Being deaf, he lost one important syllable of the adjective, and something of his dignity in consequence. Never select a person without imagination as proxy for the deaf. In the city the colored porters who are found about public places are usually excellent telephone agents; colored waiters I have also found good. They are good-natured and imaginative, usually intelligent, and always wonderfully faithful. CHAPTER XII “NO MUSIC IN HIMSELF” Music—Beethoven in the Silent World—And Milton—Our Emotional Desert—Dream Compensation—The “Sings” in the Old Farmhouse, and the “Rest” for the Weary—The Drunken Irish Singer in the Barber Shop. “The man that hath no music in himself, Nor is not moved by concord of sweet sounds Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils; The motions of his spirit are dull as night, And his affections dark as Erebus. Let no such man be trusted.” This passage always reminds me of the colored man who went to church to hear the new minister’s trial sermon. The preacher was fond of quotations, and among others he gave an old favorite in new guise: “He who steals my purse is po’ white trash!” One of the elders of the church immediately jumped up and interrupted: “Say, brother, where you done git that idee at?” “Dat, sar, am one ob the immortal, thoughtful gems of William Shakespeare.” “Well, sar,” came in rich tones from the gentleman who had come to criticise the sermon, “my only remark am: _Amen, Shakespeare!_” Shakespeare certainly did not have the citizens of the silent world in mind when he wrote that, but we deaf are often moved to say _Amen_. Stratagems are somewhat out of our line, since they require good ears to carry them through, but otherwise this is a perfect description of what the lack of music may mean to us. It is our greatest loss. We may rise in imagination above many deprivations, but we can never forget the sinister fate which keeps from our ears forever the beauty of the singing voice and the vibrating string. “Music hath charms to soothe the savage breast. To soften rocks or bend the knotted oak.” Probably Congreve was drawing on his imagination entirely, especially as it is not likely that he ever encountered a genuine savage; but a deaf man with a natural love for music could have given him full understanding and appreciation of its mighty power. And, on the other hand, the silent life becomes drab and cold without the sweet tones of harmony. In this respect I think the man who was born deaf has less to regret than he who has known music only to lose it.