ximity of a person or object under circumstances of
absolute silence, and very often to know the nature of the object." Dr.
Illingworth believes that this remarkable power is of electric origin
and latent in everybody. This power seems to have its seat in the nerves
of the face, and is possessed by the blind adult as well as the blind
child. This sense of obstacles, this "touch at a distance," enables a
person to tell when he is passing tall buildings, fences, trees, and
many other obstructions. Mr. Hawkes says: "The sixth sense, if such it
be, probably depends upon three conditions--sound, the compression of
the air, and whether the face be free to use its sensitive feelers. This
subject is still in its infancy, and time may reveal many interesting
facts concerning it; but for our purpose it is enough that the blind
have a sense of obstacles, and let us regard it as another proof that we
are wonderfully made and divinely led."

In a surprisingly short time, the blind adult becomes accustomed to the
new conditions, the various organs perform their new functions, and he
finds life in sightless land to be, in many respects, very like life in
that world of light and color, now only a memory. But a very living
memory--enabling him to recall the faces of his friends, the glow of
sunset, or the rosy light of dawn with the eye of the mind whose vision
is keener, clearer than mere physical sight. This ability to call up
mental pictures is yet another of the compensations, and these pictures
never fade, but come, when familiar scenes or objects are suggested. The
adult is deeply interested in form and color, and likes to have them
minutely described. This fact is not well understood by sighted friends,
and so the blind are often deprived of details which would give them
keenest pleasure, because friends fear to recall painful memories. In
this connection, and by way of conclusion, I shall give a poem written
by one of our pupils, who lost his eyes when a drummer boy in the Civil
War. This man learned to read raised type after being blind fifty-three
years. His poem follows:

A BLIND MAN'S SOLILOQUY.

What, then, is blindness? This and nothing more:
The window blinds are closed, the outer door
Close shut and bolted, and the curtains drawn.
No more comes light of stars nor morning's dawn,
Nor one lone ray from day's meridian light.
And men pass by and say "within is night!"
Not so; for Memory's