The articulative department is in the charge of Professor Bernhard Engelsmann, a superior teacher, who was educated for his difficult work in the institution at Vienna. While in his class-room I was interested in the recitations of several boys, one of whom was a congenital mute. They were orally questioned in geography and arithmetic, and readily replied, speaking quite intelligibly. "Do you understand what I say?" I inquired, taking care to speak slowly and distinctly. "Yes, I do," responded one of the boys, with evident satisfaction. I then asked, "Is it difficult to read the lips?" to which they replied, "It is very difficult." Indeed, if the speaker enunciates carelessly or too rapidly, it is impossible. On the other hand, it requires close attention to comprehend some of the utterances of the deaf. Their voices are somewhat unnatural, and their pronunciation is often imperfect. A total loss of hearing, even at the age of six or eight, produces a decided indisposition to use the vocal organs, which the ear can no longer guide. There was present a boy in his fourteenth year, who did not became deaf until three years before; but his Voice and enunciation had already been greatly impaired, and but for careful training would doubtless have been altogether lost. The articulative department would be worth while, were it only for cases like this.

One of the accomplished lady teachers told me something of their methods in teaching congenital mutes to speak. At first their efforts to use the vocal organs are very laborious, if not absolutely painful. How can they judge what kind of sounds they are making, or even comprehend what they ought to make? Accordingly various expedients are employed to convey some idea of the respective powers of the letters. For example, after they have been shown how to put the lips in position to utter f or v, it must be explained that the former is a mere breathing, while the latter is a sound. So the teacher holds a shred of cotton or paper close to her own lips, and lets them see it blown from her fingers as she enunciates f, while in uttering the sound of v a vibration is produced which the mute readily perceives by placing his hand upon the speaker's head.

Deaf-mutes are very sensitive to all vibrations that are perceptible to the touch. Sometimes they appear to enjoy a sensation of this kind, as if it conveyed some faint idea of what it would be to hear. I was amused at noticing that one of the advanced pupils had recorded in the daily journal which he kept as an exercise in composition, "Last night the boys in our dormitory made an awful noise." The professor explained this as meaning that the writer felt the jarring of the floor and furniture, and was annoyed by it. It is said that in the performance of ordinary acts the deaf usually make more noise than people who hear. Of course it could hardly be otherwise. How could one walk softly, knock gently, or shut doors noiselessly without that sense by which, consciously or unconsciously, we regulate all our movements?