A HUMAN VIBROBCOPE.

Rangitikei Advocate and Manawatu Argus, Volume XXXIII, Issue 9117, 9 April 1908, Page 6

A HUMAN VIBROBCOPE.

A simple little woman in a Massachusetts village has achieved $ a conquest which puts the triumphs of science, of art, of education into the shade. She has conquered her own destiny. Her name is Helen Keller. She is a Bachelor of Arts, having graduated with honours; a linguist,an eloquent speaker, and an authoress of no mean repute; a thorough housekeeper, too, and a delightful companion. One finds it rather difficult to realise that Miss Keller has been blind and deaf from her early infancy, and was, until a few years ago, dumb also. She modestly speaks of some of her wonderful powers in the Century Magazine. “It is not for me to say whether we see best with the hand or eye,” she says. “I only know that the world I see with my fingers is alive, ruddy, and satisfying.” She does not hear sound waves, She feels them.

“By placing my hand on a parson’s lips and throat, I gain* an idea of many specific vibrations and interpret them. “The utterances of animals, though wordless, are eloquent to me—the cat’s mew, its angry, jerking, scolding spit; the dog’s bow-wow of warning or a joyous welcome, its yelp of despair, its contented snore; the cow’s moo; a monkey’s chatter; the snort of a horse ; the lion’s roar.

“I have felt all these sounds. From my childhood to the present day I have availed myself of every opportunity to visit zoological gardens, menageries, and the circus, and all animals, except-the tiger have talked into my hand. I iiave touched several lions in the flesh, and felt them roar royally, like a cataract over rocks.

“I know the ‘plop’ of liquid into a pitcher. So if I spill my milk I have not the excuse of ignorance. “I am familiar with the pop of a cork, the splutter of a flame, the ticktack of the clock, the metallic swing of the windmill, the laboured rise and fall of the pump, the voluminous spurt of the hose, the deceptive tap of the breeze at door and window the crash of thunder, and many other vibrations past computing.

“The beat of a drum smites me through my chest to the shoulder blades. Every atom of my body is a vibroscone.

“If music could be seen, I could point where the organ notes go as they rise and fall. Organ music fills me to an esotasy with the act of feeling.”

Smell —the elusive “persou-cdour” —stamps people who come near her in her memory. “The sense of smell has told me of a coming storm hours b»foro there was any sign of it visible.”

But touch is her great helpmate. With her touch she feels the beauty of earth and sky, of music and of sculpture; and guided by her touch, unaided by eyes or ears, she sets about all the work wich comes into a girl’s daily life.