The World As I Have Found It: Sequel to Incidents in the Life of a Blind Girl

In Short

This memoir is a reflective, episodic account of a blind woman’s journey across the United States and Canada, written as a sequel to her earlier life story. Through her travels to sell her books and beadwork, the author captures the vast, often contradictory spirit of a nation in transition. She documents encounters with strangers, historical sites, and the varied characters she meets, all while grappling with the societal limitations placed upon the blind. It remains a poignant record of nineteenth-century life, preserved for its rare, first-hand perspective on disability and human connection.

The Story

The narrative begins with the author’s resolve to continue her life as an independent traveler. She describes herself as a woman who, once shy and shrinking, has matured into a trusting individual who accepts the "law of compensation"—finding that for every hardship, a kindness appears. Her journey takes her from Washington through the rolling countryside of Virginia, where she experiences the communal warmth of a Quaker meeting, to the "Blue Grass Country" of Kentucky. In Lexington, she finds an unexpected ally in a hotel proprietor who, through sheer hospitality, facilitates the sale of her books and ensures she is treated with courtly respect.

As she moves through the country, her experiences range from the intellectually stimulating to the physically harrowing. In Plymouth, Massachusetts, she is granted the rare privilege of touching historical relics, allowing her to "see" the past through her sense of touch. In Canada, she overcomes a deep-seated distrust of surgeons to form a profound, almost fated friendship with the mother of a prominent oculist. These connections, built on empathy and shared loss, form the backbone of her narrative.

The arc of the book is defined by this constant motion. She travels via stagecoach and steamship, facing the environmental dangers of the frontier—such as near-accidents on icy mountain passes—and the social volatility of different regions. In Utah, she witnesses the orderly life of a community that puzzles her but treats her with grace. Throughout, she is accompanied by Hattie, a loyal companion who acts as her "eyes and hands," bridging the gap between her inner world and the external environment.

The narrative eventually circles back to the author’s domestic life. She returns to a home devastated by fire, only to find the stability of marriage and the joy of raising children. This domestic peace, however, is tempered by the profound, aching grief of not being able to see her children’s faces. The book concludes with a series of reflections on the nature of the blind experience. She rejects the notion that the blind must be passive or dependent, arguing instead for a life of vigorous, self-directed purpose. The memoir ends not with a sense of finality, but with a prayer for the "light of eternity," where she hopes to finally behold the faces of those she loves, resolving the tension between her daily reality and her deepest, spiritual longings.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins The author sets out from Washington, determined to make her own way in the world. She finds immediate comfort in the hospitality of new acquaintances who treat her not as an object of pity, but as a welcome guest.

A circuit of kindness Across Kentucky and the Northeast, the author navigates through the kindness of strangers. She discovers that business and personal connection often intertwine, as local leaders and ordinary citizens help her circulate her work and provide for her needs.

Historical immersion In Massachusetts, she visits significant sites like Plymouth Rock. She describes the thrill of tactile research, bringing history into focus through her fingertips, grounded by the "surging sea" that serves as a backdrop to her reverie.

Crossing into the frontier The journey extends to the rugged landscapes of the American West. Here, the author faces physical peril on treacherous roads and observes the unique cultural customs of the territories, maintaining her faith despite the isolation.

The domestic harbor After years of travel, the narrative settles into the realities of home. She balances the satisfaction of her new life with her husband and children against the lingering, painful awareness of her visual limitations.

A closing plea The final sections serve as a manifesto for the blind. She challenges society’s dismissive attitudes toward those with disabilities and issues a call for self-reliance, education, and the inherent dignity of every human life.

The People

The author, Mary L. Day, serves as the steady, observant center of the book. She wants to be seen as a person of agency rather than a "blind girl" to be pitied. Her primary obstacle is the social and physical barrier of her blindness, yet she overcomes this through a sharp, analytical mind and an indomitable will to find "verdant spots" of human connection in a harsh world.

Hattie, her companion, is the silent, essential partner. She wants to support the author's independence and, in doing so, becomes an extension of the author's senses. She provides the physical link to the world, allowing the author to navigate, work, and furnish a home.

The various strangers—the hotel proprietor in Lexington, the sympathetic mother in Toronto, and the "liberal" bachelor in Utah—represent the unpredictability of human nature. They stand in the way of the author's isolation, breaking through her defenses with unsolicited generosity. By the end, they leave her with a "thrill of loving gratitude" that reshapes her view of the world.

In Its Own Voice

"My nature, in its first struggle with the world, shrank, like Mimosa, from every human touch; but the kind words of love and gentle acts of kindness already received transformed and ripened within me a more trusting and hopeful character."

(Reflecting on her personal growth during her early travels.)

"It is no more necessary for a blind child, with proper instruction and careful training, to become awkward and ungainly, than for one in full possession of all the senses, the drawback of blindness simply demanding a little more patience and perseverance."

(The author’s argument regarding the potential for self-reliance among the blind.)

"A feeling sometimes comes over me akin, I fancy, to the impotent rage of a caged lion, who vainly tries to break his prison bars and gain his liberty."

(A raw admission of the emotional toll taken by her inability to see her own children.)

What It's Really About

The book explores the tension between individual autonomy and the necessity of communal support. It is an argument against the Victorian-era tendency to view the blind as either burdens or objects of inspiration, asserting instead that they are active participants in society. The author challenges the reader to consider the "laws of mind" and the "operations of a human soul" under extreme constraints. At its core, the work is a meditation on the "law of compensation"—the belief that the world is a series of trade-offs where light and dark, sight and sound, and grief and grace are inextricably linked. It questions how one creates a meaningful life when the primary sensory experience is denied, and concludes that the answer lies in connection and spiritual faith.

Why Read It Today

Readers who appreciate 19th-century travelogues and personal memoirs will find this book particularly rewarding. It reads with the intimacy of a diary, offering a rare, authentic look at the American landscape through the perspective of someone who navigates it entirely by touch, sound, and intuition. The prose is often poetic, reflecting the author’s deep engagement with the literature and religious sentiments of her time.

However, the modern reader should be prepared for the author’s period-specific attitudes and the occasional, jarring intrusions of 19th-century social prejudices, such as her blunt encounter with a woman who held cruel views about the genetic inheritance of blindness. The length and the episodic, sometimes disjointed nature of the travel sections can be challenging, but they accurately reflect the grueling, incremental pace of nineteenth-century transit. What stays with you is not just the history of the places she visits, but the author’s voice—unapologetic, occasionally wounded, yet persistently hopeful. It is an honest document of a life lived against the odds, providing a quiet, enduring lesson in the "strength of character and vigor of purpose" required to transform a life of perceived limitation into one of profound personal meaning.