In the House of Commons the statesman’s mind is unconsciously diverted by the lights, the expressions of his opponents, the sympathy on the faces of his partisans, the guests in the gallery, to say nothing of his imaginings concerning those hidden and gracious unseen personalities behind the screen in the ladies’ gallery—that screen which, perhaps more than anything else in the House of Commons, piques the curiosity of the beholder, and sets his thoughts aglow with the mysteries of the Orient. If the indiscreet and objectionable person who devised that screen had left the wives and mothers and sweethearts of the members to regale the combatants in the arena beneath them with a smile of approbation, or a glimpse of their spring bonnets, or even the pang caused by the thought of the inevitable bill which belongs to such plumage, the path of duty and politics would have been less dull. Then, think of the countless literary distractions, the day’s paper, the illustrated magazine, the picture posters, and even the advertisements which to the hurrying business man unconsciously suggest fresh trains of thought. Again, the sight of the crowd, with its noble and curious personalities, or the occasional patch of colour made by the passing omnibus whose garish poster proclaims the latest star at the theatre. All these, and countless others, make up a kaleidoscope, which, however taxing and at times palling to the man with sight, are counter-irritants which make it difficult for him to over-concentrate or to become exhausted by harping continuously on one thought, to the exclusion of all else. To think without interruption the seeing man sometimes closes his eyes. The blind man’s eyes are always closed, and therefore to keep his spirits bright, to prevent morbidity and even insanity, occupations and amusement are not only advisable, but imperative. In frank recognition of this Fawcett felt that the larger good—his usefulness to the community—justified his ‘going fishing.’ [Sidenote: What Helen Keller thinks.] The great need of recreation brings as its corollary the advantages for uninterrupted thought, which are among the alleviations of the loss of sight. Helen Keller, in answer to the question, What is it to be blind? said joyfully, ‘To be blind is to see the bright side of life.’ She is perfectly sincere in this, and feels that in blindness, uncomeliness and ugliness can never obtrude, while imagination is free to paint the most sublime pictures. Not a few blind people have said that they would prefer not to see, because with sight would come many disillusionments.