AN AMERICAN DEAF MAN.
THEY are tiresome people who harp upon the " happiness " which they " observe " in the physically afflicted. Just now they are harping ad nauseam. Unintentionally they deny to the afflicted their due meed of praise for courage, and intentionally they
save themselves pain in the contemplation of distress. Along Corre- spondence, which is now closed, has been going on in our columns about deafness, and the upshot of what the deaf have said to us is contained in the last sentence of the first letter on the subject. "The Pain of Silence is very reaL" It is a mere sentimentality which, seeking to minimize the sufferings of the blind, or even the hard of hearing, mistakes courage for "compensations." There are none in the ordinary sense of the word.
"Deafness is incontestably a bad job," but at the same time "there is a lot left in life for a man who has four senses in good order." These are the words of a deaf man. They are taken from a little pamphlet published in America by the "Life Publishing Company," which lies before us. The thing is merely an essay, not longer than a leading article, but it contains a vast amount of sym- pathy, sense, humour, and self-revelation. The American author wrote it in letter form to "a stranger," who asked him to help him "to go on living notwithstanding I am deaf." How, the questioner asks, has he learned to accept his infirmity " as an inconvenience merely and not as a curse " ? His correspondent admits without reserve that the pain of his disability is at times very bitter. "To be deaf is to be partly dead," he writes, "and to be even partly dead is a grave inconvenience to folks whose errand is still to run in this world and among the living." All the same, a man should not, "cannot creditably," go through life "asking odds of creation." He must make up his mind to run the race of life with a burden on his shoulders, but "sport is still sport." Take this very matter of the four senses. Not only the greatest but the smallest and most ordinary of the harmless pleasures which arise from these a deaf man should determine consciously to enjoy. The good smell of earth and flowers in the spring is for every one, and "even a deaf man may take pleasure in his meals, and that is important, for meals are of such constant and frequent recurrence that it must be a serious misfortune not to take pleasure in mere food." Among little pleasures he suggests an interest in dress as one which a deaf woman especially will do well to cultivate. The social performance of the deaf is, he says, "bound to be defective. It.behove,s them, therefore, to make their social appearance as attractive as they may." Work will always be the great palliative of all infirmities which do not preclude it, and reading must, as our author says, be a deaf man's chief recreation. On the other hand, his nerves will wear out, and he will grow sad unless he has "some little fun every day and some human society." It is well for him if he has a family—" folks," as the Americans say. The company of young children is excellent for him, as they "seldom say anything which it is essential to hear." If he has luck, if his " folks " care for him—and after all that is not an unusual piece of good fortune for a pleasant man even in this hard world—then, infirmity or none, he will be happy. From those about him who "take trouble for him, supplement him, eat with him, talk with him," he does indeed "ask odds," but he can pay it back in gratitude, and " trusts finally to love to make all odds even." As to outside friends, he will always find a few to whom a trumpet is no barrier. He should remember in meeting them to admit the full extent of his deafness. "A recognized defect in hearing excites much less prejudice than a suspected defect in sense." 'Probably he will not find it hard to make friends. "He runs to intimacies," realizing how necessary to a man more than ordinarily subject to irritation, as a deaf man must be, is the "healing atmosphere" of "affection."
The pamphlet ends with two very interesting and slightly incon- gruous little paragraphs, one deeply serious and one humorous—an unreserved and open confession of mind often tends to incongruity. A deaf man, we read, "ought to be pious-minded. There is nothing in deafness that can hinder him from knowing just as much about his Maker as any one else does, or from profiting as fully as any one else by his knowledge." Therein, the author believes, the deaf man may find "solace, strength, and companionship" sufficient to keep him " sane, sweet, and stout-hearted." Then, changing his tone, he tells "the stranger" that, so far as being good is concerned, deafness has some advantages. There are" a number of sinful and inexpedient" things which he cannot do. He cannot be a successful politician, or play poker, or flirt, and "carousals are dull sport to a deaf man." Avarice is open to him, no doubt, and is perhaps "as good a sin as he can take up with if he must cultivate any, for a decent share of riches may help his ease a good deal, and it is interesting to hoard and make heirs respectfuL But it is unwise of him to be much of a sinner."
It seems to us that out of this little paper one obvious lesson arises for deaf people. In one particular they do exaggerate their trouble. They overrate absurdly the discomfort which their inability entails Upon others. Because some one shows irritability upon being asked to repeat himself, and some one else is too shy to speak into a trumpet or make himself conspicuous by talking loud, they imagine their society to be burdensome. This is surely to be over-sensitive. The momentary crossness has no meaning. If it were provoked by something else—by some remark, for instance—they would hardly notice it. As to shyness, the shy live in a constantly recurrent state of embarrassment, and are discomposed by a thousand-and-one things besides deafness. A formidable manner, consciousness of superior rank in their interlocutor, the smallest social solecism or mishap, anything or nothing, will serve to disturb their equanimity. It is dull and sad for the deaf that they cannot join in general con- versation, but no one suffers by their silence but themselves. Where intimate talk is concerned, indeed in all tete-a-We intercourse, the man or woman who can hear with a trumpet is at very little dis- advantage. Such at least is the experience of the present writer, who enjoyed a good many years of friendship with four or five deaf persons. They were men and women of very different character, but they were all exceptionally entertaining, and had a good many peculiarities in common. All of them had that readiness to unfold their real minds upon all subjects which alone makes talk worth having. Two of them certainly were somewhat indiscreet, one perhaps a little ill-natured also. All had thrown down what have been wittily called their social fortifications. They hid behind no conventional ice-shields, they spoke the shibboleth of no special circle, they were entirely " get-at-able " and "forthcoming," willing to say their thoughts on every subject from religion to scandal, and to listen to other people's. One, a man, and another, a woman, were so naturally sympathetic that they sent away all those who talked into their trumpets in a better conceit of themselves, and with a sense that the world was a better, kinder, and funnier place than they had been apt to imagine. If the others were without that delightful gift, and loved to startle and sometimes to prick, at least they knew how to pass their friends' time with an almost regrettable rapidity, and to leave them with something to think about, something to repeat, and something, perhaps, to contradict. In all conscience they were no bores—few intelligent people would be if they made up their minds to throw all pretences to the winds and be themselves. We do not say that it is advisable that any but the very sweetest and best characters should quit their strongholds and take to the open like this. We only say that those who do it, unless the' are stupid people, are never dull, and are capable of giving great social pleasure.
Some of our readers may say that their acquaintance among the deaf has led them to a different conclusion. They may perhaps point to the fact that we find in literature no portraits of charming men and women who were hard of hearing, whereas no blind man is ever unfavourably painted. Individual experiences are, of course, difficult to reconcile, but the American writer's essay is surely a great argument in our favour. Probably all of it, and much more such frank, amusing, t.-F-4 edifying stuff, was talked to some one wise held the other end of the deaf man's speaking-tube when he was "running to an intimacy." If so, at least one person must have been convinced that the dullness and sadness of deafness are to the sufferer alone. He need never add to his heavy burden by settling that he is a bore—unless indeed he was one before he became deaf.
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