Mr. Isaac Lewis Peet, principal of the New York institution, before referred to in this paper, has lately been preparing a textbook for the use of deaf-mute instructors, which promises to be of great value.  It reduces the whole of the earlier stages of instruction to a perfected system, by which each part of speech, with the various moods and tenses of the verbs, the different cases of nouns, etc., is brought out in successive stages entirely by means of sentences.  A few illustrations will suffice to show the scope of the work, which promises to be of much value also in the ordinary school-room, for which it is likewise designed by the author.  An object, such as a pitcher, is placed on the teacher’s desk.  A pupil is required to come forward and touch it.  The teacher then asks the question, writing it upon the blackboard or spelling it upon his fingers, “What did John do?” Answer, “He touched the pitcher.”  A change from a boy to a girl brings out another pronoun; a change of objects, another noun; a change of actions, another verb.

In this way, by gradual, systematic stages, the language is taught by actual and constant use, the teacher doing away entirely with signs in the school-room.  This is an end constantly aimed at in deaf-mute instruction, as it forces the pupils to use language instead of signs to express their thoughts.  By constant effort at first, and constant practice, words gradually take the place of signs in their modes of thought, though not perhaps entirely.

Objective ideas are readily acquired by deaf mutes, their perceptive faculties being usually keen and quick.  Abstract subjects are less readily apprehended, and sometimes cause great surprise.  One Sunday morning Dr. Gillett, principal of the Illinois institution, had for the Scripture lesson in the chapel the “Resurrection.”  When he had made it plain and simple for the comprehension of the new pupils, some of the ideas, brought out by the lesson caused great astonishment, and even consternation among them.  The little fellows shook their heads in utter skepticism at the thought of themselves dying.

“I’m not going to die,” said one.  “Sick people die:  I’m well and strong;” standing on his feet and shaking his arms in attestation of the fact.

“But you will be sick some time,” said Dr. G., “and you will have to die.”

But they did not believe him in the least.  The next morning one little fellow met the principal and said, “You said yesterday I was going to die:  well, here I am, and I ain’t dead yet.”

On Monday morning, when they assembled in school, they were still full of the new ideas.  “Dr. Gillett had said they all had to die:  would they, truly?” they asked me.  I could only confirm the statement.  Whereupon they all began drawing graves, tombstones, weeping willows, and all such funereal paraphernalia upon the blackboards.  It was a solemn scene, save for my own irrepressible laughter, which they thought very unaccountable when they learned that I must suffer a like fate.  I explained as cheerfully as I could the delights of going to heaven, whereupon one boy burst into tears, saying he did not want to go to heaven:  he would rather go home and see his mother.