me, for
workmen are always very kind to me.

I am guided and governed more by the ear, however, than by either of the
other organs of sense. If I wish to cross the street it tells me when
teams are coming, how far they are away, at what rate of speed they are
traveling, and when it will be safe to cross. If I find a group of men
conversing, it tells me who they are. If I wish to enter a store, or any
place, it tells me where the door is, if open, by the sounds that issue
therefrom, but in this I have sometimes been misled by going to an open
window, which always makes me feel awkward. Sound to me is as important as
light is to the seeing, and brings to the mind a great many facts that are
gathered through the eyes when sight is made the prime sense.

Much of my information, however, is received through the fingers. They are
properly the organs of touch. Although this sense is distributed over the
whole body, even to the mucous membrane that lines the mouth and covers
the tongue. When the finger's ends have been hardened by labor, or from
any cause, the lips and tongue are the most sensitive, and are often used
in threading needles, stringing beads, etc, very innocent uses surely to
put the tongue to. This sense of touch is of _necessity_ cultivated by the
blind until it often reaches a state of perfection seldom, if ever, found
in the seeing. Of course its development is gradual, as is the growth of
all the faculties. When I was quite a little child, and my fingers were
soft, I could readily distinguish all the variety of flowers that grew in
my sister's flower garden, and could call them by name. From touch I knew
all the common fruits, from the peach with its velvet skin, to the
strawberry in the meadow, for which I used to search diligently with my
fingers, and sometimes find, as I remember, thistles, which were never
quite to my taste. One thing among my childish sports and amusements, for
they were limited, always gave great pleasure; and does even now. I loved
to play along the brook or lake shore, to feel for smooth and odd shaped
stones, for pretty shells, etc. Their beauty to me existed only in the
great variety of shapes they presented, and in their smooth, pearly
surfaces, as they never suggested to my mind any idea of color. Winter
afforded me few opportunities for cultivating my love for the beautiful.
Summer was my heaven, with its singing birds, its tinkling brooks and its
fresh and delicious fruits.