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It is somewhat doubtful, whether, by "signs made with the fingers," Mr. Mann meant the language of gestures, or simply the manual alphabet. Though the appellation, "language of signs," is very improperly applied to the manual alphabet, yet some people seem to have no other idea of this language than that it is a manual alphabet. Thus, the biographer of the vocalist Malibran informs us, as a proof of her uncommon memory, that she "learned the language of signs in half an hour." From the context, however, it seems probable, that Mr. Mann had confounded the manual alphabet with the language of gestures; and, indeed, many educated deaf mutes use, with their intimate acquaintances, for the sake of convenience and expedition, a dialect composed partly of gestures and partly of words spelled on the fingers. The manual alphabet is simply a mode of spelling words by means of positions of the fingers corresponding to each letter. It is available only where there is some knowledge of words, and, of course, an ability to read and write. As a mode of intercourse with his acquaintances, the educated deaf mute finds it very convenient; but when he passes out of the circle of those who understand it, he is very far from being "hopeless and helpless as ever." If writing materials can be obtained, -- and he takes care to have a slate or tablet always about him, -- he can converse with strangers with more or less ease, according to the skill of the one party in orthography, and of the other in the idioms of language. There are few deaf mutes of ordinary capacity, that have passed through the whole course of instruction in one of our institutions, who cannot, in this way, make themselves fully understood, wherever they have occasion to go. If writing materials are not at hand, he can write his wishes on the sand, or on the snow, or scratch them on the nearest wall or smooth stone. He can, also, on many subjects of pressing importance, make himself understood by all persons of tolerably quick perceptions, by means of natural signs; but this last faculty is possessed, often to the fullest extent, by deaf mutes who never entered the walls of an institution, or received a single lesson in written language. It is a faculty which the teacher seeks at the outset to improve, as the only means of holding intelligible communication with his pupil; but the constant exercise of which he discourages, as soon as the latter has acquired sufficient skill in written language to converse to some extent in words.

With us, we repeat, "the deaf mute is not taught to converse by means of signs made with the fingers." This would be, in most cases, a work of pure supererogation. But he is taught to converse by means of written words or their equivalents. When he "passes out of the circle of those who understand" written language, he is, indeed, hopeless and helpless as ever, except in the immensely increased resources of his own mind; but in our country, that circle is a wide one, and a deaf mute may wander far without overstepping its boundaries.

After what has been said, it can hardly be necessary to prove, that "the power of uttering articulate sounds, of speaking as others speak," is not the only condition under which the deaf mute can be restored to society; unless by society, we understand the companionship of those who can neither read nor write. Mr. Mann need not travel out of the city of Boston to find, if he seeks for them, illustrious instances of the erroneous character of his position.

It may be alleged, that the deaf mute who can only read and write cannot take part in a general conversation among persons who hear, but is restricted, in such society, to that conversation which may be addressed directly to him. Unless he has a ready interpreter, this is true; but as a general rule, this is just as much the case with those who have been taught to articulate, and to read on the lips. On this point, most of the cases cited by Mr. Mann fall under the old maxim, that the exception proves the rule. The notorious fact, that the deaf, however laboriously instructed, can only distinguish words on the lips of those who speak directly to them, at a small distance, in an advantageous light, and with peculiar slowness and distinctness of utterance, is not affected by rare instances of the extraordinary cultivation of this faculty, any more than the general laws of the human mind on the subject of computation with high numbers are affected by such instances as that of Zerah Colburn. Few blacksmiths can expect, by the most unwearied devotion to study in the intervals of labor, to acquire as many languages as Elihu Burritt; and only a very few deaf mutes, gifted with extraordinary power of vision and quickness of perception, will ever acquire the ability to read on the lips, even by the most painful effort of attention, more than a few strongly marked words, and those uttered by a person with the movements of whose lips they are familiar, and who knows what words they can most readily distinguish at a distance as great as that at which ordinary conversation can readily be heard, in a dim light, or by a side-view of the face. Still fewer, if any, can learn to distinguish words in the dark by laying the finger on the lips of the other party; though nearly all deaf mutes, whether educated or not, can converse with their more intimate associates, with more or less ease, in the dark, either, as in the case of Julia Brace, by means of signs addressed to the touch, or, as in the case of Laura Bridgeman, by distinguishing in the hollow of the hand the letters of words spelled on the fingers of another.*