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0043.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0045.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0045.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5eec856
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0045.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0046.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0046.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2c1119e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0046.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0047.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0047.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1e47209
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0047.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0048.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0048.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bb5bbb0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0048.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0049.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0049.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..085cf52
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0049.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0050.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0050.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc330c2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0050.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0051.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0051.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2840755
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0051.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0052.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0052.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..19c1c7b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0052.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0053.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0053.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c46e268
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0053.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0054.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0054.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..05f6c38
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0054.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0055.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0055.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..27c8858
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0055.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0056.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0056.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3de9af2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0056.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0057.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0057.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bb34c2b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0057.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0058.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0058.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b66a4cd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0058.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0059.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0059.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..96ebbbc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0059.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0061.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0061.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d838364
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0061.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0063.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0063.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..669b189
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0063.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0064.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0064.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..346ffbb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0064.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0065.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0065.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8fd4dc2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0065.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0066.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0066.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1b44c67
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0066.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0067.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0067.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3612487
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0067.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0068.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0068.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..365de01
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0068.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0069.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0069.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..955a275
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0069.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0070.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0070.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..50cc763
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0070.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0071.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0071.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..19ad274
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0071.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0072.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0072.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..495681f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0072.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0073.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0073.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3489b45
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0073.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0074.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0074.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ef1ad6d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0074.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0075.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0075.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ebe8f90
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0075.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0077.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0077.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1b15549
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0077.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0078.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0078.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8095c7c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0078.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0079.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0079.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e3ccb6f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0079.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0080.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0080.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..917f8d8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0080.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0081.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0081.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..18df9cb
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0081.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0082.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0082.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f28692c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0082.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0083.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0083.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9dc182c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0083.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0084.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0084.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..59b49e6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0084.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0085.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0085.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f33f357
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0085.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0086.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0086.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9455bf7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0086.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0087.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0087.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9b23bef
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0087.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0088.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0088.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..06c1e6e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0088.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0089.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0089.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d2cdfed
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0089.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0090.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0090.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2dbbc62
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0090.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0091.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0091.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a5b68b1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0091.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0093.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0093.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3cc5a43
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0093.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0095.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0095.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..42fb901
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0095.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0096.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0096.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1158383
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0096.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0097.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0097.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4575e92
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0097.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0098.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0098.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d213ed8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0098.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0099.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0099.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f01db6e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0099.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0100.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0100.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f3ad0f9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0100.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0101.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0101.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..792bc93
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0101.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0103.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0103.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fe06d3f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0103.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0104.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0104.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d12551e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0104.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0105.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0105.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..65e4f79
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0105.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0106.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0106.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4ea16aa
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0106.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0107.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0107.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..784c9e3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0107.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0108.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0108.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..042365e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0108.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0109.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0109.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c670df4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0109.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0110.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0110.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4102e5f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0110.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0111.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0111.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..84fbab6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0111.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0113.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0113.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..661dcf6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0113.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0115.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0115.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..96f9f32
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0115.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0116.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0116.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..808f539
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0116.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0117.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0117.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d25cccc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0117.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0118.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0118.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5970bca
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0118.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0119.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0119.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5cec3fe
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0119.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0120.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0120.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cfc67f7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0120.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0120a.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0120a.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d7ed8e1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0120a.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0121.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0121.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5720c39
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0121.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0122.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0122.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2b0333d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0122.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0123.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0123.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..450ba6d
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0123.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0124.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0124.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..23013d6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0124.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0125.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0125.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bfcf43c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0125.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0127.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0127.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d6ebaf8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0127.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0129.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0129.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e2e1cc6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0129.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0130.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0130.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..057cb69
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0130.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0131.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0131.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0468277
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0131.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0132.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0132.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..54bbae2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0132.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0133.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0133.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2ad222a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0133.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0134.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0134.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1e41039
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0134.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0135.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0135.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ad8eced
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0135.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0136.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0136.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..40b2523
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0136.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0137.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0137.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..53662dc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0137.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0138.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0138.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..949bb4a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0138.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0139.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0139.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e97759
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0139.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0141.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0141.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..751dd2f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0141.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0142.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0142.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9b46902
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0142.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0143.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0143.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3bdc29b
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0143.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0144.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0144.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..570f2c7
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0144.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0145.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0145.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..195609c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0145.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0146.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0146.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..475e4ca
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0146.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0147.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0147.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e434c3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0147.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0148.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0148.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cbd827a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0148.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0149.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0149.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..df03a88
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0149.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0150.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0150.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bf5c969
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0150.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0151.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0151.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cdf9acd
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0151.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0153.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0153.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..70d7d1c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0153.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0154.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0154.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dfeecc8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0154.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0155.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0155.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..da8de30
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0155.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0156.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0156.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..37ff4e9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0156.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0157.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0157.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5522b97
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0157.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0158.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0158.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c5837f2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0158.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0159.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0159.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7144e46
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0159.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0160.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0160.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..29419ba
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0160.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0161.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0161.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..eb6da98
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0161.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0162.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0162.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ce94db6
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0162.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0163.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0163.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a39a023
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0163.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0164.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0164.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..972696c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0164.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0165.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0165.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b7f9fff
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0165.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0167.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0167.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..b38c446
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0167.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0169.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0169.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..83d317f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0169.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0170.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0170.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d57bf24
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0170.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0170a.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0170a.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ea1039a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0170a.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0171.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0171.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7a3a306
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0171.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0172.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0172.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0f4476e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0172.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0173.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0173.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1139b7e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0173.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0174.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0174.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..76a2ae1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0174.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0175.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0175.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5013f21
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0175.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0176.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0176.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..041fb14
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0176.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0177.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0177.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7a2a8a0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0177.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0178.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0178.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1bff4e1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0178.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0179.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0179.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..afff04c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0179.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0180.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0180.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fb6a844
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0180.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0181.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0181.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..65884c1
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0181.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0182.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0182.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8063d5c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0182.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0183.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0183.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..d8d8f38
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0183.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0184.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0184.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..650e233
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0184.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0185.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0185.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4f1e5b0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0185.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0186.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0186.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3ababf4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0186.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0187.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0187.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f037145
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0187.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0188.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0188.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0a31a2a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0188.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0189.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0189.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cadf148
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0189.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0190.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0190.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2592a22
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0190.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0191.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0191.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..35b9e93
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0191.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0193.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0193.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..995318a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0193.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0195.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0195.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..cd22840
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0195.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0196.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0196.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..19c36e0
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0196.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0197.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0197.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..564d40f
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0197.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0198.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0198.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7f6f393
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0198.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0199.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0199.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..dc34024
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0199.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0200.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0200.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..80457c4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0200.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0201.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0201.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8de227e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0201.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0202.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0202.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f87e341
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0202.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0203.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0203.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6e50d4e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0203.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0204.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0204.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..df51667
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0204.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0205.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0205.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4c85934
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0205.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0207.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0207.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8848a38
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0207.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0209.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0209.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..22fa325
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0209.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0210.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0210.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7bff850
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0210.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0211.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0211.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..2beaa54
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0211.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0212.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0212.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e72667e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0212.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0213.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0213.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..7d81749
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0213.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0214.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0214.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..047e966
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0214.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0215.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0215.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ef7a108
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0215.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0216.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0216.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..631d7f2
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0216.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0217.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0217.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..6aada51
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0217.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0218.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0218.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f4547c9
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0218.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0219.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0219.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8a21f87
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0219.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0220.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0220.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..f885681
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0220.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0221.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0221.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..83e0159
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0221.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0222.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0222.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bf8184c
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0222.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0223.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0223.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..e6ba66e
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0223.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0224.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0224.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..06d2cad
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0224.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0225.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0225.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..66cf974
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0225.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0226.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0226.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..fab7724
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0226.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0227.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0227.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4d247c3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0227.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0229.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0229.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ccba4b5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0229.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0230.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0230.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..3f2a2a3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0230.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0231.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0231.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a289bf5
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0231.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0232.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0232.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c9584cc
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0232.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0233.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0233.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9eccc37
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0233.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0234.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0234.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..80fc43a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0234.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0235.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0235.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..bf916f3
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0235.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0236.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0236.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..303c956
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0236.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0237.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0237.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..c0747bf
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0237.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0238.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0238.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..1722f61
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0238.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0239.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0239.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..5e770d8
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0239.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0240.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0240.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..9c13756
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0240.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/p0241.png b/old/27683-page-images/p0241.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..4eed0d4
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/p0241.png
diff --git a/old/27683-page-images/q.png b/old/27683-page-images/q.png
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..a7e9734
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683-page-images/q.png
diff --git a/old/27683.txt b/old/27683.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..ef9544a
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,3305 @@
+The Project Gutenberg eBook of The World I Live In, by Helen Keller
+
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+
+
+
+Title: The World I Live In
+
+
+Author: Helen Keller
+
+
+
+Release Date: January 1, 2009  [eBook #27683]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORLD I LIVE IN***
+
+
+E-text prepared by David Clarke, Emmy, and the Project Gutenberg Online
+Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)
+
+
+
+Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this
+      file which includes the original illustrations.
+      See 27683-h.htm or 27683-h.zip:
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/6/8/27683/27683-h/27683-h.htm)
+      or
+      (https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/6/8/27683/27683-h.zip)
+
+
+
+
+
+THE WORLD I LIVE IN
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+HELEN KELLER
+
+
+   "The autobiography of Helen Keller is
+   unquestionably one of the most remarkable records
+   ever published."--_British Weekly._
+
+   "This book is a human document of intense
+   interest, and without a parallel, we suppose, in
+   the history of literature."--_Yorkshire Post._
+
+   "Miss Keller's autobiography, well written and
+   full of practical interest in all sides of life,
+   literary, artistic and social, records an
+   extraordinary victory over physical
+   disabilities."--_Times._
+
+   "This book is a record of the miraculous. No one
+   can read it without being profoundly touched by
+   the patience and devotion which brought the blind,
+   deaf-mute child into touch with human life,
+   without being filled with wonder at the quick
+   intelligence which made such communication with
+   the outside world possible."--_Queen._
+
+   _Illustrated, price 7s. 6d._
+
+   POPULAR EDITION, _net, 1s._
+
+
+   The Story of My Life
+
+   By HELEN KELLER
+
+        *       *       *       *       *
+
+   The Practice of Optimism
+
+   _Cloth, net, 1s. 6d.; paper, net, 1s._
+
+        *       *       *       *       *
+
+   LONDON: HODDER & STOUGHTON, E.C.
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio
+
+Helen Keller in Her Study]
+
+THE WORLD I LIVE IN
+
+by
+
+HELEN KELLER
+
+Author of "The Story of My Life," Etc.
+
+Illustrated
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Hodder and Stoughton
+London New York Toronto
+
+Copyright 1904, 1908, by The Century Co.
+
+
+
+
+                TO
+
+           HENRY H. ROGERS
+
+          MY DEAR FRIEND OF
+
+             MANY YEARS
+
+
+
+
+PREFACE
+
+
+The essays and the poem in this book appeared originally in the "Century
+Magazine," the essays under the titles "A Chat About the Hand," "Sense
+and Sensibility," and "My Dreams." Mr. Gilder suggested the articles,
+and I thank him for his kind interest and encouragement. But he must
+also accept the responsibility which goes with my gratitude. For it is
+owing to his wish and that of other editors that I talk so much about
+myself.
+
+Every book is in a sense autobiographical. But while other
+self-recording creatures are permitted at least to seem to change the
+subject, apparently nobody cares what I think of the tariff, the
+conservation of our natural resources, or the conflicts which revolve
+about the name of Dreyfus. If I offer to reform the education system of
+the world, my editorial friends say, "That is interesting. But will you
+please tell us what idea you had of goodness and beauty when you were
+six years old?" First they ask me to tell the life of the child who is
+mother to the woman. Then they make me my own daughter and ask for an
+account of grown-up sensations. Finally I am requested to write about my
+dreams, and thus I become an anachronical grandmother; for it is the
+special privilege of old age to relate dreams. The editors are so kind
+that they are no doubt right in thinking that nothing I have to say
+about the affairs of the universe would be interesting. But until they
+give me opportunity to write about matters that are not-me, the world
+must go on uninstructed and unreformed, and I can only do my best with
+the one small subject upon which I am allowed to discourse.
+
+In "The Chant of Darkness" I did not intend to set up as a poet. I
+thought I was writing prose, except for the magnificent passage from Job
+which I was paraphrasing. But this part seemed to my friends to separate
+itself from the exposition, and I made it into a kind of poem.
+
+                                                               H. K.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+          CHAPTER I
+                                            PAGE
+          THE SEEING HAND                      3
+
+          CHAPTER II
+          THE HANDS OF OTHERS                 19
+
+          CHAPTER III
+          THE HAND OF THE RACE                33
+
+          CHAPTER IV
+          THE POWER OF TOUCH                  45
+
+          CHAPTER V
+          THE FINER VIBRATIONS                63
+
+          CHAPTER VI
+          SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL             77
+
+          CHAPTER VII
+          RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES       95
+
+          CHAPTER VIII
+          THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD              103
+
+          CHAPTER IX
+          INWARD VISIONS                     115
+
+          CHAPTER X
+          ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION      129
+
+          CHAPTER X
+          BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN               141
+
+          CHAPTER XII
+          THE LARGER SANCTIONS               153
+
+          CHAPTER XIII
+          THE DREAM WORLD                    169
+
+          CHAPTER XIV
+          DREAMS AND REALITY                 195
+
+          CHAPTER XV
+          A WAKING DREAM                     209
+
+          A CHANT OF DARKNESS                229
+
+
+
+
+ILLUSTRATIONS
+
+
+          HELEN KELLER IN HER STUDY              _Frontispiece_
+
+          THE MEDALLION                       _Facing page_ 22
+
+          "LISTENING" TO THE TREES                "    "    70
+
+          THE LITTLE BOY NEXT DOOR                "    "   120
+
+
+
+
+THE SEEING HAND
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+THE SEEING HAND
+
+
+I HAVE just touched my dog. He was rolling on the grass, with pleasure
+in every muscle and limb. I wanted to catch a picture of him in my
+fingers, and I touched him as lightly as I would cobwebs; but lo, his
+fat body revolved, stiffened and solidified into an upright position,
+and his tongue gave my hand a lick! He pressed close to me, as if he
+were fain to crowd himself into my hand. He loved it with his tail, with
+his paw, with his tongue. If he could speak, I believe he would say with
+me that paradise is attained by touch; for in touch is all love and
+intelligence.
+
+This small incident started me on a chat about hands, and if my chat is
+fortunate I have to thank my dog-star. In any case, it is pleasant to
+have something to talk about that no one else has monopolized; it is
+like making a new path in the trackless woods, blazing the trail where
+no foot has pressed before. I am glad to take you by the hand and lead
+you along an untrodden way into a world where the hand is supreme. But
+at the very outset we encounter a difficulty. You are so accustomed to
+light, I fear you will stumble when I try to guide you through the land
+of darkness and silence. The blind are not supposed to be the best of
+guides. Still, though I cannot warrant not to lose you, I promise that
+you shall not be led into fire or water, or fall into a deep pit. If
+you will follow me patiently, you will find that "there's a sound so
+fine, nothing lives 'twixt it and silence," and that there is more meant
+in things than meets the eye.
+
+My hand is to me what your hearing and sight together are to you. In
+large measure we travel the same highways, read the same books, speak
+the same language, yet our experiences are different. All my comings and
+goings turn on the hand as on a pivot. It is the hand that binds me to
+the world of men and women. The hand is my feeler with which I reach
+through isolation and darkness and seize every pleasure, every activity
+that my fingers encounter. With the dropping of a little word from
+another's hand into mine, a slight flutter of the fingers, began the
+intelligence, the joy, the fullness of my life. Like Job, I feel as if
+a hand had made me, fashioned me together round about and moulded my
+very soul.
+
+In all my experiences and thoughts I am conscious of a hand. Whatever
+moves me, whatever thrills me, is as a hand that touches me in the dark,
+and that touch is my reality. You might as well say that a sight which
+makes you glad, or a blow which brings the stinging tears to your eyes,
+is unreal as to say that those impressions are unreal which I have
+accumulated by means of touch. The delicate tremble of a butterfly's
+wings in my hand, the soft petals of violets curling in the cool folds
+of their leaves or lifting sweetly out of the meadow-grass, the clear,
+firm outline of face and limb, the smooth arch of a horse's neck and
+the velvety touch of his nose--all these, and a thousand resultant
+combinations, which take shape in my mind, constitute my world.
+
+Ideas make the world we live in, and impressions furnish ideas. My world
+is built of touch-sensations, devoid of physical colour and sound; but
+without colour and sound it breathes and throbs with life. Every object
+is associated in my mind with tactual qualities which, combined in
+countless ways, give me a sense of power, of beauty, or of incongruity:
+for with my hands I can feel the comic as well as the beautiful in the
+outward appearance of things. Remember that you, dependent on your
+sight, do not realize how many things are tangible. All palpable things
+are mobile or rigid, solid or liquid, big or small, warm or cold, and
+these qualities are variously modified. The coolness of a water-lily
+rounding into bloom is different from the coolness of an evening wind in
+summer, and different again from the coolness of the rain that soaks
+into the hearts of growing things and gives them life and body. The
+velvet of the rose is not that of a ripe peach or of a baby's dimpled
+cheek. The hardness of the rock is to the hardness of wood what a man's
+deep bass is to a woman's voice when it is low. What I call beauty I
+find in certain combinations of all these qualities, and is largely
+derived from the flow of curved and straight lines which is over all
+things.
+
+"What does the straight line mean to you?" I think you will ask.
+
+It _means_ several things. It symbolizes duty. It seems to have the
+quality of inexorableness that duty has. When I have something to do
+that must not be set aside, I feel as if I were going forward in a
+straight line, bound to arrive somewhere, or go on forever without
+swerving to the right or to the left.
+
+That is what it means. To escape this moralizing you should ask, "How
+does the straight line feel?" It feels, as I suppose it looks,
+straight--a dull thought drawn out endlessly. Eloquence to the touch
+resides not in straight lines, but in unstraight lines, or in many
+curved and straight lines together. They appear and disappear, are now
+deep, now shallow, now broken off or lengthened or swelling. They rise
+and sink beneath my fingers, they are full of sudden starts and pauses,
+and their variety is inexhaustible and wonderful. So you see I am not
+shut out from the region of the beautiful, though my hand cannot
+perceive the brilliant colours in the sunset or on the mountain, or
+reach into the blue depths of the sky.
+
+Physics tells me that I am well off in a world which, I am told, knows
+neither cold nor sound, but is made in terms of size, shape, and
+inherent qualities; for at least every object appears to my fingers
+standing solidly right side up, and is not an inverted image on the
+retina which, I understand, your brain is at infinite though unconscious
+labour to set back on its feet. A tangible object passes complete into
+my brain with the warmth of life upon it, and occupies the same place
+that it does in space; for, without egotism, the mind is as large as the
+universe. When I think of hills, I think of the upward strength I tread
+upon. When water is the object of my thought, I feel the cool shock of
+the plunge and the quick yielding of the waves that crisp and curl and
+ripple about my body. The pleasing changes of rough and smooth, pliant
+and rigid, curved and straight in the bark and branches of a tree give
+the truth to my hand. The immovable rock, with its juts and warped
+surface, bends beneath my fingers into all manner of grooves and
+hollows. The bulge of a watermelon and the puffed-up rotundities of
+squashes that sprout, bud, and ripen in that strange garden planted
+somewhere behind my finger-tips are the ludicrous in my tactual memory
+and imagination. My fingers are tickled to delight by the soft ripple
+of a baby's laugh, and find amusement in the lusty crow of the barnyard
+autocrat. Once I had a pet rooster that used to perch on my knee and
+stretch his neck and crow. A bird in my hand was then worth two in
+the--barnyard.
+
+My fingers cannot, of course, get the impression of a large whole at a
+glance; but I feel the parts, and my mind puts them together. I move
+around my house, touching object after object in order, before I can
+form an idea of the entire house. In other people's houses I can touch
+only what is shown to me--the chief objects of interest, carvings on the
+wall, or a curious architectural feature, exhibited like the family
+album. Therefore a house with which I am not familiar has for me, at
+first, no general effect or harmony of detail. It is not a complete
+conception, but a collection of object-impressions which, as they come
+to me, are disconnected and isolated. But my mind is full of
+associations, sensations, theories, and with them it constructs the
+house. The process reminds me of the building of Solomon's temple, where
+was neither saw, nor hammer, nor any tool heard while the stones were
+being laid one upon another. The silent worker is imagination which
+decrees reality out of chaos.
+
+Without imagination what a poor thing my world would be! My garden would
+be a silent patch of earth strewn with sticks of a variety of shapes and
+smells. But when the eye of my mind is opened to its beauty, the bare
+ground brightens beneath my feet, and the hedge-row bursts into leaf,
+and the rose-tree shakes its fragrance everywhere. I know how budding
+trees look, and I enter into the amorous joy of the mating birds, and
+this is the miracle of imagination.
+
+Twofold is the miracle when, through my fingers, my imagination reaches
+forth and meets the imagination of an artist which he has embodied in a
+sculptured form. Although, compared with the life-warm, mobile face of a
+friend, the marble is cold and pulseless and unresponsive, yet it is
+beautiful to my hand. Its flowing curves and bendings are a real
+pleasure; only breath is wanting; but under the spell of the imagination
+the marble thrills and becomes the divine reality of the ideal.
+Imagination puts a sentiment into every line and curve, and the statue
+in my touch is indeed the goddess herself who breathes and moves and
+enchants.
+
+It is true, however, that some sculptures, even recognized masterpieces,
+do not please my hand. When I touch what there is of the Winged Victory,
+it reminds me at first of a headless, limbless dream that flies towards
+me in an unrestful sleep. The garments of the Victory thrust stiffly out
+behind, and do not resemble garments that I have felt flying,
+fluttering, folding, spreading in the wind. But imagination fulfils
+these imperfections, and straightway the Victory becomes a powerful and
+spirited figure with the sweep of sea-winds in her robes and the
+splendour of conquest in her wings.
+
+I find in a beautiful statue perfection of bodily form, the qualities of
+balance and completeness. The Minerva, hung with a web of poetical
+allusion, gives me a sense of exhilaration that is almost physical; and
+I like the luxuriant, wavy hair of Bacchus and Apollo, and the wreath of
+ivy, so suggestive of pagan holidays.
+
+So imagination crowns the experience of my hands. And they learned their
+cunning from the wise hand of another, which, itself guided by
+imagination, led me safely in paths that I knew not, made darkness light
+before me, and made crooked ways straight.
+
+
+
+
+THE HANDS OF OTHERS
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+THE HANDS OF OTHERS
+
+
+THE warmth and protectiveness of the hand are most homefelt to me who
+have always looked to it for aid and joy. I understand perfectly how the
+Psalmist can lift up his voice with strength and gladness, singing, "I
+put my trust in the Lord at all times, and his hand shall uphold me, and
+I shall dwell in safety." In the strength of the human hand, too, there
+is something divine. I am told that the glance of a beloved eye thrills
+one from a distance; but there is no distance in the touch of a beloved
+hand. Even the letters I receive are--
+
+          Kind letters that betray the heart's deep history,
+          In which we feel the presence of a hand.
+
+It is interesting to observe the differences in the hands of people.
+They show all kinds of vitality, energy, stillness, and cordiality. I
+never realized how living the hand is until I saw those chill plaster
+images in Mr. Hutton's collection of casts. The hand I know in life has
+the fullness of blood in its veins, and is elastic with spirit. How
+different dear Mr. Hutton's hand was from its dull, insensate image! To
+me the cast lacks the very form of the hand. Of the many casts in Mr.
+Hutton's collection I did not recognize any, not even my own. But a
+loving hand I never forget. I remember in my fingers the large hands of
+Bishop Brooks, brimful of tenderness and a strong man's joy. If you were
+deaf and blind, and could have held Mr. Jefferson's hand, you would have
+seen in it a face and heard a kind voice unlike any other you have
+known. Mark Twain's hand is full of whimsies and the drollest humours,
+and while you hold it the drollery changes to sympathy and championship.
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by the Whitman Studio
+
+The Medallion
+
+The bas-relief on the wall is a portrait of the Queen Dowager of Spain,
+which Her Majesty had made for Miss Keller
+
+To face page 22]
+
+I am told that the words I have just written do not "describe" the hands
+of my friends, but merely endow them with the kindly human qualities
+which I know they possess, and which language conveys in abstract words.
+The criticism implies that I am not giving the primary truth of what I
+feel; but how otherwise do descriptions in books I read, written by men
+who can see, render the visible look of a face? I read that a face is
+strong, gentle; that it is full of patience, of intellect; that it is
+fine, sweet, noble, beautiful. Have I not the same right to use these
+words in describing what I feel as you have in describing what you see?
+They express truly what I feel in the hand. I am seldom conscious of
+physical qualities, and I do not remember whether the fingers of a hand
+are short or long, or the skin is moist or dry. No more can you, without
+conscious effort, recall the details of a face, even when you have seen
+it many times. If you do recall the features, and say that an eye is
+blue, a chin sharp, a nose short, or a cheek sunken, I fancy that you do
+not succeed well in giving the impression of the person,--not so well
+as when you interpret at once to the heart the essential moral qualities
+of the face--its humour, gravity, sadness, spirituality. If I should
+tell you in physical terms how a hand feels, you would be no wiser for
+my account than a blind man to whom you describe a face in detail.
+Remember that when a blind man recovers his sight, he does not recognize
+the commonest thing that has been familiar to his touch, the dearest
+face intimate to his fingers, and it does not help him at all that
+things and people have been described to him again and again. So you,
+who are untrained of touch, do not recognize a hand by the grasp; and
+so, too, any description I might give would fail to make you acquainted
+with a friendly hand which my fingers have often folded about, and
+which my affection translates to my memory.
+
+I cannot describe hands under any class or type; there is no democracy
+of hands. Some hands tell me that they do everything with the maximum of
+bustle and noise. Other hands are fidgety and unadvised, with nervous,
+fussy fingers which indicate a nature sensitive to the little pricks of
+daily life. Sometimes I recognize with foreboding the kindly but stupid
+hand of one who tells with many words news that is no news. I have met a
+bishop with a jocose hand, a humourist with a hand of leaden gravity, a
+man of pretentious valour with a timorous hand, and a quiet, apologetic
+man with a fist of iron. When I was a little girl I was taken to see[A]
+a woman who was blind and paralysed. I shall never forget how she held
+out her small, trembling hand and pressed sympathy into mine. My eyes
+fill with tears as I think of her. The weariness, pain, darkness, and
+sweet patience were all to be felt in her thin, wasted, groping, loving
+hand.
+
+Few people who do not know me will understand, I think, how much I get
+of the mood of a friend who is engaged in oral conversation with
+somebody else. My hand follows his motions; I touch his hand, his arm,
+his face. I can tell when he is full of glee over a good joke which has
+not been repeated to me, or when he is telling a lively story. One of
+my friends is rather aggressive, and his hand always announces the
+coming of a dispute. By his impatient jerk I know he has argument ready
+for some one. I have felt him start as a sudden recollection or a new
+idea shot through his mind. I have felt grief in his hand. I have felt
+his soul wrap itself in darkness majestically as in a garment. Another
+friend has positive, emphatic hands which show great pertinacity of
+opinion. She is the only person I know who emphasizes her spelled words
+and accents them as she emphasizes and accents her spoken words when I
+read her lips. I like this varied emphasis better than the monotonous
+pound of unmodulated people who hammer their meaning into my palm.
+
+Some hands, when they clasp yours, beam and bubble over with gladness.
+They throb and expand with life. Strangers have clasped my hand like
+that of a long-lost sister. Other people shake hands with me as if with
+the fear that I may do them mischief. Such persons hold out civil
+finger-tips which they permit you to touch, and in the moment of
+contract they retreat, and inwardly you hope that you will not be called
+upon again to take that hand of "dormouse valour." It betokens a prudish
+mind, ungracious pride, and not seldom mistrust. It is the antipode to
+the hand of those who have large, lovable natures.
+
+The handshake of some people makes you think of accident and sudden
+death. Contrast this ill-boding hand with the quick, skilful, quiet hand
+of a nurse whom I remember with affection because she took the best
+care of my teacher. I have clasped the hands of some rich people that
+spin not and toil not, and yet are not beautiful. Beneath their soft,
+smooth roundness what a chaos of undeveloped character!
+
+I am sure there is no hand comparable to the physician's in patient
+skill, merciful gentleness and splendid certainty. No wonder that Ruskin
+finds in the sure strokes of the surgeon the perfection of control and
+delicate precision for the artist to emulate. If the physician is a man
+of great nature, there will be healing for the spirit in his touch. This
+magic touch of well-being was in the hand of a dear friend of mine who
+was our doctor in sickness and health. His happy cordial spirit did his
+patients good whether they needed medicine or not.
+
+As there are many beauties of the face, so the beauties of the hand are
+many. Touch has its ecstasies. The hands of people of strong
+individuality and sensitiveness are wonderfully mobile. In a glance of
+their finger-tips they express many shades of thought. Now and again I
+touch a fine, graceful, supple-wristed hand which spells with the same
+beauty and distinction that you must see in the handwriting of some
+highly cultivated people. I wish you could see how prettily little
+children spell in my hand. They are wild flowers of humanity, and their
+finger motions wild flowers of speech.
+
+All this is my private science of palmistry, and when I tell your
+fortune it is by no mysterious intuition or gipsy witchcraft, but by
+natural, explicable recognition of the embossed character in your hand.
+Not only is the hand as easy to recognize as the face, but it reveals
+its secrets more openly and unconsciously. People control their
+countenances, but the hand is under no such restraint. It relaxes and
+becomes listless when the spirit is low and dejected; the muscles
+tighten when the mind is excited or the heart glad; and permanent
+qualities stand written on it all the time.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[A] The excellent proof-reader has put a query to my use of the word
+"see." If I had said "visit," he would have asked no questions, yet what
+does "visit" mean but "see" (_visitare_)? Later I will try to defend
+myself for using as much of the English language as I have succeeded in
+learning.
+
+
+
+
+THE HAND OF THE RACE
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THE HAND OF THE RACE
+
+
+LOOK in your "Century Dictionary," or if you are blind, ask your teacher
+to do it for you, and learn how many idioms are made on the idea of
+hand, and how many words are formed from the Latin root _manus_--enough
+words to name all the essential affairs of life. "Hand," with quotations
+and compounds, occupies twenty-four columns, eight pages of this
+dictionary. The hand is defined as "the organ of apprehension." How
+perfectly the definition fits my case in both senses of the word
+"apprehend"! With my hand I seize and hold all that I find in the three
+worlds--physical, intellectual, and spiritual.
+
+Think how man has regarded the world in terms of the hand. All life is
+divided between what lies _on one hand_ and on the other. The products
+of skill are _manu_factures. The conduct of affairs is _man_agement.
+History seems to be the record--alas for our chronicles of war!--of the
+_man_oeuvres of armies. But the history of peace, too, the narrative of
+labour in the field, the forest, and the vineyard, is written in the
+victorious sign _manual_--the sign of the hand that has conquered the
+wilderness. The labourer himself is called a _hand_. In _man_acle and
+_manu_mission we read the story of human slavery and freedom.
+
+The minor idioms are myriad; but I will not recall too many, lest you
+cry, "Hands off!" I cannot desist, however, from this word-game until I
+have set down a few. Whatever is not one's own by first possession is
+_second-hand_. That is what I am told my knowledge is. But my
+well-meaning friends come to my defence, and, not content with endowing
+me with natural _first-hand_ knowledge which is rightfully mine, ascribe
+to me a preternatural sixth sense and credit to miracles and heaven-sent
+compensations all that I have won and discovered with my good right
+hand. And with my left hand too; for with that I read, and it is as true
+and honourable as the other. By what half-development of human power has
+the left hand been neglected? When we arrive at the acme of civilization
+shall we not all be ambidextrous, and in our _hand-to-hand_ contests
+against difficulties shall we not be doubly triumphant? It occurs to me,
+by the way, that when my teacher was training my unreclaimed spirit, her
+struggle against the powers of darkness, with the stout arm of
+discipline and the light of the manual alphabet, was in two senses a
+hand-to-hand conflict.
+
+No essay would be complete without quotations from Shakspere. In the
+field which, in the presumption of my youth, I thought was my own he has
+reaped before me. In almost every play there are passages where the hand
+plays a part. Lady Macbeth's heart-broken soliloquy over her little
+hand, from which all the perfumes of Arabia will not wash the stain, is
+the most pitiful moment in the tragedy. Mark Antony rewards Scarus, the
+bravest of his soldiers, by asking Cleopatra to give him her hand:
+"Commend unto his lips thy favouring hand." In a different mood he is
+enraged because Thyreus, whom he despises, has presumed to kiss the hand
+of the queen, "my playfellow, the kingly seal of high hearts." When
+Cleopatra is threatened with the humiliation of gracing Caesar's triumph,
+she snatches a dagger, exclaiming, "I will trust my resolution and my
+good hands." With the same swift instinct, Cassius trusts to his hands
+when he stabs Caesar: "Speak, hands, for me!" "Let me kiss your hand,"
+says the blind Gloster to Lear. "Let me wipe it first," replies the
+broken old king; "it smells of mortality." How charged is this single
+touch with sad meaning! How it opens our eyes to the fearful purging
+Lear has undergone, to learn that royalty is no defence against
+ingratitude and cruelty! Gloster's exclamation about his son, "Did I but
+live to see thee in my touch, I'd say I had eyes again," is as true to a
+pulse within me as the grief he feels. The ghost in "Hamlet" recites the
+wrongs from which springs the tragedy:
+
+          Thus was I, sleeping, by a brother's hand.
+          At once of life, of crown, of queen dispatch'd.
+
+How that passage in "Othello" stops your breath--that passage full of
+bitter double intention in which Othello's suspicion tips with evil what
+he says about Desdemona's hand; and she in innocence answers only the
+innocent meaning of his words: "For 'twas that hand that gave away my
+heart."
+
+Not all Shakspere's great passages about the hand are tragic. Remember
+the light play of words in "Romeo and Juliet" where the dialogue, flying
+nimbly back and forth, weaves a pretty sonnet about the hand. And who
+knows the hand, if not the lover?
+
+The touch of the hand is in every chapter of the Bible. Why, you could
+almost rewrite Exodus as the story of the hand. Everything is done by
+the hand of the Lord and of Moses. The oppression of the Hebrews is
+translated thus: "The hand of Pharaoh was heavy upon the Hebrews." Their
+departure out of the land is told in these vivid words: "The Lord
+brought the children of Israel out of the house of bondage with a strong
+hand and a stretched-out arm." At the stretching out of the hand of
+Moses the waters of the Red Sea part and stand all on a heap. When the
+Lord lifts his hand in anger, thousands perish in the wilderness. Every
+act, every decree in the history of Israel, as indeed in the history of
+the human race, is sanctioned by the hand. Is it not used in the great
+moments of swearing, blessing, cursing, smiting, agreeing, marrying,
+building, destroying? Its sacredness is in the law that no sacrifice is
+valid unless the sacrificer lay his hand upon the head of the victim.
+The congregation lay their hands on the heads of those who are sentenced
+to death. How terrible the dumb condemnation of their hands must be to
+the condemned! When Moses builds the altar on Mount Sinai, he is
+commanded to use no tool, but rear it with his own hands. Earth, sea,
+sky, man, and all lower animals are holy unto the Lord because he has
+formed them with his hand. When the Psalmist considers the heavens and
+the earth, he exclaims: "What is man, O Lord, that thou art mindful of
+him? For thou hast made him to have dominion over the works of thy
+hands." The supplicating gesture of the hand always accompanies the
+spoken prayer, and with clean hands goes the pure heart.
+
+Christ comforted and blessed and healed and wrought many miracles with
+his hands. He touched the eyes of the blind, and they were opened. When
+Jairus sought him, overwhelmed with grief, Jesus went and laid his hands
+on the ruler's daughter, and she awoke from the sleep of death to her
+father's love. You also remember how he healed the crooked woman. He
+said to her, "Woman, thou art loosed from thine infirmity," and he laid
+his hands on her, and immediately she was made straight, and she
+glorified God.
+
+Look where we will, we find the hand in time and history, working,
+building, inventing, bringing civilization out of barbarism. The hand
+symbolizes power and the excellence of work. The mechanic's hand, that
+minister of elemental forces, the hand that hews, saws, cuts, builds, is
+useful in the world equally with the delicate hand that paints a wild
+flower or moulds a Grecian urn, or the hand of a statesman that writes a
+law. The eye cannot say to the hand, "I have no need of thee." Blessed
+be the hand! Thrice blessed be the hands that work!
+
+
+
+
+THE POWER OF TOUCH
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+THE POWER OF TOUCH
+
+
+SOME months ago, in a newspaper which announced the publication of the
+"Matilda Ziegler Magazine for the Blind," appeared the following
+paragraph:
+
+"Many poems and stories must be omitted because they deal with sight.
+Allusion to moonbeams, rainbows, starlight, clouds, and beautiful
+scenery may not be printed, because they serve to emphasize the blind
+man's sense of his affliction."
+
+That is to say, I may not talk about beautiful mansions and gardens
+because I am poor. I may not read about Paris and the West Indies
+because I cannot visit them in their territorial reality. I may not
+dream of heaven because it is possible that I may never go there. Yet a
+venturesome spirit impels me to use words of sight and sound whose
+meaning I can guess only from analogy and fancy. This hazardous game is
+half the delight, the frolic, of daily life. I glow as I read of
+splendours which the eye alone can survey. Allusions to moonbeams and
+clouds do not emphasize the sense of my affliction: they carry my soul
+beyond affliction's narrow actuality.
+
+Critics delight to tell us what we cannot do. They assume that blindness
+and deafness sever us completely from the things which the seeing and
+the hearing enjoy, and hence they assert we have no moral right to talk
+about beauty, the skies, mountains, the song of birds, and colours. They
+declare that the very sensations we have from the sense of touch are
+"vicarious," as though our friends felt the sun for us! They deny _a
+priori_ what they have not seen and I have felt. Some brave doubters
+have gone so far even as to deny my existence. In order, therefore, that
+I may know that I exist, I resort to Descartes's method: "I think,
+therefore I am." Thus I am metaphysically established, and I throw upon
+the doubters the burden of proving my non-existence. When we consider
+how little has been found out about the mind, is it not amazing that any
+one should presume to define what one can know or cannot know? I admit
+that there are innumerable marvels in the visible universe unguessed by
+me. Likewise, O confident critic, there are a myriad sensations
+perceived by me of which you do not dream.
+
+Necessity gives to the eye a precious power of seeing, and in the same
+way it gives a precious power of feeling to the whole body. Sometimes it
+seems as if the very substance of my flesh were so many eyes looking out
+at will upon a world new created every day. The silence and darkness
+which are said to shut me in, open my door most hospitably to countless
+sensations that distract, inform, admonish, and amuse. With my three
+trusty guides, touch, smell, and taste, I make many excursions into the
+borderland of experience which is in sight of the city of Light. Nature
+accommodates itself to every man's necessity. If the eye is maimed, so
+that it does not see the beauteous face of day, the touch becomes more
+poignant and discriminating. Nature proceeds through practice to
+strengthen and augment the remaining senses. For this reason the blind
+often hear with greater ease and distinctness than other people. The
+sense of smell becomes almost a new faculty to penetrate the tangle and
+vagueness of things. Thus, according to an immutable law, the senses
+assist and reinforce one another.
+
+It is not for me to say whether we see best with the hand or the eye. I
+only know that the world I see with my fingers is alive, ruddy, and
+satisfying. Touch brings the blind many sweet certainties which our more
+fortunate fellows miss, because their sense of touch is uncultivated.
+When they look at things, they put their hands in their pockets. No
+doubt that is one reason why their knowledge is often so vague,
+inaccurate, and useless. It is probable, too, that our knowledge of
+phenomena beyond the reach of the hand is equally imperfect. But, at all
+events, we behold them through a golden mist of fantasy.
+
+There is nothing, however, misty or uncertain about what we can touch.
+Through the sense of touch I know the faces of friends, the illimitable
+variety of straight and curved lines, all surfaces, the exuberance of
+the soil, the delicate shapes of flowers, the noble forms of trees, and
+the range of mighty winds. Besides objects, surfaces, and atmospherical
+changes, I perceive countless vibrations. I derive much knowledge of
+everyday matter from the jars and jolts which are to be felt everywhere
+in the house.
+
+Footsteps, I discover, vary tactually according to the age, the sex, and
+the manners of the walker. It is impossible to mistake a child's patter
+for the tread of a grown person. The step of the young man, strong and
+free, differs from the heavy, sedate tread of the middle-aged, and from
+the step of the old man, whose feet drag along the floor, or beat it
+with slow, faltering accents. On a bare floor a girl walks with a rapid,
+elastic rhythm which is quite distinct from the graver step of the
+elderly woman. I have laughed over the creak of new shoes and the
+clatter of a stout maid performing a jig in the kitchen. One day, in the
+dining-room of an hotel, a tactual dissonance arrested my attention. I
+sat still and listened with my feet. I found that two waiters were
+walking back and forth, but not with the same gait. A band was playing,
+and I could feel the music-waves along the floor. One of the waiters
+walked in time to the band, graceful and light, while the other
+disregarded the music and rushed from table to table to the beat of some
+discord in his own mind. Their steps reminded me of a spirited war-steed
+harnessed with a cart-horse.
+
+Often footsteps reveal in some measure the character and the mood of the
+walker. I feel in them firmness and indecision, hurry and deliberation,
+activity and laziness, fatigue, carelessness, timidity, anger, and
+sorrow. I am most conscious of these moods and traits in persons with
+whom I am familiar.
+
+Footsteps are frequently interrupted by certain jars and jerks, so that
+I know when one kneels, kicks, shakes something, sits down, or gets up.
+Thus I follow to some extent the actions of people about me and the
+changes of their postures. Just now a thick, soft patter of bare, padded
+feet and a slight jolt told me that my dog had jumped on the chair to
+look out of the window. I do not, however, allow him to go
+uninvestigated; for occasionally I feel the same motion, and find him,
+not on the chair, but trespassing on the sofa.
+
+When a carpenter works in the house or in the barn near by, I know by
+the slanting, up-and-down, toothed vibration, and the ringing concussion
+of blow upon blow, that he is sawing or hammering. If I am near enough,
+a certain vibration, travelling back and forth along a wooden surface,
+brings me the information that he is using a plane.
+
+A slight flutter on the rug tells me that a breeze has blown my papers
+off the table. A round thump is a signal that a pencil has rolled on the
+floor. If a book falls, it gives a flat thud. A wooden rap on the
+balustrade announces that dinner is ready. Many of these vibrations are
+obliterated out of doors. On a lawn or the road, I can feel only
+running, stamping, and the rumble of wheels.
+
+By placing my hand on a person's lips and throat, I gain an idea of many
+specific vibrations, and interpret them: a boy's chuckle, a man's
+"Whew!" of surprise, the "Hem!" of annoyance or perplexity, the moan of
+pain, a scream, a whisper, a rasp, a sob, a choke, and a gasp. The
+utterances of animals, though wordless, are eloquent to me--the cat's
+purr, its mew, its angry, jerky, scolding spit; the dog's bow-wow of
+warning or of joyous welcome, its yelp of despair, and its contented
+snore; the cow's moo; a monkey's chatter; the snort of a horse; the
+lion's roar, and the terrible snarl of the tiger. Perhaps I ought to
+add, for the benefit of the critics and doubters who may peruse this
+essay, that with my own hands I have felt all these sounds. From my
+childhood to the present day I have availed myself of every opportunity
+to visit zoological gardens, menageries, and the circus, and all the
+animals, except the tiger, have talked into my hand. I have touched the
+tiger only in a museum, where he is as harmless as a lamb. I have,
+however, heard him talk by putting my hand on the bars of his cage. I
+have touched several lions in the flesh, and felt them roar royally,
+like a cataract over rocks.
+
+To continue, I know the _plop_ of liquid in a pitcher. So if I spill my
+milk, I have not the excuse of ignorance. I am also familiar with the
+pop of a cork, the sputter of a flame, the tick-tack of the clock, the
+metallic swing of the windmill, the laboured rise and fall of the pump,
+the voluminous spurt of the hose, the deceptive tap of the breeze at
+door and window, and many other vibrations past computing.
+
+There are tactual vibrations which do not belong to skin-touch. They
+penetrate the skin, the nerves, the bones, like pain, heat, and cold.
+The beat of a drum smites me through from the chest to the
+shoulder-blades. The din of the train, the bridge, and grinding
+machinery retains its "old-man-of-the-sea" grip upon me long after its
+cause has been left behind. If vibration and motion combine in my touch
+for any length of time, the earth seems to run away while I stand still.
+When I step off the train, the platform whirls round, and I find it
+difficult to walk steadily.
+
+Every atom of my body is a vibroscope. But my sensations are not
+infallible. I reach out, and my fingers meet something furry, which
+jumps about, gathers itself together as if to spring, and acts like an
+animal. I pause a moment for caution. I touch it again more firmly, and
+find it is a fur coat fluttering and flapping in the wind. To me, as to
+you, the earth seems motionless, and the sun appears to move; for the
+rays of the afternoon withdraw more and more, as they touch my face,
+until the air becomes cool. From this I understand how it is that the
+shore seems to recede as you sail away from it. Hence I feel no
+incredulity when you say that parallel lines appear to converge, and the
+earth and sky to meet. My few senses long ago revealed to me their
+imperfections and deceptivity.
+
+Not only are the senses deceptive, but numerous usages in our language
+indicate that people who have five senses find it difficult to keep
+their functions distinct. I understand that we hear views, see tones,
+taste music. I am told that voices have colour. Tact, which I have
+supposed to be a matter of nice perception, turns out to be a matter of
+taste. Judging from the large use of the word, taste appears to be the
+most important of all the senses. Taste governs the great and small
+conventions of life. Certainly the language of the senses is full of
+contradictions, and my fellows who have five doors to their house are
+not more surely at home in themselves than I. May I not, then, be
+excused if this account of my sensations lacks precision?
+
+
+
+
+THE FINER VIBRATIONS
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+THE FINER VIBRATIONS
+
+
+I HAVE spoken of the numerous jars and jolts which daily minister to my
+faculties. The loftier and grander vibrations which appeal to my
+emotions are varied and abundant. I listen with awe to the roll of the
+thunder and the muffled avalanche of sound when the sea flings itself
+upon the shore. And I love the instrument by which all the diapasons of
+the ocean are caught and released in surging floods--the many-voiced
+organ. If music could be seen, I could point where the organ-notes go,
+as they rise and fall, climb up and up, rock and sway, now loud and
+deep, now high and stormy, anon soft and solemn, with lighter
+vibrations interspersed between and running across them. I should say
+that organ-music fills to an ecstasy the act of feeling.
+
+There is tangible delight in other instruments, too. The violin seems
+beautifully alive as it responds to the lightest wish of the master. The
+distinction between its notes is more delicate than between the notes of
+the piano.
+
+I enjoy the music of the piano most when I touch the instrument. If I
+keep my hand on the piano-case, I detect tiny quavers, returns of
+melody, and the hush that follows. This explains to me how sound can die
+away to the listening ear:
+
+              . . . How thin and clear,
+            And thinner, clearer, farther going!
+          O sweet and far from cliff and scar
+            The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
+
+I am able to follow the dominant spirit and mood of the music. I catch
+the joyous dance as it bounds over the keys, the slow dirge, the
+reverie. I thrill to the fiery sweep of notes crossed by thunderous
+tones in the "Walkuere," where _Wotan_ kindles the dread flames that
+guard the sleeping _Brunhild_. How wonderful is the instrument on which
+a great musician sings with his hands! I have never succeeded in
+distinguishing one composition from another. I think this is impossible;
+but the concentration and strain upon my attention would be so great
+that I doubt if the pleasure derived would be commensurate to the
+effort.
+
+Nor can I distinguish easily a tune that is sung. But by placing my hand
+on another's throat and cheek, I enjoy the changes of the voice. I know
+when it is low or high, clear or muffled, sad or cheery. The thin,
+quavering sensation of an old voice differs in my touch from the
+sensation of a young voice. A Southerner's drawl is quite unlike the
+Yankee twang. Sometimes the flow and ebb of a voice is so enchanting
+that my fingers quiver with exquisite pleasure, even if I do not
+understand a word that is spoken.
+
+On the other hand, I am exceedingly sensitive to the harshness of noises
+like grinding, scraping, and the hoarse creak of rusty locks.
+Fog-whistles are my vibratory nightmares. I have stood near a bridge in
+process of construction, and felt the tactual din, the rattle of heavy
+masses of stone, the roll of loosened earth, the rumble of engines, the
+dumping of dirt-cars, the triple blows of vulcan hammers. I can also
+smell the fire-pots, the tar and cement. So I have a vivid idea of
+mighty labours in steel and stone, and I believe that I am acquainted
+with all the fiendish noises which can be made by man or machinery. The
+whack of heavy falling bodies, the sudden shivering splinter of chopped
+logs, the crystal shatter of pounded ice, the crash of a tree hurled to
+the earth by a hurricane, the irrational, persistent chaos of noise made
+by switching freight-trains, the explosion of gas, the blasting of
+stone, and the terrific grinding of rock upon rock which precedes the
+collapse--all these have been in my touch-experience, and contribute to
+my idea of Bedlam, of a battle, a waterspout, an earthquake, and other
+enormous accumulations of sound.
+
+Touch brings me into contact with the traffic and manifold activity of
+the city. Besides the bustle and crowding of people and the nondescript
+grating and electric howling of street-cars, I am conscious of
+exhalations from many different kinds of shops; from automobiles, drays,
+horses, fruit stands, and many varieties of smoke.
+
+          Odours strange and musty,
+          The air sharp and dusty
+          With lime and with sand,
+          That no one can stand,
+          Make the street impassable,
+          The people irascible,
+          Until every one cries,
+          As he trembling goes
+          With the sight of his eyes
+          And the scent of his nose
+          Quite stopped--or at least much diminished--
+          "Gracious! when will this city be finished?"[B]
+
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio
+
+"Listening" to the Trees
+
+To face page 70]
+
+The city is interesting; but the tactual silence of the country is
+always most welcome after the din of town and the irritating concussions
+of the train. How noiseless and undisturbing are the demolition, the
+repairs and the alterations, of nature! With no sound of hammer or saw
+or stone severed from stone, but a music of rustles and ripe thumps on
+the grass come the fluttering leaves and mellow fruits which the wind
+tumbles all day from the branches. Silently all droops, all withers, all
+is poured back into the earth that it may recreate; all sleeps while the
+busy architects of day and night ply their silent work elsewhere. The
+same serenity reigns when all at once the soil yields up a newly wrought
+creation. Softly the ocean of grass, moss, and flowers rolls surge upon
+surge across the earth. Curtains of foliage drape the bare branches.
+Great trees make ready in their sturdy hearts to receive again birds
+which occupy their spacious chambers to the south and west. Nay, there
+is no place so lowly that it may not lodge some happy creature. The
+meadow brook undoes its icy fetters with rippling notes, gurgles, and
+runs free. And all this is wrought in less than two months to the music
+of nature's orchestra, in the midst of balmy incense.
+
+The thousand soft voices of the earth have truly found their way to
+me--the small rustle in tufts of grass, the silky swish of leaves, the
+buzz of insects, the hum of bees in blossoms I have plucked, the flutter
+of a bird's wings after his bath, and the slender rippling vibration
+of water running over pebbles. Once having been felt, these loved voices
+rustle, buzz, hum, flutter, and ripple in my thought forever, an undying
+part of happy memories.
+
+Between my experiences and the experiences of others there is no gulf of
+mute space which I may not bridge. For I have endlessly varied,
+instructive contacts with all the world, with life, with the atmosphere
+whose radiant activity enfolds us all. The thrilling energy of the
+all-encasing air is warm and rapturous. Heat-waves and sound-waves play
+upon my face in infinite variety and combination, until I am able to
+surmise what must be the myriad sounds that my senseless ears have not
+heard.
+
+The air varies in different regions, at different seasons of the year,
+and even different hours of the day. The odorous, fresh sea-breezes are
+distinct from the fitful breezes along river banks, which are humid and
+freighted with inland smells. The bracing, light, dry air of the
+mountains can never be mistaken for the pungent salt air of the ocean.
+The air of winter is dense, hard, compressed. In the spring it has new
+vitality. It is light, mobile, and laden with a thousand palpitating
+odours from earth, grass, and sprouting leaves. The air of midsummer is
+dense, saturated, or dry and burning, as if it came from a furnace. When
+a cool breeze brushes the sultry stillness, it brings fewer odours than
+in May, and frequently the odour of a coming tempest. The avalanche of
+coolness which sweeps through the low-hanging air bears little
+resemblance to the stinging coolness of winter.
+
+The rain of winter is raw, without odour, and dismal. The rain of spring
+is brisk, fragrant, charged with life-giving warmth. I welcome it
+delightedly as it visits the earth, enriches the streams, waters the
+hills abundantly, makes the furrows soft with showers for the seed,
+elicits a perfume which I cannot breathe deep enough. Spring rain is
+beautiful, impartial, lovable. With pearly drops it washes every leaf on
+tree and bush, ministers equally to salutary herbs and noxious growths,
+searches out every living thing that needs its beneficence.
+
+The senses assist and reinforce each other to such an extent that I am
+not sure whether touch or smell tells me the most about the world.
+Everywhere the river of touch is joined by the brooks of
+odour-perception. Each season has its distinctive odours. The spring is
+earthy and full of sap. July is rich with the odour of ripening grain
+and hay. As the season advances, a crisp, dry, mature odour
+predominates, and golden-rod, tansy, and everlastings mark the onward
+march of the year. In autumn, soft, alluring scents fill the air,
+floating from thicket, grass, flower, and tree, and they tell me of time
+and change, of death and life's renewal, desire and its fulfilment.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[B] George Arnold.
+
+
+
+
+SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+SMELL, THE FALLEN ANGEL
+
+
+FOR some inexplicable reason the sense of smell does not hold the high
+position it deserves among its sisters. There is something of the fallen
+angel about it. When it woos us with woodland scents and beguiles us
+with the fragrance of lovely gardens, it is admitted frankly to our
+discourse. But when it gives us warning of something noxious in our
+vicinity, it is treated as if the demon had got the upper hand of the
+angel, and is relegated to outer darkness, punished for its faithful
+service. It is most difficult to keep the true significance of words
+when one discusses the prejudices of mankind, and I find it hard to give
+an account of odour-perceptions which shall be at once dignified and
+truthful.
+
+In my experience smell is most important, and I find that there is high
+authority for the nobility of the sense which we have neglected and
+disparaged. It is recorded that the Lord commanded that incense be burnt
+before him continually with a sweet savour. I doubt if there is any
+sensation arising from sight more delightful than the odours which
+filter through sun-warmed, wind-tossed branches, or the tide of scents
+which swells, subsides, rises again wave on wave, filling the wide world
+with invisible sweetness. A whiff of the universe makes us dream of
+worlds we have never seen, recalls in a flash entire epochs of our
+dearest experience. I never smell daisies without living over again the
+ecstatic mornings that my teacher and I spent wandering in the fields,
+while I learned new words and the names of things. Smell is a potent
+wizard that transports us across a thousand miles and all the years we
+have lived. The odour of fruits wafts me to my Southern home, to my
+childish frolics in the peach orchard. Other odours, instantaneous and
+fleeting, cause my heart to dilate joyously or contract with remembered
+grief. Even as I think of smells, my nose is full of scents that start
+awake sweet memories of summers gone and ripening grain fields far away.
+
+The faintest whiff from a meadow where the new-mown hay lies in the hot
+sun displaces the here and the now. I am back again in the old red barn.
+My little friends and I are playing in the haymow. A huge mow it is,
+packed with crisp, sweet hay, from the top of which the smallest child
+can reach the straining rafters. In their stalls beneath are the farm
+animals. Here is Jerry, unresponsive, unbeautiful Jerry, crunching his
+oats like a true pessimist, resolved to find his feed not good--at least
+not so good as it ought to be. Again I touch Brownie, eager, grateful
+little Brownie, ready to leave the juiciest fodder for a pat, straining
+his beautiful, slender neck for a caress. Near by stands Lady Belle,
+with sweet, moist mouth, lazily extracting the sealed-up cordial from
+timothy and clover, and dreaming of deep June pastures and murmurous
+streams.
+
+The sense of smell has told me of a coming storm hours before there was
+any sign of it visible. I notice first a throb of expectancy, a slight
+quiver, a concentration in my nostrils. As the storm draws nearer, my
+nostrils dilate the better to receive the flood of earth-odours which
+seem to multiply and extend, until I feel the splash of rain against my
+cheek. As the tempest departs, receding farther and farther, the odours
+fade, become fainter and fainter, and die away beyond the bar of space.
+
+I know by smell the kind of house we enter. I have recognized an
+old-fashioned country house because it has several layers of odours,
+left by a succession of families, of plants, perfumes, and draperies.
+
+In the evening quiet there are fewer vibrations than in the daytime, and
+then I rely more largely upon smell. The sulphuric scent of a match
+tells me that the lamps are being lighted. Later I note the wavering
+trail of odour that flits about and disappears. It is the curfew signal;
+the lights are out for the night.
+
+Out of doors I am aware by smell and touch of the ground we tread and
+the places we pass. Sometimes, when there is no wind, the odours are so
+grouped that I know the character of the country, and can place a
+hayfield, a country store, a garden, a barn, a grove of pines, a
+farmhouse with the windows open.
+
+The other day I went to walk toward a familiar wood. Suddenly a
+disturbing odour made me pause in dismay. Then followed a peculiar,
+measured jar, followed by dull, heavy thunder. I understood the odour
+and the jar only too well. The trees were being cut down. We climbed the
+stone wall to the left. It borders the wood which I have loved so long
+that it seems to be my peculiar possession. But to-day an unfamiliar
+rush of air and an unwonted outburst of sun told me that my tree friends
+were gone. The place was empty, like a deserted dwelling. I stretched
+out my hand. Where once stood the steadfast pines, great, beautiful,
+sweet, my hand touched raw, moist stumps. All about lay broken branches,
+like the antlers of stricken deer. The fragrant, piled-up sawdust
+swirled and tumbled about me. An unreasoning resentment flashed through
+me at this ruthless destruction of the beauty that I love. But there is
+no anger, no resentment in nature. The air is equally charged with the
+odours of life and of destruction, for death equally with growth forever
+ministers to all-conquering life. The sun shines as ever, and the winds
+riot through the newly opened spaces. I know that a new forest will
+spring where the old one stood, as beautiful, as beneficent.
+
+Touch sensations are permanent and definite. Odours deviate and are
+fugitive, changing in their shades, degrees, and location. There is
+something else in odour which gives me a sense of distance. I should
+call it horizon--the line where odour and fancy meet at the farthest
+limit of scent.
+
+Smell gives me more idea than touch or taste of the manner in which
+sight and hearing probably discharge their functions. Touch seems to
+reside in the object touched, because there is a contact of surfaces. In
+smell there is no notion of relievo, and odour seems to reside not in
+the object smelt, but in the organ. Since I smell a tree at a distance,
+it is comprehensible to me that a person sees it without touching it. I
+am not puzzled over the fact that he receives it as an image on his
+retina without relievo, since my smell perceives the tree as a thin
+sphere with no fullness or content. By themselves, odours suggest
+nothing. I must learn by association to judge from them of distance, of
+place, and of the actions or the surroundings which are the usual
+occasions for them, just as I am told people judge from colour, light,
+and sound.
+
+From exhalations I learn much about people. I often know the work they
+are engaged in. The odours of wood, iron, paint, and drugs cling to the
+garments of those that work in them. Thus I can distinguish the
+carpenter from the ironworker, the artist from the mason or the chemist.
+When a person passes quickly from one place to another I get a scent
+impression of where he has been--the kitchen, the garden, or the
+sick-room. I gain pleasurable ideas of freshness and good taste from the
+odours of soap, toilet water, clean garments, woollen and silk stuffs,
+and gloves.
+
+I have not, indeed, the all-knowing scent of the hound or the wild
+animal. None but the halt and the blind need fear my skill in pursuit;
+for there are other things besides water, stale trails, confusing cross
+tracks to put me at fault. Nevertheless, human odours are as varied and
+capable of recognition as hands and faces. The dear odours of those I
+love are so definite, so unmistakable, that nothing can quite obliterate
+them. If many years should elapse before I saw an intimate friend again,
+I think I should recognize his odour instantly in the heart of Africa,
+as promptly as would my brother that barks.
+
+Once, long ago, in a crowded railway station, a lady kissed me as she
+hurried by. I had not touched even her dress. But she left a scent with
+her kiss which gave me a glimpse of her. The years are many since she
+kissed me. Yet her odour is fresh in my memory.
+
+It is difficult to put into words the thing itself, the elusive
+person-odour. There seems to be no adequate vocabulary of smells, and I
+must fall back on approximate phrase and metaphor.
+
+Some people have a vague, unsubstantial odour that floats about, mocking
+every effort to identify it. It is the will-o'-the-wisp of my olfactive
+experience. Sometimes I meet one who lacks a distinctive person-scent,
+and I seldom find such a one lively or entertaining. On the other hand,
+one who has a pungent odour often possesses great vitality, energy, and
+vigour of mind.
+
+Masculine exhalations are as a rule stronger, more vivid, more widely
+differentiated than those of women. In the odour of young men there is
+something elemental, as of fire, storm, and salt sea. It pulsates with
+buoyancy and desire. It suggests all things strong and beautiful and
+joyous, and gives me a sense of physical happiness. I wonder if others
+observe that all infants have the same scent--pure, simple,
+undecipherable as their dormant personality. It is not until the age of
+six or seven that they begin to have perceptible individual odours.
+These develop and mature along with their mental and bodily powers.
+
+What I have written about smell, especially person-smell, will perhaps
+be regarded as the abnormal sentiment of one who can have no idea of the
+"world of reality and beauty which the eye perceives." There are people
+who are colour-blind, people who are tone-deaf. Most people are
+smell-blind-and-deaf. We should not condemn a musical composition on the
+testimony of an ear which cannot distinguish one chord from another, or
+judge a picture by the verdict of a colour-blind critic. The sensations
+of smell which cheer, inform, and broaden my life are not less pleasant
+merely because some critic who treads the wide, bright pathway of the
+eye has not cultivated his olfactive sense. Without the shy, fugitive,
+often unobserved sensations and the certainties which taste, smell, and
+touch give me, I should be obliged to take my conception of the universe
+wholly from others. I should lack the alchemy by which I now infuse into
+my world light, colour, and the Protean spark. The sensuous reality
+which interthreads and supports all the gropings of my imagination would
+be shattered. The solid earth would melt from under my feet and disperse
+itself in space. The objects dear to my hands would become formless,
+dead things, and I should walk among them as among invisible ghosts.
+
+
+
+
+RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+RELATIVE VALUES OF THE SENSES
+
+
+I WAS once without the sense of smell and taste for several days. It
+seemed incredible, this utter detachment from odours, to breathe the air
+in and observe never a single scent. The feeling was probably similar,
+though less in degree, to that of one who first loses sight and cannot
+but expect to see the light again any day, any minute. I knew I should
+smell again some time. Still, after the wonder had passed off, a
+loneliness crept over me as vast as the air whose myriad odours I
+missed. The multitudinous subtle delights that smell makes mine became
+for a time wistful memories. When I recovered the lost sense, my heart
+bounded with gladness. It is a fine dramatic touch that Hans Andersen
+gives to the story of Kay and Gerda in the passage about flowers. Kay,
+whom the wicked magician's glass has blinded to human love, rushes away
+fiercely from home when he discovers that the roses have lost their
+sweetness.
+
+The loss of smell for a few days gave me a clearer idea than I had ever
+had what it is to be blinded suddenly, helplessly. With a little stretch
+of the imagination I knew then what it must be when the great curtain
+shuts out suddenly the light of day, the stars, and the firmament
+itself. I see the blind man's eyes strain for the light, as he fearfully
+tries to walk his old rounds, until the unchanging blank that
+everywhere spreads before him stamps the reality of the dark upon his
+consciousness.
+
+My temporary loss of smell proved to me, too, that the absence of a
+sense need not dull the mental faculties and does not distort one's view
+of the world, and so I reason that blindness and deafness need not
+pervert the inner order of the intellect. I know that if there were no
+odours for me I should still possess a considerable part of the world.
+Novelties and surprises would abound, adventures would thicken in the
+dark.
+
+In my classification of the senses, smell is a little the ear's
+inferior, and touch is a great deal the eye's superior. I find that
+great artists and philosophers agree with me in this. Diderot says:
+
+          Je trouvais que de tous les sens, l'oeil etait le
+          plus superficiel; l'oreille, le plus orgueilleux;
+          l'odorat, le plus voluptueux; le gout, le plus
+          superstitieux et le plus inconstant; le toucher,
+          le plus profond et le plus philosophe.[C]
+
+A friend whom I have never seen sends me a quotation from Symonds's
+"Renaissance in Italy":
+
+          Lorenzo Ghiberti, after describing a piece of
+          antique sculpture he saw in Rome adds, "To express
+          the perfection of learning, mastery, and art
+          displayed in it is beyond the power of language.
+          Its more exquisite beauties could not be
+          discovered by the sight, but only by the touch of
+          the hand passed over it." Of another classic
+          marble at Padua he says, "This statue, when the
+          Christian faith triumphed, was hidden in that
+          place by some gentle soul, who, seeing it so
+          perfect, fashioned with art so wonderful, and with
+          such power of genius, and being moved to reverent
+          pity, caused a sepulchre of bricks to be built,
+          and there within buried the statue, and covered it
+          with a broad slab of stone, that it might not in
+          any way be injured. It has very many sweet
+          beauties which the eyes alone can comprehend not,
+          either by strong or tempered light; only the hand
+          by touching them finds them out."
+
+Hold out your hands to feel the luxury of the sunbeams. Press the soft
+blossoms against your cheek, and finger their graces of form, their
+delicate mutability of shape, their pliancy and freshness. Expose your
+face to the aerial floods that sweep the heavens, "inhale great draughts
+of space," wonder, wonder at the wind's unwearied activity. Pile note
+on note the infinite music that flows increasingly to your soul from the
+tactual sonorities of a thousand branches and tumbling waters. How can
+the world be shrivelled when this most profound, emotional sense, touch,
+is faithful to its service? I am sure that if a fairy bade me choose
+between the sense of light and that of touch, I would not part with the
+warm, endearing contact of human hands or the wealth of form, the
+nobility and fullness that press into my palms.
+
+FOOTNOTE:
+
+[C] I found that of the senses, the eye is the most superficial, the ear
+the most arrogant, smell the most voluptuous, taste the most
+superstitious and fickle, touch the most profound and the most
+philosophical.
+
+
+
+
+THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+THE FIVE-SENSED WORLD
+
+
+THE poets have taught us how full of wonders is the night; and the night
+of blindness has its wonders, too. The only lightless dark is the night
+of ignorance and insensibility. We differ, blind and seeing, one from
+another, not in our senses, but in the use we make of them, in the
+imagination and courage with which we seek wisdom beyond our senses.
+
+It is more difficult to teach ignorance to think than to teach an
+intelligent blind man to see the grandeur of Niagara. I have walked with
+people whose eyes are full of light, but who see nothing in wood, sea,
+or sky, nothing in city streets, nothing in books. What a witless
+masquerade is this seeing! It were better far to sail forever in the
+night of blindness, with sense and feeling and mind, than to be thus
+content with the mere act of seeing. They have the sunset, the morning
+skies, the purple of distant hills, yet their souls voyage through this
+enchanted world with a barren stare.
+
+The calamity of the blind is immense, irreparable. But it does not take
+away our share of the things that count--service, friendship, humour,
+imagination, wisdom. It is the secret inner will that controls one's
+fate. We are capable of willing to be good, of loving and being loved,
+of thinking to the end that we may be wiser. We possess these
+spirit-born forces equally with all God's children. Therefore we, too,
+see the lightnings and hear the thunders of Sinai. We, too, march
+through the wilderness and the solitary place that shall be glad for us,
+and as we pass, God maketh the desert to blossom like the rose. We, too,
+go in unto the Promised Land to possess the treasures of the spirit, the
+unseen permanence of life and nature.
+
+The blind man of spirit faces the unknown and grapples with it, and what
+else does the world of seeing men do? He has imagination, sympathy,
+humanity, and these ineradicable existences compel him to share by a
+sort of proxy in a sense he has not. When he meets terms of colour,
+light, physiognomy, he guesses, divines, puzzles out their meaning by
+analogies drawn from the senses he has. I naturally tend to think,
+reason, draw inferences as if I had five senses instead of three. This
+tendency is beyond my control; it is involuntary, habitual, instinctive.
+I cannot compel my mind to say "I feel" instead of "I see" or "I hear."
+The word "feel" proves on examination to be no less a convention than
+"see" and "hear" when I seek for words accurately to describe the
+outward things that affect my three bodily senses. When a man loses a
+leg, his brain persists in impelling him to use what he has not and yet
+feels to be there. Can it be that the brain is so constituted that it
+will continue the activity which animates the sight and the hearing,
+after the eye and the ear have been destroyed?
+
+It might seem that the five senses would work intelligently together
+only when resident in the same body. Yet when two or three are left
+unaided, they reach out for their complements in another body, and find
+that they yoke easily with the borrowed team. When my hand aches from
+overtouching, I find relief in the sight of another. When my mind lags,
+wearied with the strain of forcing out thoughts about dark, musicless,
+colourless, detached substance, it recovers its elasticity as soon as I
+resort to the powers of another mind which commands light, harmony,
+colour. Now, if the five senses will not remain disassociated, the life
+of the deaf-blind cannot be severed from the life of the seeing, hearing
+race.
+
+The deaf-blind person may be plunged and replunged like Schiller's
+diver into seas of the unknown. But, unlike the doomed hero, he returns
+triumphant, grasping the priceless truth that his mind is not crippled,
+not limited to the infirmity of his senses. The world of the eye and the
+ear becomes to him a subject of fateful interest. He seizes every word
+of sight and hearing because his sensations compel it. Light and colour,
+of which he has no tactual evidence, he studies fearlessly, believing
+that all humanly knowable truth is open to him. He is in a position
+similar to that of the astronomer who, firm, patient, watches a star
+night after night for many years and feels rewarded if he discovers a
+single fact about it. The man deaf-blind to ordinary outward things, and
+the man deaf-blind to the immeasurable universe, are both limited by
+time and space; but they have made a compact to wring service from their
+limitations.
+
+The bulk of the world's knowledge is an imaginary construction. History
+is but a mode of imagining, of making us see civilizations that no
+longer appear upon the earth. Some of the most significant discoveries
+in modern science owe their origin to the imagination of men who had
+neither accurate knowledge nor exact instruments to demonstrate their
+beliefs. If astronomy had not kept always in advance of the telescope,
+no one would ever have thought a telescope worth making. What great
+invention has not existed in the inventor's mind long before he gave it
+tangible shape?
+
+A more splendid example of imaginative knowledge is the unity with which
+philosophers start their study of the world. They can never perceive the
+world in its entire reality. Yet their imagination, with its magnificent
+allowance for error, its power of treating uncertainty as negligible,
+has pointed the way for empirical knowledge.
+
+In their highest creative moments the great poet, the great musician
+cease to use the crude instruments of sight and hearing. They break away
+from their sense-moorings, rise on strong, compelling wings of spirit
+far above our misty hills and darkened valleys into the region of light,
+music, intellect.
+
+What eye hath seen the glories of the New Jerusalem? What ear hath heard
+the music of the spheres, the steps of time, the strokes of chance, the
+blows of death? Men have not heard with their physical sense the tumult
+of sweet voices above the hills of Judea nor seen the heavenly vision;
+but millions have listened to that spiritual message through many ages.
+
+Our blindness changes not a whit the course of inner realities. Of us it
+is as true as it is of the seeing that the most beautiful world is
+always entered through the imagination. If you wish to be something that
+you are not,--something fine, noble, good,--you shut your eyes, and for
+one dreamy moment you are that which you long to be.
+
+
+
+
+INWARD VISIONS
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+INWARD VISIONS
+
+
+ACCORDING to all art, all nature, all coherent human thought, we know
+that order, proportion, form, are essential elements of beauty. Now
+order, proportion, and form, are palpable to the touch. But beauty and
+rhythm are deeper than sense. They are like love and faith. They spring
+out of a spiritual process only slightly dependent upon sensations.
+Order, proportion, form, cannot generate in the mind the abstract idea
+of beauty, unless there is already a soul intelligence to breathe life
+into the elements. Many persons, having perfect eyes, are blind in
+their perceptions. Many persons, having perfect ears, are emotionally
+deaf. Yet these are the very ones who dare to set limits to the vision
+of those who, lacking a sense or two, have will, soul, passion,
+imagination. Faith is a mockery if it teaches us not that we may
+construct a world unspeakably more complete and beautiful than the
+material world. And I, too, may construct my better world, for I am a
+child of God, an inheritor of a fragment of the Mind that created all
+worlds.
+
+There is a consonance of all things, a blending of all that we know
+about the material world and the spiritual. It consists for me of all
+the impressions, vibrations, heat, cold, taste, smell, and the
+sensations which these convey to the mind, infinitely combined,
+interwoven with associated ideas and acquired knowledge. No thoughtful
+person will believe that what I said about the meaning of footsteps is
+strictly true of mere jolts and jars. It is an array of the spiritual in
+certain natural elements, tactual beats, and an acquired knowledge of
+physical habits and moral traits of highly organized human beings. What
+would odours signify if they were not associated with the time of the
+year, the place I live in, and the people I know?
+
+The result of such a blending is sometimes a discordant trying of
+strings far removed from a melody, very far from a symphony. (For the
+benefit of those who must be reassured, I will say that I have felt a
+musician tuning his violin, that I have read about a symphony, and so
+have a fair intellectual perception of my metaphor.) But with training
+and experience the faculties gather up the stray notes and combine them
+into a full, harmonious whole. If the person who accomplishes this task
+is peculiarly gifted, we call him a poet. The blind and the deaf are not
+great poets, it is true. Yet now and again you find one deaf and blind
+who has attained to his royal kingdom of beauty.
+
+I have a little volume of poems by a deaf-blind lady, Madame Bertha
+Galeron. Her poetry has versatility of thought. Now it is tender and
+sweet, now full of tragic passion and the sternness of destiny. Victor
+Hugo called her "La Grande Voyante." She has written several plays, two
+of which have been acted in Paris. The French Academy has crowned her
+work.
+
+The infinite wonders of the universe are revealed to us in exact measure
+as we are capable of receiving them. The keenness of our vision depends
+not on how much we can see, but on how much we feel. Nor yet does mere
+knowledge create beauty. Nature sings her most exquisite songs to those
+who love her. She does not unfold her secrets to those who come only to
+gratify their desire of analysis, to gather facts, but to those who see
+in her manifold phenomena suggestions of lofty, delicate sentiments.
+
+[Illustration: Copyright, 1907, by The Whitman Studio
+
+The Little Boy Next Door
+
+To face page 120]
+
+Am I to be denied the use of such adjectives as "freshness" and
+"sparkle," "dark" and "gloomy"? I have walked in the fields at early
+morning. I have felt a rose-bush laden with dew and fragrance. I have
+felt the curves and graces of my kitten at play. I have known the
+sweet, shy ways of little children. I have known the sad opposites of
+all these, a ghastly touch picture. Remember, I have sometimes travelled
+over a dusty road as far as my feet could go. At a sudden turn I have
+stepped upon starved, ignoble weeds, and reaching out my hands, I have
+touched a fair tree out of which a parasite had taken the life like a
+vampire. I have touched a pretty bird whose soft wings hung limp, whose
+little heart beat no more. I have wept over the feebleness and deformity
+of a child, lame, or born blind, or, worse still, mindless. If I had the
+genius of Thomson, I, too, could depict a "City of Dreadful Night" from
+mere touch sensations. From contrasts so irreconcilable can we fail to
+form an idea of beauty and know surely when we meet with loveliness?
+
+Here is a sonnet eloquent of a blind man's power of vision:
+
+
+              THE MOUNTAIN TO THE PINE
+
+          Thou tall, majestic monarch of the wood,
+            That standest where no wild vines dare to creep,
+          Men call thee old, and say that thou hast stood
+            A century upon my rugged steep;
+          Yet unto me thy life is but a day,
+            When I recall the things that I have seen,--
+          The forest monarchs that have passed away
+            Upon the spot where first I saw thy green;
+          For I am older than the age of man,
+            Or all the living things that crawl or creep,
+            Or birds of air, or creatures of the deep;
+          I was the first dim outline of God's plan:
+            Only the waters of the restless sea
+            And the infinite stars in heaven are old to me.
+
+I am glad my friend Mr. Stedman knew that poem while he was making his
+Anthology, for knowing it, so fine a poet and critic could not fail to
+give it a place in his treasure-house of American poetry. The poet, Mr.
+Clarence Hawkes, has been blind since childhood; yet he finds in nature
+hints of combinations for his mental pictures. Out of the knowledge and
+impressions that come to him he constructs a masterpiece which hangs
+upon the walls of his thought. And into the poet's house come all the
+true spirits of the world.
+
+It was a rare poet who thought of the mountain as "the first dim outline
+of God's plan." That is the real wonder of the poem, and not that a
+blind man should speak so confidently of sky and sea. Our ideas of the
+sky are an accumulation of touch-glimpses, literary allusions, and the
+observations of others, with an emotional blending of all. My face feels
+only a tiny portion of the atmosphere; but I go through continuous space
+and feel the air at every point, every instant. I have been told about
+the distances from our earth to the sun, to the other planets, and to
+the fixed stars. I multiply a thousand times the utmost height and width
+that my touch compasses, and thus I gain a deep sense of the sky's
+immensity.
+
+Move me along constantly over water, water, nothing but water, and you
+give me the solitude, the vastness of ocean which fills the eye. I have
+been in a little sail-boat on the sea, when the rising tide swept it
+toward the shore. May I not understand the poet's figure: "The green of
+spring overflows the earth like a tide"? I have felt the flame of a
+candle blow and flutter in the breeze. May I not, then, say: "Myriads of
+fireflies flit hither and thither in the dew-wet grass like little
+fluttering tapers"?
+
+Combine the endless space of air, the sun's warmth, the clouds that are
+described to my understanding spirit, the frequent breaking through the
+soil of a brook or the expanse of the wind-ruffled lake, the tactual
+undulation of the hills, which I recall when I am far away from them,
+the towering trees upon trees as I walk by them, the bearings that I try
+to keep while others tell me the directions of the various points of the
+scenery, and you will begin to feel surer of my mental landscape. The
+utmost bound to which my thought will go with clearness is the horizon
+of my mind. From this horizon I imagine the one which the eye marks.
+
+Touch cannot bridge distance,--it is fit only for the contact of
+surfaces,--but thought leaps the chasm. For this reason I am able to use
+words descriptive of objects distant from my senses. I have felt the
+rondure of the infant's tender form. I can apply this perception to the
+landscape and to the far-off hills.
+
+
+
+
+ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+ANALOGIES IN SENSE PERCEPTION
+
+
+I HAVE not touched the outline of a star nor the glory of the moon, but
+I believe that God has set two lights in mind, the greater to rule by
+day and the lesser by night, and by them I know that I am able to
+navigate my life-bark, as certain of reaching the haven as he who steers
+by the North Star. Perhaps my sun shines not as yours. The colours that
+glorify my world, the blue of the sky, the green of the fields, may not
+correspond exactly with those you delight in; but they are none the less
+colour to me. The sun does not shine for my physical eyes, nor does the
+lightning flash, nor do the trees turn green in the spring; but they
+have not therefore ceased to exist, any more than the landscape is
+annihilated when you turn your back on it.
+
+I understand how scarlet can differ from crimson because I know that the
+smell of an orange is not the smell of a grape-fruit. I can also
+conceive that colours have shades, and guess what shades are. In smell
+and taste there are varieties not broad enough to be fundamental; so I
+call them shades. There are half a dozen roses near me. They all have
+the unmistakable rose scent; yet my nose tells me that they are not the
+same. The American Beauty is distinct from the Jacqueminot and La
+France. Odours in certain grasses fade as really to my sense as certain
+colours do to yours in the sun. The freshness of a flower in my hand is
+analogous to the freshness I taste in an apple newly picked. I make use
+of analogies like these to enlarge my conceptions of colours. Some
+analogies which I draw between qualities in surface and vibration, taste
+and smell, are drawn by others between sight, hearing, and touch. This
+fact encourages me to persevere, to try and bridge the gap between the
+eye and the hand.
+
+Certainly I get far enough to sympathize with the delight that my kind
+feel in beauty they see and harmony they hear. This bond between
+humanity and me is worth keeping, even if the idea on which I base it
+prove erroneous.
+
+Sweet, beautiful vibrations exist for my touch, even though they travel
+through other substances than air to reach me. So I imagine sweet,
+delightful sounds, and the artistic arrangement of them which is called
+music, and I remember that they travel through the air to the ear,
+conveying impressions somewhat like mine. I also know what tones are,
+since they are perceptible tactually in a voice. Now, heat varies
+greatly in the sun, in the fire, in hands, and in the fur of animals;
+indeed, there is such a thing for me as a cold sun. So I think of the
+varieties of light that touch the eye, cold and warm, vivid and dim,
+soft and glaring, but always light, and I imagine their passage through
+the air to an extensive sense, instead of to a narrow one like touch.
+From the experience I have had with voices I guess how the eye
+distinguishes shades in the midst of light. While I read the lips of a
+woman whose voice is soprano, I note a low tone or a glad tone in the
+midst of a high, flowing voice. When I feel my cheeks hot, I know that I
+am red. I have talked so much and read so much about colours that
+through no will of my own I attach meanings to them, just as all people
+attach certain meanings to abstract terms like hope, idealism,
+monotheism, intellect, which cannot be represented truly by visible
+objects, but which are understood from analogies between immaterial
+concepts and the ideas they awaken of external things. The force of
+association drives me to say that white is exalted and pure, green is
+exuberant, red suggests love or shame or strength. Without the colour or
+its equivalent, life to me would be dark, barren, a vast blackness.
+
+Thus through an inner law of completeness my thoughts are not permitted
+to remain colourless. It strains my mind to separate colour and sound
+from objects. Since my education began I have always had things
+described to me with their colours and sounds by one with keen senses
+and a fine feeling for the significant. Therefore I habitually think of
+things as coloured and resonant. Habit accounts for part. The soul sense
+accounts for another part. The brain with its five-sensed construction
+asserts its right and accounts for the rest. Inclusive of all, the unity
+of the world demands that colour be kept in it, whether I have
+cognizance of it or not. Rather than be shut out, I take part in it by
+discussing it, imagining it, happy in the happiness of those near me
+who gaze at the lovely hues of the sunset or the rainbow.
+
+My hand has its share in this multiple knowledge, but it must never be
+forgotten that with the fingers I see only a very small portion of a
+surface, and that I must pass my hand continually over it before my
+touch grasps the whole. It is still more important, however, to remember
+that my imagination is not tethered to certain points, locations, and
+distances. It puts all the parts together simultaneously as if it saw or
+knew instead of feeling them. Though I feel only a small part of my
+horse at a time,--my horse is nervous and does not submit to manual
+explorations,--yet, because I have many times felt hock, nose, hoof and
+mane, I can see the steeds of Phoebus Apollo coursing the heavens.
+
+With such a power active it is impossible that my thought should be
+vague, indistinct. It must needs be potent, definite. This is really a
+corollary of the philosophical truth that the real world exists only for
+the mind. That is to say, I can never touch the world in its entirety;
+indeed, I touch less of it than the portion that others see or hear. But
+all creatures, all objects, pass into my brain entire, and occupy the
+same extent there that they do in material space. I declare that for me
+branched thoughts, instead of pines, wave, sway, rustle, make musical
+the ridges of mountains rising summit upon summit. Mention a rose too
+far away for me to smell it. Straightway a scent steals into my
+nostril, a form presses against my palm in all its dilating softness,
+with rounded petals, slightly curled edges, curving stem, leaves
+drooping. When I would fain view the world as a whole, it rushes into
+vision--man, beast, bird, reptile, fly, sky, ocean, mountains, plain,
+rock, pebble. The warmth of life, the reality of creation is over
+all--the throb of human hands, glossiness of fur, lithe windings of long
+bodies, poignant buzzing of insects, the ruggedness of the steeps as I
+climb them, the liquid mobility and boom of waves upon the rocks.
+Strange to say, try as I may, I cannot force my touch to pervade this
+universe in all directions. The moment I try, the whole vanishes; only
+small objects or narrow portions of a surface, mere touch-signs, a chaos
+of things scattered at random, remain. No thrill, no delight is excited
+thereby. Restore to the artistic, comprehensive internal sense its
+rightful domain, and you give me joy which best proves the reality.
+
+
+
+
+BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+BEFORE THE SOUL DAWN
+
+
+BEFORE my teacher came to me, I did not know that I am. I lived in a
+world that was a no-world. I cannot hope to describe adequately that
+unconscious, yet conscious time of nothingness. I did not know that I
+knew aught, or that I lived or acted or desired. I had neither will nor
+intellect. I was carried along to objects and acts by a certain blind
+natural impetus. I had a mind which caused me to feel anger,
+satisfaction, desire. These two facts led those about me to suppose
+that I willed and thought. I can remember all this, not because I knew
+that it was so, but because I have tactual memory. It enables me to
+remember that I never contracted my forehead in the act of thinking. I
+never viewed anything beforehand or chose it. I also recall tactually
+the fact that never in a start of the body or a heart-beat did I feel
+that I loved or cared for anything. My inner life, then, was a blank
+without past, present, or future, without hope or anticipation, without
+wonder or joy or faith.
+
+          It was not night--it was not day.
+
+                 .       .       .       .       .
+
+          But vacancy absorbing space,
+          And fixedness, without a place;
+          There were no stars--no earth--no time--
+          No check--no change--no good--no crime.
+
+My dormant being had no idea of God or immortality, no fear of death.
+
+I remember, also through touch, that I had a power of association. I
+felt tactual jars like the stamp of a foot, the opening of a window or
+its closing, the slam of a door. After repeatedly smelling rain and
+feeling the discomfort of wetness, I acted like those about me: I ran to
+shut the window. But that was not thought in any sense. It was the same
+kind of association that makes animals take shelter from the rain. From
+the same instinct of aping others, I folded the clothes that came from
+the laundry, and put mine away, fed the turkeys, sewed bead-eyes on my
+doll's face, and did many other things of which I have the tactual
+remembrance. When I wanted anything I liked,--ice-cream, for instance,
+of which I was very fond,--I had a delicious taste on my tongue (which,
+by the way, I never have now), and in my hand I felt the turning of the
+freezer. I made the sign, and my mother knew I wanted ice-cream. I
+"thought" and desired in my fingers. If I had made a man, I should
+certainly have put the brain and soul in his finger-tips. From
+reminiscences like these I conclude that it is the opening of the two
+faculties, freedom of will, or choice, and rationality, or the power of
+thinking from one thing to another, which makes it possible to come into
+being first as a child, afterwards as a man.
+
+Since I had no power of thought, I did not compare one mental state with
+another. So I was not conscious of any change or process going on in my
+brain when my teacher began to instruct me. I merely felt keen delight
+in obtaining more easily what I wanted by means of the finger motions
+she taught me. I thought only of objects, and only objects I wanted. It
+was the turning of the freezer on a larger scale. When I learned the
+meaning of "I" and "me" and found that I was something, I began to
+think. Then consciousness first existed for me. Thus it was not the
+sense of touch that brought me knowledge. It was the awakening of my
+soul that first rendered my senses their value, their cognizance of
+objects, names, qualities, and properties. Thought made me conscious of
+love, joy, and all the emotions. I was eager to know, then to
+understand, afterward to reflect on what I knew and understood, and the
+blind impetus, which had before driven me hither and thither at the
+dictates of my sensations, vanished forever.
+
+I cannot represent more clearly than any one else the gradual and subtle
+changes from first impressions to abstract ideas. But I know that my
+physical ideas, that is, ideas derived from material objects, appear to
+me first an idea similar to those of touch. Instantly they pass into
+intellectual meanings. Afterward the meaning finds expression in what is
+called "inner speech." When I was a child, my inner speech was inner
+spelling. Although I am even now frequently caught spelling to myself on
+my fingers, yet I talk to myself, too, with my lips, and it is true that
+when I first learned to speak, my mind discarded the finger-symbols and
+began to articulate. However, when I try to recall what some one has
+said to me, I am conscious of a hand spelling into mine.
+
+It has often been asked what were my earliest impressions of the world
+in which I found myself. But one who thinks at all of his first
+impressions knows what a riddle this is. Our impressions grow and change
+unnoticed, so that what we suppose we thought as children may be quite
+different from what we actually experienced in our childhood. I only
+know that after my education began the world which came within my reach
+was all alive. I spelled to my blocks and my dogs. I sympathized with
+plants when the flowers were picked, because I thought it hurt them,
+and that they grieved for their lost blossoms. It was two years before I
+could be made to believe that my dogs did not understand what I said,
+and I always apologized to them when I ran into or stepped on them.
+
+As my experiences broadened and deepened, the indeterminate, poetic
+feelings of childhood began to fix themselves in definite thoughts.
+Nature--the world I could touch--was folded and filled with myself. I am
+inclined to believe those philosophers who declare that we know nothing
+but our own feelings and ideas. With a little ingenious reasoning one
+may see in the material world simply a mirror, an image of permanent
+mental sensations. In either sphere self-knowledge is the condition and
+the limit of our consciousness. That is why, perhaps, many people know
+so little about what is beyond their short range of experience. They
+look within themselves--and find nothing! Therefore they conclude that
+there is nothing outside themselves, either.
+
+However that may be, I came later to look for an image of my emotions
+and sensations in others. I had to learn the outward signs of inward
+feelings. The start of fear, the suppressed, controlled tensity of pain,
+the beat of happy muscles in others, had to be perceived and compared
+with my own experiences before I could trace them back to the intangible
+soul of another. Groping, uncertain, I at last found my identity, and
+after seeing my thoughts and feelings repeated in others, I gradually
+constructed my world of men and of God. As I read and study, I find
+that this is what the rest of the race has done. Man looks within
+himself and in time finds the measure and the meaning of the universe.
+
+
+
+
+THE LARGER SANCTIONS
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+THE LARGER SANCTIONS
+
+
+SO, in the midst of life, eager, imperious life, the deaf-blind child,
+fettered to the bare rock of circumstance, spider-like, sends out
+gossamer threads of thought into the measureless void that surrounds
+him. Patiently he explores the dark, until he builds up a knowledge of
+the world he lives in, and his soul meets the beauty of the world, where
+the sun shines always, and the birds sing. To the blind child the dark
+is kindly. In it he finds nothing extraordinary or terrible. It is his
+familiar world; even the groping from place to place, the halting
+steps, the dependence upon others, do not seem strange to him. He does
+not know how many countless pleasures the dark shuts out from him. Not
+until he weighs his life in the scale of others' experience does he
+realize what it is to live forever in the dark. But the knowledge that
+teaches him this bitterness also brings its consolation--spiritual
+light, the promise of the day that shall be.
+
+The blind child--the deaf-blind child--has inherited the mind of seeing
+and hearing ancestors--a mind measured to five senses. Therefore he must
+be influenced, even if it be unknown to himself, by the light, colour,
+song which have been transmitted through the language he is taught, for
+the chambers of the mind are ready to receive that language. The brain
+of the race is so permeated with colour that it dyes even the speech of
+the blind. Every object I think of is stained with the hue that belongs
+to it by association and memory. The experience of the deaf-blind
+person, in a world of seeing, hearing people, is like that of a sailor
+on an island where the inhabitants speak a language unknown to him,
+whose life is unlike that he has lived. He is one, they are many; there
+is no chance of compromise. He must learn to see with their eyes, to
+hear with their ears, to think their thoughts, to follow their ideals.
+
+If the dark, silent world which surrounds him were essentially different
+from the sunlit, resonant world, it would be incomprehensible to his
+kind, and could never be discussed. If his feelings and sensations were
+fundamentally different from those of others, they would be
+inconceivable except to those who had similar sensations and feelings.
+If the mental consciousness of the deaf-blind person were absolutely
+dissimilar to that of his fellows, he would have no means of imagining
+what they think. Since the mind of the sightless is essentially the same
+as that of the seeing in that it admits of no lack, it must supply some
+sort of equivalent for missing physical sensations. It must perceive a
+likeness between things outward and things inward, a correspondence
+between the seen and the unseen. I make use of such a correspondence in
+many relations, and no matter how far I pursue it to things I cannot
+see, it does not break under the test.
+
+As a working hypothesis, correspondence is adequate to all life, through
+the whole range of phenomena. The flash of thought and its swiftness
+explain the lightning flash and the sweep of a comet through the
+heavens. My mental sky opens to me the vast celestial spaces, and I
+proceed to fill them with the images of my spiritual stars. I recognize
+truth by the clearness and guidance that it gives my thought, and,
+knowing what that clearness is, I can imagine what light is to the eye.
+It is not a convention of language, but a forcible feeling of the
+reality, that at times makes me start when I say, "Oh, I see my
+mistake!" or "How dark, cheerless is his life!" I know these are
+metaphors. Still, I must prove with them, since there is nothing in our
+language to replace them. Deaf-blind metaphors to correspond do not
+exist and are not necessary. Because I can understand the word "reflect"
+figuratively, a mirror has never perplexed me. The manner in which my
+imagination perceives absent things enables me to see how glasses can
+magnify things, bring them nearer, or remove them farther.
+
+Deny me this correspondence, this internal sense, confine me to the
+fragmentary, incoherent touch-world, and lo, I become as a bat which
+wanders about on the wing. Suppose I omitted all words of seeing,
+hearing, colour, light, landscape, the thousand phenomena, instruments
+and beauties connected with them. I should suffer a great diminution of
+the wonder and delight in attaining knowledge; also--more dreadful
+loss--my emotions would be blunted, so that I could not be touched by
+things unseen.
+
+Has anything arisen to disprove the adequacy of correspondence? Has any
+chamber of the blind man's brain been opened and found empty? Has any
+psychologist explored the mind of the sightless and been able to say,
+"There is no sensation here"?
+
+I tread the solid earth; I breathe the scented air. Out of these two
+experiences I form numberless associations and correspondences. I
+observe, I feel, I think, I imagine. I associate the countless varied
+impressions, experiences, concepts. Out of these materials Fancy, the
+cunning artisan of the brain, welds an image which the sceptic would
+deny me, because I cannot see with my physical eyes the changeful,
+lovely face of my thought-child. He would break the mind's mirror. This
+spirit-vandal would humble my soul and force me to bite the dust of
+material things. While I champ the bit of circumstance, he scourges and
+goads me with the spur of fact. If I heeded him, the sweet-visaged earth
+would vanish into nothing, and I should hold in my hand nought but an
+aimless, soulless lump of dead matter. But although the body physical is
+rooted alive to the Promethean rock, the spirit-proud huntress of the
+air will still pursue the shining, open highways of the universe.
+
+Blindness has no limiting effect upon mental vision. My intellectual
+horizon is infinitely wide. The universe it encircles is immeasurable.
+Would they who bid me keep within the narrow bound of my meagre senses
+demand of Herschel that he roof his stellar universe and give us back
+Plato's solid firmament of glassy spheres? Would they command Darwin
+from the grave and bid him blot out his geological time, give us back a
+paltry few thousand years? Oh, the supercilious doubters! They ever
+strive to clip the upward daring wings of the spirit.
+
+A person deprived of one or more senses is not, as many seem to think,
+turned out into a trackless wilderness without landmark or guide. The
+blind man carries with him into his dark environment all the faculties
+essential to the apprehension of the visible world whose door is closed
+behind him. He finds his surroundings everywhere homogeneous with those
+of the sunlit world; for there is an inexhaustible ocean of likenesses
+between the world within, and the world without, and these likenesses,
+these correspondences, he finds equal to every exigency his life offers.
+
+The necessity of some such thing as correspondence or symbolism appears
+more and more urgent as we consider the duties that religion and
+philosophy enjoin upon us.
+
+The blind are expected to read the Bible as a means of attaining
+spiritual happiness. Now, the Bible is filled throughout with references
+to clouds, stars, colours, and beauty, and often the mention of these is
+essential to the meaning of the parable or the message in which they
+occur. Here one must needs see the inconsistency of people who believe
+in the Bible, and yet deny us a right to talk about what we do not see,
+and for that matter what _they_ do not see, either. Who shall forbid my
+heart to sing: "Yea, he did fly upon the wings of the wind. He made
+darkness his secret place; his pavilion round about him were dark waters
+and thick clouds of the skies"?
+
+Philosophy constantly points out the untrustworthiness of the five
+senses and the important work of reason which corrects the errors of
+sight and reveals its illusions. If we cannot depend on five senses, how
+much less may we rely on three! What ground have we for discarding
+light, sound, and colour as an integral part of our world? How are we to
+know that they have ceased to exist for us? We must take their reality
+for granted, even as the philosopher assumes the reality of the world
+without being able to see it physically as a whole.
+
+Ancient philosophy offers an argument which seems still valid. There is
+in the blind as in the seeing an Absolute which gives truth to what we
+know to be true, order to what is orderly, beauty to the beautiful,
+touchableness to what is tangible. If this is granted, it follows that
+this Absolute is not imperfect, incomplete, partial. It must needs go
+beyond the limited evidence of our sensations, and also give light to
+what is invisible, music to the musical that silence dulls. Thus mind
+itself compels us to acknowledge that we are in a world of intellectual
+order, beauty, and harmony. The essences, or absolutes of these ideas,
+necessarily dispel their opposites which belong with evil, disorder and
+discord. Thus deafness and blindness do not exist in the immaterial
+mind, which is philosophically the real world, but are banished with the
+perishable material senses. Reality, of which visible things are the
+symbol, shines before my mind. While I walk about my chamber with
+unsteady steps, my spirit sweeps skyward on eagle wings and looks out
+with unquenchable vision upon the world of eternal beauty.
+
+
+
+
+THE DREAM WORLD
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+THE DREAM WORLD
+
+
+EVERYBODY takes his own dreams seriously, but yawns at the
+breakfast-table when somebody else begins to tell the adventures of the
+night before. I hesitate, therefore, to enter upon an account of my
+dreams; for it is a literary sin to bore the reader, and a scientific
+sin to report the facts of a far country with more regard to point and
+brevity than to complete and literal truth. The psychologists have
+trained a pack of theories and facts which they keep in leash, like so
+many bulldogs, and which they let loose upon us whenever we depart from
+the straight and narrow path of dream probability. One may not even tell
+an entertaining dream without being suspected of having liberally edited
+it,--as if editing were one of the seven deadly sins, instead of a
+useful and honourable occupation! Be it understood, then, that I am
+discoursing at my own breakfast-table, and that no scientific man is
+present to trip the autocrat.
+
+I used to wonder why scientific men and others were always asking me
+about my dreams. But I am not surprised now, since I have discovered
+what some of them believe to be the ordinary waking experience of one
+who is both deaf and blind. They think that I can know very little about
+objects even a few feet beyond the reach of my arms. Everything outside
+of myself, according to them, is a hazy blur. Trees, mountains, cities,
+the ocean, even the house I live in are but fairy fabrications, misty
+unrealities. Therefore it is assumed that my dreams should have peculiar
+interest for the man of science. In some undefined way it is expected
+that they should reveal the world I dwell in to be flat, formless,
+colourless, without perspective, with little thickness and less
+solidity--a vast solitude of soundless space. But who shall put into
+words limitless, visionless, silent void? One should be a disembodied
+spirit indeed to make anything out of such insubstantial experiences. A
+world, or a dream for that matter, to be comprehensible to us, must, I
+should think, have a warp of substance woven into the woof of fantasy.
+We cannot imagine even in dreams an object which has no counterpart in
+reality. Ghosts always resemble somebody, and if they do not appear
+themselves, their presence is indicated by circumstances with which we
+are perfectly familiar.
+
+During sleep we enter a strange, mysterious realm which science has thus
+far not explored. Beyond the border-line of slumber the investigator may
+not pass with his common-sense rule and test. Sleep with softest touch
+locks all the gates of our physical senses and lulls to rest the
+conscious will--the disciplinarian of our waking thoughts. Then the
+spirit wrenches itself free from the sinewy arms of reason and like a
+winged courser spurns the firm green earth and speeds away upon wind
+and cloud, leaving neither trace nor footprint by which science may
+track its flight and bring us knowledge of the distant, shadowy country
+that we nightly visit. When we come back from the dream-realm, we can
+give no reasonable report of what we met there. But once across the
+border, we feel at home as if we had always lived there and had never
+made any excursions into this rational daylight world.
+
+My dreams do not seem to differ very much from the dreams of other
+people. Some of them are coherent and safely hitched to an event or a
+conclusion. Others are inconsequent and fantastic. All attest that in
+Dreamland there is no such thing as repose. We are always up and doing
+with a mind for any adventure. We act, strive, think, suffer and are
+glad to no purpose. We leave outside the portals of Sleep all
+troublesome incredulities and vexatious speculations as to probability.
+I float wraith-like upon clouds in and out among the winds, without the
+faintest notion that I am doing anything unusual. In Dreamland I find
+little that is altogether strange or wholly new to my experience. No
+matter what happens, I am not astonished, however extraordinary the
+circumstances may be. I visit a foreign land where I have not been in
+reality, and I converse with peoples whose language I have never heard.
+Yet we manage to understand each other perfectly. Into whatsoever
+situation or society my wanderings bring me, there is the same
+homogeneity. If I happen into Vagabondia, I make merry with the jolly
+folk of the road or the tavern.
+
+I do not remember ever to have met persons with whom I could not at once
+communicate, or to have been shocked or surprised at the doings of my
+dream-companions. In its strange wanderings in those dusky groves of
+Slumberland my soul takes everything for granted and adapts itself to
+the wildest phantoms. I am seldom confused. Everything is as clear as
+day. I know events the instant they take place, and wherever I turn my
+steps, Mind is my faithful guide and interpreter.
+
+I suppose every one has had in a dream the exasperating, profitless
+experience of seeking something urgently desired at the moment, and the
+aching, weary sensation that follows each failure to track the thing to
+its hiding-place. Sometimes with a singing dizziness in my head I climb
+and climb, I know not where or why. Yet I cannot quit the torturing,
+passionate endeavour, though again and again I reach out blindly for an
+object to hold to. Of course according to the perversity of dreams there
+is no object near. I clutch empty air, and then I fall downward, and
+still downward, and in the midst of the fall I dissolve into the
+atmosphere upon which I have been floating so precariously.
+
+Some of my dreams seem to be traced one within another like a series of
+concentric circles. In sleep I think I cannot sleep. I toss about in the
+toils of tasks unfinished. I decide to get up and read for a while. I
+know the shelf in my library where I keep the book I want. The book has
+no name, but I find it without difficulty. I settle myself comfortably
+in the morris-chair, the great book open on my knee. Not a word can I
+make out, the pages are utterly blank. I am not surprised, but keenly
+disappointed. I finger the pages, I bend over them lovingly, the tears
+fall on my hands. I shut the book quickly as the thought passes through
+my mind, "The print will be all rubbed out if I get it wet." Yet there
+is no print tangible on the page!
+
+This morning I thought that I awoke. I was certain that I had overslept.
+I seized my watch, and sure enough, it pointed to an hour after my
+rising time. I sprang up in the greatest hurry, knowing that breakfast
+was ready. I called my mother, who declared that my watch must be
+wrong. She was positive it could not be so late. I looked at my watch
+again, and lo! the hands wiggled, whirled, buzzed and disappeared. I
+awoke more fully as my dismay grew, until I was at the antipodes of
+sleep. Finally my eyes opened actually, and I knew that I had been
+dreaming. I had only waked into sleep. What is still more bewildering,
+there is no difference between the consciousness of the sham waking and
+that of the real one.
+
+It is fearful to think that all that we have ever seen, felt, read, and
+done may suddenly rise to our dream-vision, as the sea casts up objects
+it has swallowed. I have held a little child in my arms in the midst of
+a riot and spoken vehemently, imploring the Russian soldiers not to
+massacre the Jews. I have re-lived the agonizing scenes of the Sepoy
+Rebellion and the French Revolution. Cities have burned before my eyes,
+and I have fought the flames until I fell exhausted. Holocausts overtake
+the world, and I struggle in vain to save my friends.
+
+Once in a dream a message came speeding over land and sea that winter
+was descending upon the world from the North Pole, that the Arctic zone
+was shifting to our mild climate. Far and wide the message flew. The
+ocean was congealed in midsummer. Ships were held fast in the ice by
+thousands, the ships with large, white sails were held fast. Riches of
+the Orient and the plenteous harvests of the Golden West might no more
+pass between nation and nation. For some time the trees and flowers
+grew on, despite the intense cold. Birds flew into the houses for
+safety, and those which winter had overtaken lay on the snow with wings
+spread in vain flight. At last the foliage and blossoms fell at the feet
+of Winter. The petals of the flowers were turned to rubies and
+sapphires. The leaves froze into emeralds. The trees moaned and tossed
+their branches as the frost pierced them through bark and sap, pierced
+into their very roots. I shivered myself awake, and with a tumult of joy
+I breathed the many sweet morning odours wakened by the summer sun.
+
+One need not visit an African jungle or an Indian forest to hunt the
+tiger. One can lie in bed amid downy pillows and dream tigers as
+terrible as any in the pathless wild. I was a little girl when one night
+I tried to cross the garden in front of my aunt's house in Alabama. I
+was in pursuit of a large cat with a great bushy tail. A few hours
+before he had clawed my little canary out of its cage and crunched it
+between his cruel teeth. I could not see the cat. But the thought in my
+mind was distinct: "He is making for the high grass at the end of the
+garden. I'll get there first!" I put my hand on the box border and ran
+swiftly along the path. When I reached the high grass, there was the cat
+gliding into the wavy tangle. I rushed forward and tried to seize him
+and take the bird from between his teeth. To my horror a huge beast, not
+the cat at all, sprang out from the grass, and his sinewy shoulder
+rubbed against me with palpitating strength! His ears stood up and
+quivered with anger. His eyes were hot. His nostrils were large and wet.
+His lips moved horribly. I knew it was a tiger, a real live tiger, and
+that I should be devoured--my little bird and I. I do not know what
+happened after that. The next important thing seldom happens in dreams.
+
+Some time earlier I had a dream which made a vivid impression upon me.
+My aunt was weeping because she could not find me. But I took an impish
+pleasure in the thought that she and others were searching for me, and
+making great noise which I felt through my feet. Suddenly the spirit of
+mischief gave way to uncertainty and fear. I felt cold. The air smelt
+like ice and salt. I tried to run; but the long grass tripped me, and I
+fell forward on my face. I lay very still, feeling with all my body.
+After a while my sensations seemed to be concentrated in my fingers, and
+I perceived that the grass blades were sharp as knives, and hurt my
+hands cruelly. I tried to get up cautiously, so as not to cut myself on
+the sharp grass. I put down a tentative foot, much as my kitten treads
+for the first time the primeval forest in the backyard. All at once I
+felt the stealthy patter of something creeping, creeping, creeping
+purposefully toward me. I do not know how at that time the idea was in
+my mind; I had no words for intention or purpose. Yet it was precisely
+the evil intent, and not the creeping animal that terrified me. I had
+no fear of living creatures. I loved my father's dogs, the frisky little
+calf, the gentle cows, the horses and mules that ate apples from my
+hand, and none of them had ever harmed me. I lay low, waiting in
+breathless terror for the creature to spring and bury its long claws in
+my flesh. I thought, "They will feel like turkey-claws." Something warm
+and wet touched my face. I shrieked, struck out frantically, and awoke.
+Something was still struggling in my arms. I held on with might and main
+until I was exhausted, then I loosed my hold. I found dear old Belle,
+the setter, shaking herself and looking at me reproachfully. She and I
+had gone to sleep together on the rug, and had naturally wandered to the
+dream-forest where dogs and little girls hunt wild game and have
+strange adventures. We encountered hosts of elfin foes, and it required
+all the dog tactics at Belle's command to acquit herself like the lady
+and huntress that she was. Belle had her dreams too. We used to lie
+under the trees and flowers in the old garden, and I used to laugh with
+delight when the magnolia leaves fell with little thuds, and Belle
+jumped up, thinking she had heard a partridge. She would pursue the
+leaf, point it, bring it back to me and lay it at my feet with a
+humorous wag of her tail as much as to say, "This is the kind of bird
+that waked me." I made a chain for her neck out of the lovely blue
+Paulownia flowers and covered her with great heart-shaped leaves.
+
+Dear old Belle, she has long been dreaming among the lotus-flowers and
+poppies of the dogs' paradise.
+
+Certain dreams have haunted me since my childhood. One which recurs
+often proceeds after this wise: A spirit seems to pass before my face. I
+feel an extreme heat like the blast from an engine. It is the embodiment
+of evil. I must have had it first after the day that I nearly got burnt.
+
+Another spirit which visits me often brings a sensation of cool
+dampness, such as one feels on a chill November night when the window is
+open. The spirit stops just beyond my reach, sways back and forth like a
+creature in grief. My blood is chilled, and seems to freeze in my veins.
+I try to move, but my body is still, and I cannot even cry out. After a
+while the spirit passes on, and I say to myself shudderingly, "That was
+Death. I wonder if he has taken her." The pronoun stands for my Teacher.
+
+In my dreams I have sensations, odours, tastes and ideas which I do not
+remember to have had in reality. Perhaps they are the glimpses which my
+mind catches through the veil of sleep of my earliest babyhood. I have
+heard "the trampling of many waters." Sometimes a wonderful light visits
+me in sleep. Such a flash and glory as it is! I gaze and gaze until it
+vanishes. I smell and taste much as in my waking hours; but the sense of
+touch plays a less important part. In sleep I almost never grope. No one
+guides me. Even in a crowded street I am self-sufficient, and I enjoy
+an independence quite foreign to my physical life. Now I seldom spell on
+my fingers, and it is still rarer for others to spell into my hand. My
+mind acts independent of my physical organs. I am delighted to be thus
+endowed, if only in sleep; for then my soul dons its winged sandals and
+joyfully joins the throng of happy beings who dwell beyond the reaches
+of bodily sense.
+
+The moral inconsistency of dreams is glaring. Mine grow less and less
+accordant with my proper principles. I am nightly hurled into an
+unethical medley of extremes. I must either defend another to the last
+drop of my blood or condemn him past all repenting. I commit murder,
+sleeping, to save the lives of others. I ascribe to those I love best
+acts and words which it mortifies me to remember, and I cast reproach
+after reproach upon them. It is fortunate for our peace of mind that
+most wicked dreams are soon forgotten. Death, sudden and awful, strange
+loves and hates remorselessly pursued, cunningly plotted revenge, are
+seldom more than dim haunting recollections in the morning, and during
+the day they are erased by the normal activities of the mind. Sometimes
+immediately on waking, I am so vexed at the memory of a dream-fracas, I
+wish I may dream no more. With this wish distinctly before me I drop off
+again into a new turmoil of dreams.
+
+Oh, dreams, what opprobrium I heap upon you--you, the most pointless
+things imaginable, saucy apes, brewers of odious contrasts, haunting
+birds of ill omen, mocking echoes, unseasonable reminders,
+oft-returning vexations, skeletons in my morris-chair, jesters in the
+tomb, death's-heads at the wedding feast, outlaws of the brain that
+every night defy the mind's police service, thieves of my Hesperidean
+apples, breakers of my domestic peace, murderers of sleep. "Oh, dreadful
+dreams that do fright my spirit from her propriety!" No wonder that
+Hamlet preferred the ills he knew rather than run the risk of one
+dream-vision.
+
+Yet remove the dream-world, and the loss is inconceivable. The magic
+spell which binds poetry together is broken. The splendour of art and
+the soaring might of imagination are lessened because no phantom of
+fadeless sunsets and flowers urges onward to a goal. Gone is the mute
+permission or connivance which emboldens the soul to mock the limits of
+time and space, forecast and gather in harvests of achievement for ages
+yet unborn. Blot out dreams, and the blind lose one of their chief
+comforts; for in the visions of sleep they behold their belief in the
+seeing mind and their expectation of light beyond the blank, narrow
+night justified. Nay, our conception of immortality is shaken. Faith,
+the motive-power of human life, flickers out. Before such vacancy and
+bareness the shocks of wrecked worlds were indeed welcome. In truth,
+dreams bring us the thought independently of us and in spite of us that
+the soul
+
+                                "may right
+          Her nature, shoot large sail on lengthening cord,
+          And rush exultant on the Infinite."
+
+
+
+
+DREAMS AND REALITY
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+DREAMS AND REALITY
+
+
+IT is astonishing to think how our real wide-awake world revolves around
+the shadowy unrealities of Dreamland. Despite all that we say about the
+inconsequence of dreams, we often reason by them. We stake our greatest
+hopes upon them. Nay, we build upon them the fabric of an ideal world. I
+can recall few fine, thoughtful poems, few noble works of art or any
+system of philosophy in which there is not evidence that dream-fantasies
+symbolize truths concealed by phenomena.
+
+The fact that in dreams confusion reigns, and illogical connections
+occur gives plausibility to the theory which Sir Arthur Mitchell and
+other scientific men hold, that our dream-thinking is uncontrolled and
+undirected by the will. The will--the inhibiting and guiding
+power--finds rest and refreshment in sleep, while the mind, like a
+barque without rudder or compass, drifts aimlessly upon an uncharted
+sea. But curiously enough, these fantasies and inter-twistings of
+thought are to be found in great imaginative poems like Spenser's "Faerie
+Queene." Lamb was impressed by the analogy between our dream-thinking
+and the work of the imagination. Speaking of the episode in the cave of
+Mammon, Lamb wrote:
+
+"It is not enough to say that the whole episode is a copy of the mind's
+conceptions in sleep; it is--in some sort, but what a copy! Let the most
+romantic of us that has been entertained all night with the spectacle of
+some wild and magnificent vision, re-combine it in the morning and try
+it by his waking judgment. That which appeared so shifting and yet so
+coherent, when it came under cool examination, shall appear so
+reasonless and so unlinked, that we are ashamed to have been so deluded,
+and to have taken, though but in sleep, a monster for a god. The
+transitions in this episode are every whit as violent as in the most
+extravagant dream, and yet the waking judgment ratifies them."
+
+Perhaps I feel more than others the analogy between the world of our
+waking life and the world of dreams because before I was taught, I lived
+in a sort of perpetual dream. The testimony of parents and friends who
+watched me day after day is the only means that I have of knowing the
+actuality of those early, obscure years of my childhood. The physical
+acts of going to bed and waking in the morning alone mark the transition
+from reality to Dreamland. As near as I can tell, asleep or awake I only
+felt with my body. I can recollect no process which I should now dignify
+with the term of thought. It is true that my bodily sensations were
+extremely acute; but beyond a crude connection with physical wants they
+are not associated or directed. They had little relation to each other,
+to me or the experience of others. Idea--that which gives identity and
+continuity to experience--came into my sleeping and waking existence at
+the same moment with the awakening of self-consciousness. Before that
+moment my mind was in a state of anarchy in which meaningless sensations
+rioted, and if thought existed, it was so vague and inconsequent, it
+cannot be made a part of discourse. Yet before my education began, I
+dreamed. I know that I must have dreamed because I recall no break in my
+tactual experiences. Things fell suddenly, heavily. I felt my clothing
+afire, or I fell into a tub of cold water. Once I smelt bananas, and the
+odour in my nostrils was so vivid that in the morning, before I was
+dressed, I went to the sideboard to look for the bananas. There were no
+bananas, and no odour of bananas anywhere! My life was in fact a dream
+throughout.
+
+The likeness between my waking state and the sleeping one is still
+marked. In both states I see, but not with my eyes. I hear, but not with
+my ears. I speak, and am spoken to, without the sound of a voice. I am
+moved to pleasure by visions of ineffable beauty which I have never
+beheld in the physical world. Once in a dream I held in my hand a pearl.
+The one I saw in my dreams must, therefore, have been a creation of my
+imagination. It was a smooth, exquisitely moulded crystal. As I gazed
+into its shimmering deeps, my soul was flooded with an ecstasy of
+tenderness, and I was filled with wonder as one who should for the
+first time look into the cool, sweet heart of a rose. My pearl was dew
+and fire, the velvety green of moss, the soft whiteness of lilies, and
+the distilled hues and sweetness of a thousand roses. It seemed to me,
+the soul of beauty was dissolved in its crystal bosom. This beauteous
+vision strengthens my conviction that the world which the mind builds up
+out of countless subtle experiences and suggestions is fairer than the
+world of the senses. The splendour of the sunset my friends gaze at
+across the purpling hills is wonderful. But the sunset of the inner
+vision brings purer delight because it is the worshipful blending of all
+the beauty that we have known and desired.
+
+I believe that I am more fortunate in my dreams than most people; for
+as I think back over my dreams, the pleasant ones seem to predominate,
+although we naturally recall most vividly and tell most eagerly the
+grotesque and fantastic adventures in Slumberland. I have friends,
+however, whose dreams are always troubled and disturbed. They wake
+fatigued and bruised, and they tell me that they would give a kingdom
+for one dreamless night. There is one friend who declares that she has
+never had a felicitous dream in her life. The grind and worry of the day
+invade the sweet domain of sleep and weary her with incessant,
+profitless effort. I feel very sorry for this friend, and perhaps it is
+hardly fair to insist upon the pleasure of dreaming in the presence of
+one whose dream-experience is so unhappy. Still, it is true that my
+dreams have uses as many and sweet as those of adversity. All my
+yearning for the strange, the weird, the ghostlike is gratified in
+dreams. They carry me out of the accustomed and commonplace. In a flash,
+in the winking of an eye they snatch the burden from my shoulder, the
+trivial task from my hand and the pain and disappointment from my heart,
+and I behold the lovely face of my dream. It dances round me with merry
+measure and darts hither and thither in happy abandon. Sudden, sweet
+fancies spring forth from every nook and corner, and delightful
+surprises meet me at every turn. A happy dream is more precious than
+gold and rubies.
+
+I like to think that in dreams we catch glimpses of a life larger than
+our own. We see it as a little child, or as a savage who visits a
+civilized nation. Thoughts are imparted to us far above our ordinary
+thinking. Feelings nobler and wiser than any we have known thrill us
+between heart-beats. For one fleeting night a princelier nature captures
+us, and we become as great as our aspirations. I daresay we return to
+the little world of our daily activities with as distorted a half-memory
+of what we have seen as that of the African who visited England, and
+afterwards said he had been in a huge hill which carried him over great
+waters. The comprehensiveness of our thought, whether we are asleep or
+awake, no doubt depends largely upon our idiosyncrasies, constitution,
+habits, and mental capacity. But whatever may be the nature of our
+dreams, the mental processes that characterize them are analogous to
+those which go on when the mind is not held to attention by the will.
+
+
+
+
+A WAKING DREAM
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+A WAKING DREAM
+
+
+I HAVE sat for hours in a sort of reverie, letting my mind have its way
+without inhibition and direction, and idly noted down the incessant beat
+of thought upon thought, image upon image. I have observed that my
+thoughts make all kinds of connections, wind in and out, trace
+concentric circles, and break up in eddies of fantasy, just as in
+dreams. One day I had a literary frolic with a certain set of thoughts
+which dropped in for an afternoon call. I wrote for three or four hours
+as they arrived, and the resulting record is much like a dream. I found
+that the most disconnected, dissimilar thoughts came in arm-in-arm--I
+dreamed a wide-awake dream. The difference is that in waking dreams I
+can look back upon the endless succession of thoughts, while in the
+dreams of sleep I can recall but few ideas and images. I catch broken
+threads from the warp and woof of a pattern I cannot see, or glowing
+leaves which have floated on a slumber-wind from a tree that I cannot
+identify. In this reverie I held the key to the company of ideas. I give
+my record of them to show what analogies exist between thoughts when
+they are not directed and the behaviour of real dream-thinking.
+
+I had an essay to write. I wanted my mind fresh and obedient, and all
+its handmaidens ready to hold up my hands in the task. I intended to
+discourse learnedly upon my educational experiences, and I was unusually
+anxious to do my best. I had a working plan in my head for the essay,
+which was to be grave, wise, and abounding in ideas. Moreover, it was to
+have an academic flavour suggestive of sheepskin, and the reader was to
+be duly impressed with the austere dignity of cap and gown. I shut
+myself up in the study, resolved to beat out on the keys of my
+typewriter this immortal chapter of my life-history. Alexander was no
+more confident of conquering Asia with the splendid army which his
+father Philip had disciplined than I was of finding my mental house in
+order and my thoughts obedient. My mind had had a long vacation, and I
+was now coming back to it in an hour that it looked not for me. My
+situation was similar to that of the master who went into a far country
+and expected on his home coming to find everything as he left it. But
+returning he found his servants giving a party. Confusion was rampant.
+There was fiddling and dancing and the babble of many tongues, so that
+the voice of the master could not be heard. Though he shouted and beat
+upon the gate, it remained closed.
+
+So it was with me. I sounded the trumpet loud and long; but the vassals
+of thought would not rally to my standard. Each had his arm round the
+waist of a fair partner, and I know not what wild tunes "put life and
+mettle into their heels." There was nothing to do. I looked about
+helplessly upon my great retinue, and realized that it is not the
+possession of a thing but the ability to use it which is of value. I
+settled back in my chair to watch the pageant. It was rather pleasant
+sitting there, "idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean," watching
+my own thoughts at play. It was like thinking fine things to say without
+taking the trouble to write them. I felt like Alice in Wonderland when
+she ran at full speed with the red queen and never passed anything or
+got anywhere.
+
+The merry frolic went on madly. The dancers were all manner of thoughts.
+There were sad thoughts and happy thoughts, thoughts suited to every
+clime and weather, thoughts bearing the mark of every age and nation,
+silly thoughts and wise thoughts, thoughts of people, of things, and of
+nothing, good thoughts, impish thoughts, and large, gracious thoughts.
+There they went swinging hand-in-hand in corkscrew fashion. An antic
+jester in green and gold led the dance. The guests followed no order or
+precedent. No two thoughts were related to each other even by the
+fortieth cousinship. There was not so much as an international alliance
+between them. Each thought behaved like a newly created poet.
+
+          "His mouth he could not ope,
+           But there flew out a trope."
+
+Magical lyrics--oh, if I only had written them down! Pell-mell they came
+down the sequestered avenues of my mind, this merry throng. With
+bacchanal song and shout they came, and eye hath not since beheld
+confusion worse confounded.
+
+Shut your eyes, and see them come--the knights and ladies of my revel.
+Plumed and turbaned they come, clad in mail and silken broideries,
+gentle maids in Quaker gray, gay princes in scarlet cloaks, coquettes
+with roses in their hair, monks in cowls that might have covered the
+tall Minster Tower, demure little girls hugging paper dolls, and
+rollicking school-boys with ruddy morning faces, an absent-minded
+professor carrying his shoes under his arms and looking wise, followed
+by cronies, fairies, goblins, and all the troops just loosed from Noah's
+storm-tossed ark. They walked, they strutted, they soared, they swam,
+and some came in through fire. One sprite climbed up to the moon on a
+ladder made of leaves and frozen dew-drops. A peacock with a great
+hooked bill flew in and out among the branches of a pomegranate-tree
+pecking the rosy fruit. He screamed so loud that Apollo turned in his
+chariot of flame and from his burnished bow shot golden arrows at him.
+This did not disturb the peacock in the least; for he spread his
+gem-like wings and flourished his wonderful, fire-tipped tail in the
+very face of the sun-god! Then came Venus--an exact copy of my own
+plaster cast--serene, calm-eyed, dancing "high and disposedly" like
+Queen Elizabeth, surrounded by a troop of lovely Cupids mounted on
+rose-tinted clouds, blown hither and thither by sweet winds, while all
+around danced flowers and streams and queer little Japanese cherry-trees
+in pots! They were followed by jovial Pan with green hair and jewelled
+sandals, and by his side--I could scarcely believe my eyes!--walked a
+modest nun counting her beads. At a little distance were seen three
+dancers arm-in-arm, a lean, starved platitude, a rosy, dimpled joke, and
+a steel-ribbed sermon on predestination. Close upon them came a whole
+string of Nights with wind-blown hair and Days with faggots on their
+backs. All at once I saw the ample figure of Life rise above the
+whirling mass holding a naked child in one hand and in the other a
+gleaming sword. A bear crouched at her feet, and all about her swirled
+and glowed a multitudinous host of tiny atoms which sang all together,
+"We are the will of God." Atom wedded atom, and chemical married
+chemical, and the cosmic dance went on in changing, changeless measure,
+until my head sang like a buzz-saw.
+
+Just as I was thinking I would leave this scene of phantoms and take a
+stroll in the quiet groves of Slumber I noticed a commotion near one of
+the entrances to my enchanted palace. It was evident from the whispering
+and buzzing that went round that more celebrities had arrived. The first
+personage I saw was Homer, blind no more, leading by a golden chain the
+white-beaked ships of the Achaians bobbing their heads and squawking
+like so many white swans. Plato and Mother Goose with the numerous
+children of the shoe came next. Simple Simon, Jill, and Jack who had had
+his head mended, and the cat that fell into the cream--all these danced
+in a giddy reel, while Plato solemnly discoursed on the laws of
+Topsyturvy Land. Then followed grim-visaged Calvin and "violet-crowned,
+sweet-smiling Sappho" who danced a Schottische. Aristophanes and Moliere
+joined for a measure, both talking at once, Moliere in Greek and
+Aristophanes in German. I thought this odd, because it occurred to me
+that German was a dead language before Aristophanes was born.
+Bright-eyed Shelley brought in a fluttering lark which burst into the
+song of Chaucer's chanticleer. Henry Esmond gave his hand in a stately
+minuet to Diana of the Crossways. He evidently did not understand her
+nineteenth century wit; for he did not laugh. Perhaps he had lost his
+taste for clever women. Anon Dante and Swedenborg came together
+conversing earnestly about things remote and mystical. Swedenborg said
+it was very warm. Dante replied that it might rain in the night.
+
+Suddenly there was a great clamour, and I found that "The Battle of the
+Books" had begun raging anew. Two figures entered in lively dispute. One
+was dressed in plain homespun and the other wore a scholar's gown over a
+suit of motley. I gathered from their conversation that they were Cotton
+Mather and William Shakspere. Mather insisted that the witches in
+"Macbeth" should be caught and hanged. Shakspere replied that the
+witches had already suffered enough at the hands of commentators. They
+were pushed aside by the twelve knights of the Round Table, who marched
+in bearing on a salver the goose that laid golden eggs. "The Pope's
+Mule" and "The Golden Bull" had a combat of history and fiction such as
+I had read of in books, but never before witnessed. These little animals
+were put to rout by a huge elephant which lumbered in with Rudyard
+Kipling riding high on its trunk. The elephant changed suddenly to "a
+rakish craft." (I do not know what a rakish craft is; but this was very
+rakish and very crafty.) It must have been abandoned long ago by wild
+pirates of the southern seas; for clinging to the rigging, and jovially
+cheering as the ship went down, I made out a man with blazing eyes, clad
+in a velveteen jacket. As the ship disappeared from sight, Falstaff
+rushed to the rescue of the lonely navigator--and stole his purse! But
+Miranda persuaded him to give it back. Stevenson said, "Who steals my
+purse steals trash." Falstaff laughed and called this a good joke, as
+good as any he had heard in his day.
+
+This was the signal for a rushing swarm of quotations. They surged to
+and fro, an inchoate throng of half finished phrases, mutilated
+sentences, parodied sentiments, and brilliant metaphors. I could not
+distinguish any phrases or ideas of my own making. I saw a poor, ragged,
+shrunken sentence that might have been mine own catch the wings of a
+fair idea with the light of genius shining like a halo about its head.
+
+Ever and anon the dancers changed partners without invitation or
+permission. Thoughts fell in love at sight, married in a measure, and
+joined hands without previous courtship. An incongruity is the wedding
+of two thoughts which have had no reasonable courtship, and marriages
+without wooing are apt to lead to domestic discord, even to the breaking
+up of an ancient, time-honoured family. Among the wedded couples were
+certain similes hitherto inviolable in their bachelorhood and
+spinsterhood, and held in great respect. Their extraordinary proceedings
+nearly broke up the dance. But the fatuity of their union was evident to
+them, and they parted. Other similes seemed to have the habit of living
+in discord. They had been many times married and divorced. They belonged
+to the notorious society of Mixed Metaphors.
+
+A company of phantoms floated in and out wearing tantalizing garments
+of oblivion. They seemed about to dance, then vanished. They reappeared
+half a dozen times, but never unveiled their faces. The imp Curiosity
+pulled Memory by the sleeve and said, "Why do they run away? 'Tis
+strange knavery!" Out ran Memory to capture them. After a great deal of
+racing and puffing and collision it apprehended some of the fugitives
+and brought them in. But when it tore off their masks, lo! some were
+disappointingly commonplace, and others were gipsy quotations trying to
+conceal the punctuation marks that belonged to them. Memory was much
+chagrined to have had such a hard chase only to catch this sorry lot of
+graceless rogues.
+
+Into the rabble strode four stately giants who called themselves
+History, Philosophy, Law, and Medicine. They seemed too solemn and
+imposing to join in a masque. But even as I gazed at these formidable
+guests, they all split into fragments which went whirling, dancing in
+divisions, subdivisions, re-subdivisions of scientific nonsense! History
+split into philology, ethnology, anthropology, and mythology, and these
+again split finer than the splitting of hairs. Each speciality hugged
+its bit of knowledge and waltzed it round and round. The rest of the
+company began to nod, and I felt drowsy myself. To put an end to the
+solemn gyrations, a troop of fairies mercifully waved poppies over us
+all, the masque faded, my head fell, and I started. Sleep had wakened
+me. At my elbow I found my old friend Bottom.
+
+"Bottom," I said, "I have had a dream past the wit of man to say what
+dream it was. Methought I was--there is no man can tell what. The eye of
+man hath not heard, the ear of man hath not seen, his hand is not able
+to taste, his tongue to conceive, nor his heart to report what my dream
+was."
+
+
+
+
+A CHANT OF DARKNESS
+
+
+
+
+A CHANT OF DARKNESS
+
+          "_My wings are folded o'er mine ears,
+            My wings are crossed o'er mine eyes,
+            Yet through their silver shade appears,
+            And through their lulling plumes arise,
+            A Shape, a throng of sounds._"
+
+                     _Shelley's "Prometheus Unbound."_
+
+
+          I DARE not ask why we are reft of light,
+          Banished to our solitary isles amid the unmeasured seas,
+          Or how our sight was nurtured to glorious vision,
+          To fade and vanish and leave us in the dark alone.
+          The secret of God is upon our tabernacle;
+          Into His mystery I dare not pry. Only this I know:
+          With Him is strength, with Him is wisdom,
+          And His wisdom hath set darkness in our paths.
+         _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          O Dark! thou awful, sweet, and holy Dark!
+          In thy solemn spaces, beyond the human eye,
+          God fashioned His universe; laid the foundations of the earth,
+          Laid the measure thereof, and stretched the line upon it;
+          Shut up the sea with doors, and made the glory
+          Of the clouds a covering for it;
+          Commanded His morning, and, behold! chaos fled
+          Before the uplifted face of the sun;
+          Divided a water-course for the overflowing of waters;
+          Sent rain upon the earth--
+          Upon the wilderness wherein there was no man,
+          Upon the desert where grew no tender herb,
+          And, lo! there was greenness upon the plains,
+          And the hills were clothed with beauty!
+         _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          O Dark! thou secret and inscrutable Dark!
+          In thy silent depths, the springs whereof man hath not fathomed,
+          God wrought the soul of man.
+          O Dark! compassionate, all-knowing Dark!
+          Tenderly, as shadows to the evening, comes thy message to man.
+          Softly thou layest thy hand on his tired eyelids,
+          And his soul, weary and homesick, returns
+          Unto thy soothing embrace.
+         _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          O Dark! wise, vital, thought-quickening Dark!
+          In thy mystery thou hidest the light
+          That is the soul's life.
+          Upon thy solitary shores I walk unafraid;
+          I dread no evil; though I walk in the valley of the shadow,
+          I shall not know the ecstasy of fear
+          When gentle Death leads me through life's open door,
+          When the bands of night are sundered,
+          And the day outpours its light.
+         _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          The timid soul, fear-driven, shuns the dark;
+          But upon the cheeks of him who must abide in shadow
+          Breathes the wind of rushing angel-wings,
+          And round him falls a light from unseen fires.
+          Magical beams glow athwart the darkness;
+          Paths of beauty wind through his black world
+          To another world of light,
+          Where no veil of sense shuts him out from Paradise.
+          _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+          O Dark! thou blessed, quiet Dark!
+          To the lone exile who must dwell with thee
+          Thou art benign and friendly;
+          From the harsh world thou dost shut him in;
+          To him thou whisperest the secrets of the wondrous night;
+          Upon him thou bestowest regions wide and boundless as his spirit;
+          Thou givest a glory to all humble things;
+          With thy hovering pinions thou coverest all unlovely objects;
+          Under thy brooding wings there is peace.
+          _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+
+II
+
+          Once in regions void of light I wandered;
+          In blank darkness I stumbled,
+          And fear led me by the hand;
+          My feet pressed earthward,
+          Afraid of pitfalls.
+          By many shapeless terrors of the night affrighted,
+          To the wakeful day
+          I held out beseeching arms.
+
+          Then came Love, bearing in her hand
+          The torch that is the light unto my feet,
+          And softly spoke Love: "Hast thou
+          Entered into the treasures of darkness?
+          Hast thou entered into the treasures of the night?
+          Search out thy blindness. It holdeth
+          Riches past computing."
+
+          The words of Love set my spirit aflame.
+          My eager fingers searched out the mysteries,
+          The splendours, the inmost sacredness, of things,
+          And in the vacancies discerned
+          With spiritual sense the fullness of life;
+          And the gates of Day stood wide.
+
+          I am shaken with gladness;
+          My limbs tremble with joy;
+          My heart and the earth
+          Tremble with happiness;
+          The ecstasy of life
+          Is abroad in the world.
+
+          Knowledge hath uncurtained heaven;
+          On the uttermost shores of darkness there is light;
+          Midnight hath sent forth a beam!
+          The blind that stumbled in darkness without light
+          Behold a new day!
+          In the obscurity gleams the star of Thought;
+          Imagination hath a luminous eye,
+          And the mind hath a glorious vision.
+
+
+III
+
+          "The man is blind. What is life to him?
+          A closed book held up against a sightless face.
+          Would that he could see
+          Yon beauteous star, and know
+          For one transcendent moment
+          The palpitating joy of sight!"
+
+          All sight is of the soul.
+          Behold it in the upward flight
+          Of the unfettered spirit! Hast thou seen
+          Thought bloom in the blind child's face?
+          Hast thou seen his mind grow,
+          Like the running dawn, to grasp
+          The vision of the Master?
+          It was the miracle of inward sight.
+
+          In the realms of wonderment where I dwell
+          I explore life with my hands;
+          I recognize, and am happy;
+          My fingers are ever athirst for the earth,
+          And drink up its wonders with delight,
+          Draw out earth's dear delights;
+          My feet are charged with the murmur,
+          The throb, of all things that grow.
+
+          This is touch, this quivering,
+          This flame, this ether,
+          This glad rush of blood,
+          This daylight in my heart,
+          This glow of sympathy in my palms!
+          Thou blind, loving, all-prying touch,
+          Thou openest the book of life to me.
+
+          The noiseless little noises of the earth
+          Come with softest rustle;
+          The shy, sweet feet of life;
+          The silky mutter of moth-wings
+          Against my restraining palm;
+          The strident beat of insect-wings,
+          The silvery trickle of water;
+          Little breezes busy in the summer grass;
+          The music of crisp, whisking, scurrying leaves,
+          The swirling, wind-swept, frost-tinted leaves;
+          The crystal splash of summer rain,
+          Saturate with the odours of the sod.
+
+          With alert fingers I listen
+          To the showers of sound
+          That the wind shakes from the forest.
+          I bathe in the liquid shade
+          Under the pines, where the air hangs cool
+          After the shower is done.
+          My saucy little friend the squirrel
+          Flips my shoulder with his tail,
+          Leaps from leafy billow to leafy billow,
+          Returns to eat his breakfast from my hand.
+          Between us there is glad sympathy;
+          He gambols; my pulses dance;
+          I am exultingly full of the joy of life!
+
+          Have not my fingers split the sand
+          On the sun-flooded beach?
+          Hath not my naked body felt the water sing
+          When the sea hath enveloped it
+          With rippling music?
+          Have I not felt
+          The lilt of waves beneath my boat,
+          The flap of sail,
+          The strain of mast,
+          The wild rush
+          Of the lightning-charged winds?
+          Have I not smelt the swift, keen flight
+          Of winged odours before the tempest?
+          Here is joy awake, aglow;
+          Here is the tumult of the heart.
+
+          My hands evoke sight and sound out of feeling,
+          Intershifting the senses endlessly;
+          Linking motion with sight, odour with sound
+          They give colour to the honeyed breeze,
+          The measure and passion of a symphony
+          To the beat and quiver of unseen wings.
+          In the secrets of earth and sun and air
+          My fingers are wise;
+          They snatch light out of darkness,
+          They thrill to harmonies breathed in silence.
+
+          I walked in the stillness of the night,
+          And my soul uttered her gladness.
+          O Night, still, odorous Night, I love thee!
+          O wide, spacious Night, I love thee!
+          O steadfast, glorious Night!
+          I touch thee with my hands;
+          I lean against thy strength;
+          I am comforted.
+
+          O fathomless, soothing Night!
+          Thou art a balm to my restless spirit,
+          I nestle gratefully in thy bosom,
+          Dark, gracious mother!
+          Like a dove, I rest in thy bosom.
+          _Out of the uncharted, unthinkable dark we came,
+          And in a little time we shall return again
+          Into the vast, unanswering dark._
+
+
+
+
+                  PRINTED BY
+          WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD.
+                   PLYMOUTH
+
+
+
+
+       *       *       *       *       *
+
+
+
+
+Transcriber's Note:
+
+Page 223, "similies" changed to "similes" (Other similes seemed)
+
+
+
+***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WORLD I LIVE IN***
+
+
+******* This file should be named 27683.txt or 27683.zip *******
+
+
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/7/6/8/27683
+
+
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+https://www.gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
+or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
+Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
+of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/pglaf.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at https://www.gutenberg.org/about/contact
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit:
+https://www.gutenberg.org/fundraising/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     https://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
+
diff --git a/old/27683.zip b/old/27683.zip
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..0940537
--- /dev/null
+++ b/old/27683.zip