Another of my plans is character study. I try to determine the occupation and general character of strangers from their appearance, their habits and the books they read. You would be surprised at the accuracy of the observant deaf man in detecting these external marks which he comes to understand. He finally secures a most interesting chart of humanity, for in spite of us, character and occupation will leave a stamp upon the face and actions. But we cannot always classify strangers accurately. Here is one of my curious blunders: I saw daily on the train a big, brutal-looking fellow with a red face, a flat nose, well-protected eyes, and enormous arms and shoulders. I finally classified him as a prize-fighter. One day he was reading a small book, in which he was making frequent marks and comments. I reasoned that it must be some new version of the “Manly Art of Self-Defense.” Soon my man put down his book and went into the next car. Of course, I could not resist the impulse to glance at the volume. It was “The Influence of Christian Character in College Work.” My prize-fighter turned out to be a professor in a theological seminary. At any rate, he was in the battle against evil. No other persons can ride a hobby so gracefully and to such good purpose as the deaf are able to do. No matter what it is, however childish, so long as it can keep the mind clean and busy, it is our most wholesome mental exercise. I know a deaf farmer who late in life started to collect and properly name every plant that grew on his farm. It was not only a wonderful help to him, but he became an expert botanist. And this recalls a discussion perennial with deaf men. Will they be happier in the country or in the city? The person inexperienced in deafness will immediately decide for the country, but I am not so sure that he is right. Farming is a business in which sound is important; animals betray pain or pleasure largely through sound; a poultryman is at a great disadvantage if he cannot hear the little ones. Then, too, some deaf persons crave the sight of their fellows; it is a pleasure to them to mingle silently with crowds; to see the multitudes pass by. The country—far from the rush and struggle of humans—actually terrorizes some deaf men. For myself, I greatly prefer the country, and I have selected fruit trees as my working companions. They talk the silent language, and they do not need to cry out when they wish to tell me that they need help. Yet, of course, we are better off if we mingle frequently with our fellows.