in climatic
condition by the feel of the air on its face. I have often heard very
young blind children exclaim, "It feels like rain! It feels like a nice
day! The air feels heavy! The wind feels soft! The wind is rough today!"
The nerves of the feet contribute their share of helpful knowledge,
calling attention to differences in the ground often unnoticed by the
eye, telling whether the path is smooth or rough, grass-grown or
rock-strewn. The auditory and pedal nerves are mutually helpful, the ear
recording and classifying the sounds made by the feet, often guiding
them aright by recalling certain peculiarities of sound--whether the
ground is hollow, whether the sidewalk is of board or cement, and
whether there is a depression here or a raised place there. I often
wonder how deaf-blind people walk as well as they do, when they can not
hear their footfalls. I find walking much more difficult when on a
crowded thoroughfare, or when passing a planing mill or boiler factory.

The last of the trio of senses whose development compensates in large
measure for the want of eyesight, is that of smell. Through this sense,
the child comes very close to the heart of Nature. Of course, the ear is
charmed by the song of birds, the hum of insects, the murmur of wind in
the trees, or the sound of mighty waters. Through the finger-tips, he
learns the shape and size of each flower and shrub and tree, traces the
delicate pattern of ferns, notes wonderful rock formations, and finds
the first blade of tender grass coaxed to the surface by the warmth of
the Spring sunshine. But all this does not bring him the keen pleasure
he experiences when he inhales the fragrance of the rose, the perfume of
flowers with the dew still upon them, the smell of the freshly turned
earth, the newly cut grass, or the blossom laden trees. In the case of
Helen Keller, the olfactory nerves have been cultivated to a very high
degree, and through this sense she is often able to recognize her
friends. A little blind boy once told me that each member of his family
had a distinct odor, by which he could tell things worn by them, or
books they had handled. Laura Bridgeman is said to have selected the
laundry of the pupils in her school by this unusual process. I
frequently astonish my friends by telling them when I pass a drug store
or hospital, a grocery, a confectioner's, or drygoods store, a paint
shop, a florist's stand, or a livery stable. I do not think the blind
h