And one day John stood on the mountain with his friends and looked over the glowing country, all his—wealth uncounted. All his! Worth an entire county of Vermont, so his friends told him.
“You should be a happy man,” they said, “with all that wealth and power taken from the sand. A happy man—what more can you ask?”
“I know it,” said John. “I know it—and yet, in spite of it all, right face to face with all this wealth, I’d give the whole darned country for just one week in that Vermont pasture in June!”
And so, unmolested in my world of silence, free from chatter and small talk, able to concentrate my mind on strong books, I look across to the idle gossipers and know just how John Armstrong felt. I would give up all this restful calm if I could only hear my boy play his violin, if I could only hear little Rose when she comes to say good-night, if I could only hear that bird which they say is singing to her young in yonder tree.
Head Noises—The Quality Probably Depends on the Memory of Sounds Heard in Youth—The Sea and the Church Bells—“Voices” and Subjective Audition—Insanity and the Unseen—The Rich Dream-Life of the Deaf.
Deafness is not even complete silence, for we must frequently listen to head noises, which vary from gentle whispering to wild roars or hideous bellowing. There is little other physical discomfort usually, though some exceptional cases are associated with headache or neuralgia. There is, however, an annoying pressure upon the ears, which is greatly increased by excitement, depression or extreme fatigue. Unseen hands appear to be pressing in at either side of the head. The actual noises are peculiar to the individual in both quantity and quality; there are cases of the “boiler-maker’s disease,” where the head is filled with a hammering which keeps time with the pulse. I have known people to be amazed at the “uncontrolled fury” of the deaf when their anger is fully aroused—perhaps by something which seems trivial enough. They do not realize how a sudden quickening of the heart action may start a great army of furies to shouting and smashing in the deaf man’s brain!
Again, the roaring and the pounding will start without warning, and then as suddenly fade to a dim murmur. It appears to diminish when the victim can concentrate his mind upon some cheerful subject, so I take it to be more of a mental or nervous disorder—not essentially physical. Many times I have observed that these noises become more violent and malignant whenever the mind is led into melancholy channels. They appear to be modified and softened in dreams, so I am thankful that I have been able to train myself into the ability to lie down and sleep when the clamor becomes unendurable. I meet people who pride themselves on their ability to go without sleep, and I shudder to think of their fate should they ever be marooned in the silence, since they appear to regard extra hours of sleep as a form of gross negligence at least! These night-owls tell me that they are the “pep” of society—its greatest need. I am not so sure of their mission. As I see it, the world has already too much “pep” for its own good. We need more “salt.”