W
hat would any of us be without education? By education, I mean not book-learning only, but the training in good habits which is given in well-ordered homes and schools.

Can any one read the following true story of a deaf and dumb man without feelings of the deepest pity for the poor fellow left untaught and untrained, to wander at will over the wild though beautiful country of his birth. Was he happy? Read the story, and judge for yourselves.

A few years since an artist visited Ireland to sketch the wild and rocky scenery for which parts of the coast are celebrated. One of the places he went to was so poor and uncivilized that there was no house better than a cabin to be found in the whole district. In a cabin, therefore, he took up his abode.

One day he was busily engaged sketching some high cliffs, at the bottom of which the wild waves dashed in fury. His seat was in a position as perilous as it was grand.

Presently he observed a creature approach, whose appearance at first puzzled him exceedingly. A nearer view showed him that it was a man clothed in a goatskin, but with the gait and manners of one wholly unused to civilized society.

The artist thought that he was about to encounter an escaped lunatic, and, although no coward, he confessed to a feeling somewhat akin to fear passing through him as he looked down at the depths below, and calculated how small a push might launch him into eternity. Then he remembered something about the advantage of being civil to madmen, and determined to try and ward off his impending fate by a show of civility. Beckoning the poor creature to him, he commenced to talk to him, to show him his drawings, and to offer him a share of his lunch. The man made no reply, but apparently assured by the artist's manner came up close, sat down beside him, and was soon deeply absorbed in devouring his portion of the lunch and in admiring the pictures. Still he never spoke, only uttered some unintelligible sounds.

The artist congratulated himself on the success of his experiments; but, nevertheless, he thought that on the whole "discretion was the better part of valour," and after a little he got up and returned to his lodging, the man following him at a distance.

On arriving at the cabin he related his adventure, when the people exclaimed, "Ah! it's only poor dummy!" and assured him the poor fellow was perfectly harmless, but he was wholly untaught, had received no training in a Deaf and Dumb Institution, and lived in this wild neglected manner. He was never asked to work, but roamed about at will, being fed by the neighbours, who would give bits to him as they would to a dog.

The artist was greatly touched by what he heard, and continued to be kind to the poor deaf and dumb man, who, on his part, attached himself to his patron in the most docile manner. Every morning he went to carry the artist's drawing materials, waited on him during the day, and only seemed too delighted if he could perform any little service for him. In return the artist could only reward him by kind looks and a share of his sandwiches. Once he offered him money, but it was received in such a manner that showed plainly he did not understand its value. And the neighbours said it was no use to give him money: food was the only thing he seemed to care for.

At last the time came for the artist to return home. When it dawned upon the poor deaf mute he was about to lose his friend, he set up the most piteous wailing, and refused to be comforted, not even by the choicest morsels of food.

The artist, when relating it afterwards, said "that he was never more moved in his life than to see this unfeigned sorrow, and to feel himself unable (owing to the man not having been trained in a Deaf and Dumb Institution) to convey one single idea of suggestive consolation."