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What the school does I may best fix in your attention by following the boy who came to us the opening day in September. He was eight years old last June. His parents had applied for his admission in July, and the superintendent, having received the application blank properly filled out, wrote the parents that he seemed to be eligible, and Harry should come along. The superintendent hoped that Harry had been taught some things, such as to care for his person, to wash and dress himself, and so forth, and perhaps to play like and with sighted children. Harry came led by his father, a puny little fellow, helpless as a lump of clay almost, spoiled, accustomed to having his own way, having everything done for him, even to putting on and off his clothes. Mistaken kindness of unthinking parents! Oh, the infinite pity of the mother and father heart! But what infinitely harmful pity!

A few days ago I received a letter, from which let me read a paragraph or two:

Dear Sir: Your favor of the 14th received, and we thank you very much for the booklet (1) and the other information your letter contains. The mother of the little girl (six years old) has made the mistake referred to in your booklet, she has never tried to let her do much or in fact anything for herself, but with only a few days "going it alone" she has made wonderful progress. Such a thing as washing herself and dressing herself she never undertook before, and her mother hardly realized that she could do anything except to amuse and play by herself, and I think she (the mother) had such pity for her that she never allowed her to try and do for herself anything. But now, since she has read the booklet, etc., seems determined to train her accordingly. Any further instructions will be gladly received.

If any matrons of children's homes are here, let me urge you, as mothers of the blind babies that come into your care, and all you who have blind little ones of your own or know neighbors who have such children, that you seek to have the error of a mistaken pity avoided as a pestilence, for the sake of the future that is bound to make life hard for the untrained.

To the school Harry has come, and he goes to meet his house-mother. She has for thirty years known boys who are blind, and she follows them as they have grown up and left her with much of the mother's interest. She sees at once the problem before her, and as soon as possible gets Harry settled in a company of other little fellows romping and shouting in the playroom. Tears are shining in the father's eyes, but Harry has caught the spirit of the company and his tears are drying. Father has gone; supper time comes and Harry's appetite is not strong. A bowl of wholesome bread and milk makes his first supper, and at 6.45 his new mother has undressed him and put him into a fine, clean bed. Yes, he shed some tears, but sleep comes and the 5.30 morning bell does not even wake him. Breakfast over, and play being a boy's natural right, Harry might be expected to be one of the crowd who race about the gymnasium or on the fine grounds. But he is too timid and too awkward yet. In a few weeks, however, you wouldn't know the boy. He is now one of the fellows. He can run and romp and shout. He is rosy and plump. He knows a regular life and has developed interest in work. To be sure, it is the work of the kindergarten. He has learned things, too, concerning the world about him, and his stiff fingers have been trained to handle objects, to know them, and to use them. He knows how to read with his fingers. He has learned that the chapel time and place mean reverence. His mind is unfolding marvelously, and when he goes home for the vacation in June, parents and brothers and sisters and neighbors are astonished at the physical and mental transformation.

Harry will progress through the school grades, and when he comes to the third he will be set to doing some hard work to develop the mechanical powers. He will later be taught how to re-seat chairs with cane, to make fancy or useful baskets, or other occupation for his busy hands. Perhaps Harry will have musical taste and talent and will begin the study of piano, and as his progress through the regular school work is accomplished he may become a skilled pianist or violinist, with opportunity, too, for voice culture. Being mechanical and, having a fine ear, he learns to tune and repair pianos. And he comes at last to commencement day with a pretty fair high school education and a taste for reading good books and with a gainful occupation in his hands. That's what the school does for Harry.

Oh, it does many more things, let us hope. It gives him sane views of life, hopeful, optimistic, perhaps. It has tried to make of him an honorable young man, a citizen worthy of his state, clean-minded, strong-bodied, whole-souled. It has sought to train him, not to forget that he is blind, but to refuse to believe that the being blind is an insuperable deterrent from accomplishment of worthy work. He is taught to look upon dependence with disdain, that the blind beggar is a no more worthy object of contemplation than the seeing beggar, that manliness and useful effort will surely be rewarded.