'I've been a little too sudden in telling you the worst, haven't I ?' says the old gentleman kindly; 'but you must be taught how to make up your mind to meet the full extent of this misfortune for the sake of the child, whose future comfort and happiness depend greatly on you.' And then he bid me keep up her reading and writing, and force her to use her voice as much as I could, by every means in my power.

He told me I should find her grow more and more unwilling to speak every day, just for the shocking reason that she couldn't hear a single word she said, or a single tone of her own voice.
He warned me that she was already losing the wish and the want to speak; and that it would very soon be little short of absolute pain to her to be made to say even a few words; but he begged and prayed me not to let my good nature get the better of my prudence on that account, and not to humor her, however I might feel tempted to do so--for if I did, she would be dumb as well as deaf most certainly.

He told me my own common sense would show me the reason why; but I suppose I was too distressed or too stupid to understand things as I ought.

He had to explain it to me in so many words, that if she wasn't constantly exercised in speaking, she would lose her power of speech altogether, for want of practice--just the same as if she'd been born dumb.

'So, once again,' says he, 'mind you make her use her voice.