From A Brief Narrative of the Life of Miss Adele M. George, (Being Deaf and Dumb)

The history of my life is made up more of thought and feeling, than incidents and events. It is short and simple, and yet it may be interesting to those whose sympathies are ever active for the afflicted portion of their fellow beings. I say afflicted, because, by some wise design of Providence doubtless, I am deprived of the pleasure of hearing, or the satisfaction of conversing with my friends without the use of signs. And yet, I have been blessed with kind parents, who have ever studied my happiness as paramount to their own, and, as much as possible, to soothe and cheer me, and make life a pleasant journey.

I was born on the 15th of November, 1834, in the city of Cincinnati, though I do not remember much before our removal to Detroit, in the year 1838. There I became acquainted with a little girl nearly my own age, Charlotte Monroe. We became warm friends, and, by the use of our own signs—an untaught language—we understood each other very well. They tell me that she ran to her mother one day, saying, in a voice of gladness: "Ma, I can talk deaf and dumb as good as Delly." We have passed many a happy hour together, and though for long years we have been separated, I still cherish those days of my childhood as the brightest on the page of memory.

When a few years older, my parents removed from our home in Detroit to Grass Lake, a town on the line of the Central Rail Road, and thus I was separated from my little friend Lottie, and I missed her very much. But I was never long without friends, and I soon learned to love another as well,—Polly Ann Osgood. We grew up together, and learned to love each other like sisters.

We strolled about the fields and forests, gathering berries, and stringing the wild sweet flowers into wreaths to crown our heads, and though I could not hear the musical warblings of birds, my little friend could, and she tried to make me understand it. I was always delighted with the scenes of nature; the rippling stream, or the waving forest, the glad sunshine, the cooling breeze, the green meadows, or the swiftly flying clouds, were all to me subjects of wonder and delight, and I longed to know how they came here—who made the beautiful world, and who made us? My young mind was filled with thoughts, deep, fervent and glowing; I longed to worship some thing, and yet I knew not who, or what.

I at last inquired of my dear mother—who was my constant friend and companion, who always forgot herself in ministering to my pleasure and happiness—"Who made the trees, the grass, the flowers, and all the living creatures that throng the earth, and the sky above, with its glowing stars, its glorious sun, and the beautiful mild moon?" She made me understand that it was One who dwelt above—that I must kneel down to him, and raise my hands, eyes, and heart in adoration. O! I thought—"How I want to see him"; but since I have learned to read, since I have received the benefit of an education— without which, with all its life-light and beauty, this world would seem very dark—I have learned more of Him, and I have learned to worship Him in spirit and truth—the only true worship, for He is a Spirit, and understands the language of the heart, though the lips move not.

When I was nearly twelve years of age, I was sent to a common school. I tried hard to learn, but it was a hard, tedious process, no one being qualified to instruct the dumb, and I gave it up in despair, feeling, oh! how bitterly, that I was not like the rest, and could never hope to acquire as much knowledge.

My uncle wished to take me to the Deaf and Dumb Asylum in New York; but...