pride in his work, but to me the most attractive, as it was also the most amusing, feature of the performance was the presence of the little lad, Evan Williams. Such a mite, standing three feet high at most, would under ordinary conditions not be permitted to take part in this exercise. The lad watched the class one day, however, made a special appeal to the teacher to be allowed to join it, and, with a dignity and a precision quite touching, he imitates every movement of body and swing of the arms of the instructor. He should prove a born athlete, wee as his frame is at present. The girls also practise with dumb-bells, and one of the most skilful of them is Rhoda Pippeck, who is depicted with little Evan in our illustration.
.png)
The next thing to be seen is an advanced oral class, made up of girls and boys of ages ranging from 12 to 13, They all rise respectfully as Dr. Elliott and I enter the room. They are in the midst of a lesson in writing from dictation, and, when they have resumed their seats, Dr. Elliott introduces me: "This is Mr. Salmon," he says, "who is going to write an article for The Strand Magazine on the Asylum." One or two pupils seemed to have missed what he said, but most of them smiled as they followed the words, and one boy said interrogatively, "Mr. Sammun?" The teacher then told them to write "Mr. Salmon." The majority spelt the name correctly: two spelt it "Sammon," and one "Simon." At Dr. Elliott's request I dictated a sentence. Every eye in the class was on the alert, as I said the first thing that occurred to me: "It is a very fine day." Pencils went to work with eager rapidity, and in a minute all slates were turned for my inspection. They all had the words right, except one or two who left out the "a." I said several other things, which were read from my lips without difficulty. Addressing a girl, the offspring of deaf and dumb parents, Dr. Elliott said:—
"Did your mother go to school?"
"No, sir."
"Then is your mother ignorant?"
"No, sir."
"Is she clever?"
"Yes, sir."
"And yet you say she never went to school?"
I thought this would probably be more than the child would follow; but, after an instant's reflection, the answer was given:—
"Her father taught her."
"Your grandfather taught your mother?"
"Yes, sir."
There could be no question about the genuineness of all this, or of the thought the child brought to bear on the subject. Great emulation exists among the scholars, and when, as frequently happens, one makes a stupid reply, the others laugh good-naturedly and with a full appreciation of the fun.
Shortly after the inspection of this class, prayer time arrived, and the last I saw of the deaf children at Margate who are taught on the oral system, was in a large room. The girls, two deep, were ranged down one side and the boys up the other. All eyes were fixed on Dr. Elliott as he stood at the table and read several short prayers. The "Amen" to each came distinctly and promptly, and then the Lord's Prayer was
