One of the most wretchedly pathetic figures in human history was Beethoven when he became convinced that he was losing his hearing. He realized at last that the melodies which meant all of life to him were passing from him with ever-increasing rapidity. He must have watched them go as a condemned man might see the sands dropping through the hourglass. For Beethoven was sadly deficient in the needed equipment of one who must enter the silent world. He had nothing but his music. There was no remaining solace. The deaf Beethoven does not present an heroic picture; he seems like a man cast upon a desert island without the instinct or the ability to search intelligently for food and water. There can be nothing more tragic than the fate of such a man thrown into alien conditions which demand skill and courage of a high order, who yet stands helpless through grief or terror. Compare Beethoven’s unmitigated despair with Milton’s heroic serenity: “Who best Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; his state Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed, And post o’er land and ocean without rest; They also serve who only stand and wait.” But here we also see something of the different effects upon character of the two afflictions. The blind are more cheerful than the deaf. Some of their cheerfulness comes through the ability to hear music; the courage comes through their inability to _see_ the danger. When we deaf are adapting our lives to the inevitable we are surprised to find the number of new handles life really presents. We have been forced to look for them, and we can find new interests to give us a fresh hold upon life. Yet there is nothing we can do, there is no thought, philosophy or mental training that will ever be anything but a poor substitute for music.