Chapter XI: Appendix

Letters from Staunton, Va.

NO. 1.

INSTITUTION FOR THE DEAF, DUMB, AND BLIND.

_Staunton, Va._, May, 1859.

THE Institution for the Deaf, Dumb, and Blind, situated at this place, is a building of very attractive and beautiful appearance. Occupying an eminence to the right of the Virginia Central Railroad, it is among the first things that attract the attention in your approach to this beautiful mountain town,—for we believe it has not yet risen to the dignity of a city.

The style of the building is Doric; the entrance being a large portico supported by six massive pillars. On each side of the portico are two attractive wings, used for the reception of visitors and recitation rooms;—in the rear are several other apartments, all large and well arranged, appropriated to the different purposes of the Institution.

The building is situated in the midst of quite a number of stalwart mountain oaks, and the yard is beautifully diversified by various kinds of shrubbery and winding graveled walks. There is an absence of everything like studied formality in the arrangement of both the shrubbery and the walks, and the eye is at once struck with the peculiarly easy and natural appearance of the building and its surrounding ornaments.

On entering, you are at once pleased with the neatness and beauty of the internal arrangements. A very polite and attentive gentleman meets you in the reception room, and inquires if you wish to look through the Institution. On replying affirmatively, you are first ushered into the apartment for

THE BLIND.

The scene is one which awakens mingled feelings of pleasure and pain; of pleasure to see so many afflicted little ones, for most of them are young, led by the hand of kindness in the pleasant and peaceful ways of wisdom; of pain, when you behold them rolling wildly their sightless orbs, and seemingly endeavoring to gather in some few straggling rays of the cheerful sun, or to look out upon the beautifully draped fields of nature, and know that all these things, so attractive to us, are midnight darkness to them.

One of the scholars, a little girl about ten years old, read several passages from various books for me, and then pointed out on a large map of the United States, Pittsburg, and told me at the junction of what rivers it was situated, Richmond, Staunton, and many other places, with an ease and accuracy really astonishing. Two other girls, somewhat older, sung, and played on the piano “Do they miss me at home?” As I listened to the sweet melody of their well-tuned voices, I, for a moment, forgot their blindness, and felt tears dimming my eyes as my mind wandered back to the two near and dear ones at home, and I thought to myself, “Do they miss ME at home?” I then listened to the reading of several passages in French by a young lady of about sixteen. It really was surprising to witness the fluency with which her delicate fingers glided over word after word, and sentence after sentence.

In all these cases the reading is done by passing the fingers over raised letters.

The sweetness of expression, the amiability of character, the flow of spirits which characterized one of the little pupils, Bettie Archibald, engaged my attention, and enlisted my affection. On being asked if she would be blind in heaven, she very sweetly and quickly replied, “No, sir.”

Quite a number of the male pupils are daily instructed in instrumental music, and many of them display more than ordinary talents. It was quite a treat to hear the little fellows play “Yankee Doodle:” their faces were soon lighted up with smiles, and they played with as much life and animation, as if they were leading an American army on to victory.

We now wend our way into the apartments for

THE DEAF AND DUMB.

A large class, consisting of boys and girls, is seated in regular order opposite their instructor, who is also deaf and dumb. At a given signal, they all devoutly rise, and with eyes fixed on the fingers of their teacher, follow him in his devotions, as he leads them to a throne of grace. It is the most touching scene I ever witnessed. There is but one person (he, your correspondent,) in that large assembly can utter a syllable, or distinguish a sound. Not a sound is heard; the stillness becomes painful—deathlike; the devotion seems to grow warmer and warmer; the prayer is concluded; the seats resumed; all of this gone through without the utterance of _one_ word.

What a lesson should it teach us! How true is it that we shall not be heard for our much speaking! Leaving the chapel, we enter the recitation room. Each pupil is standing opposite a black-board, with his eyes turned to the teacher; questions and answers are written by the instructor, and then copied by the pupils. In this room are assembled classes, each under the charge of a separate teacher, studying geography, grammar, history; and in one room is a small class just beginning to read. The chirography of some of the pupils is really beautiful; and we leave the room feeling that though God has deprived them of two senses, yet, in his loving kindness, he has bestowed upon them unusual capacities in the others. It may be a fact worthy of mentioning, that the deaf and dumb do the printing (raised letters) for the Blind: such is the economy of the Institute.

The number of pupils in the departments is at present sixty-nine.

In conclusion, I would express my especial thanks and obligations to Assistant-principal Mr. COVELL, Mrs. COLEMAN, of the Blind, and Mr. FINK, of the Deaf-mute Department, for their extreme kindness and attention.

In my next, I shall give you a sketch of the Lunatic Asylum, also situated at this place.

Yours, truly,
PHILIP BARRETT.

No. 2.

THE LUNATIC ASYLUM.

STAUNTON, VA., June, 1859.

THE sun was hanging low in the west, when we stood at the gateway of the Staunton Lunatic Asylum. His rays were gilding with a golden lustre the hoary summits of the Blue Ridge, as they printed their bold outlines on the cloudless evening sky; and as a few beams fell here and there on the graveled walks, the flower-crowned terraces, and verdant shrubbery of the beautiful greensward which stretches forth in front of the Asylum, we could but thank an ever-gracious and ever-good Providence, for His inestimable gift to mankind—the bright, sparkling, joyous sunshine.

A moment’s glance at the general appearance of the buildings convinces the beholder that they are not as beautiful nor as commanding as those of the Blind Institute; though much taste is displayed in the arrangement of the walks, and selection of many and choice specimens of rare and beauteous flowers and shrubbery. You enter the main building, after ascending a flight of granite steps, through a portico of Ionic architecture, supported by four graceful pillars. The first apartment which we enter is the _chapel_. On either side of the pulpit are painted in beautiful gilt letters, the Ten Commandments; in the opposite end of the room stands a large and handsome organ; the dome and walls are beautifully frescoed. The pulpit is occupied every Sabbath evening by some one of the ministers of the various evangelical denominations worshipping in Staunton. All these bespeak that these poor demented creatures are not forgotten on the Sabbath; and even where a few sparks of intellect linger amid the ashes of minds once proud and noble, it is interesting to see how those sparks are kindled anew by the light of religion.

After wending our way through various other portions of the buildings, and stopping here and there to bestow a hasty glance at one and another rare specimen of curiously carved workmanship, by some lunatic genius, we find ourselves gazing through iron bars at a scene which would cause the most unfeeling heart to shudder with horror. There are grouped together, in the narrow confines of four tall brick walls, not less than a hundred patients in the very worst stages of lunacy. It seems that the darkest cavern in the regions of Despair could present no more heart-rending picture.

The wild glare of the piercing eye, the dishevelled locks; the meaningless gibberish; the incoherent babbling; the fiendish ravings that rent the silent air, together with numberless other acts which constitute the sum of a poor maniac’s life, have left an impression on our mind that will go with us to our grave.

How true are the words of the poet—

“Oh, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!
The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s eye, tongue, sword;
The glass of fashion, and the mould of form,
The observed of all observers, quite, quite down.”

We willingly leave such scenes, and turn our ready steps to an observatory which crowns the main building, and commands one of the loveliest views we ever witnessed.

Let us forget the painful sights we have just beheld, and drink in the resplendent beauty of nature as she stands robed in the crimson folds of evening—

“For the west yet glimmers with some streaks of day.”

Beneath us are the various buildings of the Asylum, glittering, like burnished gold, in the rays of the setting sun. To the north rise the graceful proportions of the Blind Institute, nestled in its grove of wide-spreading oaks; to the west are seen the heaven-pointing spires and beautiful residences of Staunton; to the east is the graveyard of the asylum, with its plain, upright marble slabs, marking the spot where slumber the remains of many a friendless maniac; to the south is one wide-extended view of sloping hills, smiling valleys, sunlit streams and snow-white cottages, dotted over the scene like stars in the blue canopy of heaven.

Who can look upon such a prospect and not feel his thoughts turn from nature to nature’s God?

“All things are calm and fair and passive; earth
Looks as if lulled upon an angel’s lap,
Into a breathless, dewy slumber: so still
That we can only say of things, they be.”—FESTUS.

The gathering darkness reminds us that we have trespassed too long on the kindness of the gentleman who has so cheerfully shown us through the many apartments of this truly noble institution, whose object is to ameliorate the condition of the suffering maniac.

We bid her, her directors and her officers “God-speed” in their noble enterprise, and earnestly pray that they may continue “blessing and being blessed” until the light of reason shall be shed abroad in the darkened intellect of every lunatic in our land.

There are many other points which we might mention; but they are of such a nature as only to sicken the heart, and we pass them by in silence, simply remarking that if there be one crowning blessing for which our hearts should ever be outgushing in grateful thanks to our Heavenly Father, it is REASON.

PHILIP BARRETT.

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