beauties; THE BLIND  
■ BEAUTIES 
ANT) 
ACHIEVEMENTS 
OF 
THE BLIND. 
BY WM. ARTMAN AND L. V. HALL 
"E'en he who, sightless, wants his visual ray 
May by his touch alone award the day." 
■ROCHESTER, N. Y. 
PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHORS 
1 869. Entered according to Act of Congress. 
BY WM, ARTMAN AND L. V. HALL, 
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the Northern District of New Yorfc 
1. R. ANDREWS, BOOK AND JOB PRINTER, ROCHESTER, N. t. the luMir, 
EKftose Start 
fm at gmaaaftifi <#H, 
Volume 
IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED. CONTENTS. 
. PAO« 
Introduction, ..... 9 
Memoirs of Eminent blind Authors, . . . 15 
Homer, ....... 17 
Ossian, . . . . . . 29 
Milton, ....... 43 
Rev. Richard Lucas, D. D., . . . . 52 
T. Carolan, . . . . . . .63 
Thomas Blacklock, D. D., . . . . 70 
Huber, -. . . . . . .84 
Holman, ....... 102 
Wilson, . . . . . . .115 
Beauties from a Blind Man's Offering, . . . 128 
Mrs. S. H. DeKroyft, .... 142 
Miss Frances Brown, .... 152 
Miss Frances Jane Crosby, ..... 168 
Miss Cynthia Bullock, . . . . . 180 
Miss Daphne S. Giles, . . .. . .192 
Miss Alice Holmes, . . . . . 207 
Achievements of the Blind in the Learned Professions: 
Section I., Progress in the Sciences, . . . 217 
" II. Divines, Lawyers and Physicians, . 234 
Achievements of the Blind in the Industrial Pursuits: 
Section I. Mechanics, .... 249 
" II. Miscellaneous Occupations, . . . 261 
Achievements of the Blind in Poetry and Music : 
Section I. Some explanation of the method by which the 
Born Blind gain a knowledge of the extension, magni- 
tude and appearance of distant objects, . . 280 
Section II. Blind Musicians, . . 299 PAGE. 
Autobiographical sketch of Lemuel Rockwell, . . 310 
Collected Poems, by L. V. Hall, and other blind Authors: 
Reminiscences of Uncle Toby, • . . 328 
Teresa, or the Peasant Mother, . . . 337 
View of the Mind released from Matter, . . 339 
Thoughts on Creation, . . . . 340 
Love's Chain, ..... 342 
Twilight Shadows, ..... 343 
A Fable, ...... 344 
A Fragment, ...... 350 
Reflections in Youth, .... 350 
The'Voyage of Life-A Song, . . . 351 
Lines written on the first of April, . . 352 
A Legend, . . . . ' • • 353 
The Harper, .... 355 
Autumn, . ..... 358 
The Dying Sister, . . . ' • 359 
The Forest Tree, . . . . .360 
The Voice of the Sea, . . . 362 
Thoughts on Niagara, ..... 363 
The Voice of the Falling Leaves, . . . 365 
Blacklock's Picture of himself, . . . 367 
Epitaph on a favorite Lap-dog, . . . 369 
The Young, ...... 369 
The God of the World, . . . . 371 
The Eclipse, . . . . . .373 
Autumn, . . . . . . 374 
Farewell to the Flowers, .... 375 
The Last of the Jagellons, . . . 377 
The Spectre of the Hearth, . . . . 380 
The Lonely Mother, . . . . 381 
The Friend of our Darker Days, . . . 383 
We are growing Old, .... 384 
Songs of our Land, ..... 386 
CONTENTS. INTRODUCTION. 
We will not weary the reader's patience with an elaborate 
preliminary, nor with apologies for offering the present work 
to the public. We have been induced to enter the arena of 
bookmakers, by a desire to disseminate a more correct and ex 
tended knowledge of blindness, and its effects upon mental and 
physical development, than the reading public has hitherto pos- 
sessed. In this way we hope to remove some of the most for- 
midable obstacles that hedge up the way to usefulness and 
independence, for all who axe placed in this condition; a con- 
dition to which, by the vicissitudes of life, every person is ex 
posed, and in whose dark and inauspicious night more than 
five hundred thousand of our race are at present enshrouded 
In almost every state of our Union, as well as in those of Eu 
rope, Charity, with her angelic hand, has raised up, within the 
present century, institutions dedicated to the sacred purpose of 
giving the light of science, and a knowledge of some of the 
useful arts, to those who behold not the beautiful earth and the 
serene sky. But sad experience has taught us, that until soci 
ety in general better understands and appreciates the abilities 10 
INTRODUCTION. 
of the blind, all the knowledge and skill we can acquire at these 
establishments, are not available as means of self-support, but 
tend only to awaken a keener sense of our privation and de- 
pendence. To illustrate: A young man graduates at one of 
our institutions for the blind, after receiving a thorough course 
of instruction in the theoretical and practical sciences. Elated 
with the hope of henceforth being able to earn for himself a 
respectable livelihood, as a teacher of music or of some other 
science, he hears of a vacant situation, and he makes the ne- 
cessary application, but is informed that, as he cannot see, he 
cannot, of course, discharge the requisite duties. The next time 
an opportunity offers he determines to go in person, say a hun- 
dred miles, and in winter, too, to show that he is qualified. If 
a knowledge of music is required, he performs with proficiency ; 
if of literature, philosophy or mathematics, he is ready and 
clear, and proves himself competent to the discharge of all the 
duties of the employment which he seeks. But the idea that 
one who can see is more serviceable than one who cannot, still 
erects an impenetrable wall between him and success. And 
thus the prejudice which his condition creates, opposes him on 
every side. 
Without hesitation we say, that all the most painful disad- 
vantages with which we have been obliged to contend under 
the absence of sight, have arisen entirely from ignorance, on 
the part of community, of our capabilities and resources. And 
why all this incredulity and want of confidence ? Does not his- 
tory introduce us to scores of individuals, who have triumphed 
over all the difficulties of blindness, and have become the most INTRODUCTION. 
11 
illustrious performers and instructors of their age ? Reader 
peruse our work with candor, then answer. 
It is not surprising that under such formidable opposition and 
depreciating influences, the blind themselves have, generally 
speaking, lost sight of the examples which their illustrious pre 
decessors set before them, and have adopted the degrading sen 
timent of-" can't do anything." Having lost all confidence in 
themselves, they beg without shame or compunction of con 
science, and advert only to their sightless eyes as an excuse for 
choosing this disgraceful method of protracting life, when we 
need not the sagacity of a philosopher to discover that, in ninety- 
nine hundredths of these cases, their dependence might be more 
justly attributed to a want of industry and an enterprising 
spirit, and perhaps a little kindly encouragement on the part of 
community. Notwithstanding the magnanimous efforts that 
have been made to elevate the social, moral and intellectual 
condition of this class, we find an appeal to sympathy painfully 
prevalent in almost all their transactions with society, 
We need but turn to the Prefaces of most of the literary 
productions of the blind, to discover how much they have coun- 
tenanced the ignorance and prejudice so prevalent among the 
public, for the sake of obtaining sympathy where they despaired 
of inspiring confidence, though eminently deserving. For ex- 
ample, we quote the following : " Any one familiar with the 
process of composing, and particularly of writing verses, will 
understand how great the advantages of being able to commit 
to paper, for preservation or correction, the passages inter- 
rupted from day to day, and how immense the labor of bear 12 
INTRODUCTION. 
iiig them, in fragments or in whole, in the memory, through 
all delays and interruptions. Such thoughts disarm our criti 
cism, where seeming haste has marred the rhythm or measure 
of a line, or left some link of fancy loose." 
Such remarks are as erroneous as they are depreciating 
Had not Homer, Ossian, Milton, Blacklock, and scores of others, 
composed and sung their immortal verses while their vision 
was muffled, deep and dark as the drapery of night, we might 
ne constrained to use metaphysical arguments to expose the 
inconsistency and vagueness of such methods to obtain favor, 
and ward off criticism. But they seem now uncalled for. 
Those who hew and carve poetry, as a toy-maker whittles out 
his articles, may find a supply of stationery a sine qua non. But 
a true poetic spirit or genius seems never to have depended 
upon such agents. We utterly abominate and detest every 
remark or insinuation that tends to hold up in the light of sym- 
pathy the literary efforts of a class, who have in every age wor 
the fairest laurels, and enriched the commonwealth of letters 
it has been our object in the present work, to point out to tht 
blind, and the public in general, the achieving abilities of oui 
order. 
Reason as well as experience proclaims to us, in tones un 
mistakable, that until the efforts of the blind are weighed in the 
balance of merit, it is impossible for us to succeed in any -un- 
dertaking. Sympathy, like the atmosphere, surrounds us on 
every side, but like this, it is too light to sustain life. To ack- 
nowledge that our present work may have faults and imperfec- 
tions. is only to admit that it has been produced by human INTRODUCTION. 
13 
agency. But we certainly cannot ask to have them excused or 
loved in consequence of our peculiar condition. No : attribute 
them to our ignorance, carelessness or stupidity, but we pray 
thee, reader or critic, attribute them not toTlindness, for this 
must deem rather an advantage than an inconvenience in Uv 
art of composition. 
Our subject is one of which so many false notions have been 
entertained and disseminated by speculative writers, that wo 
have deemed it expedient to give the facts we wish to illustrate 
in connection with the lives of some of the most distinguished 
of our class, as we could in such connections best guard against 
being misunderstood. The characters we have chosen are from 
almost every age, country, occupation and class of society; so 
that, though we have dealt somewhat largely in biography, we 
hope that the facts, trials and triumphs presented may still pro- 
duce an agreeable variety. The questions so frequently aske 
with touching pathos, by those who lose their sight in mature 
life,-" Is there benevolence in this world? Must charity sup- 
ply my wants ? Will there be always some hand to lead me ? 
Have the blind ever a home in any heart ? Does anything 
ever cheer them ? Are their lives always useless ? Is there 
anything they can do ? "-these interrogatories are, we think, 
-erein fully answered. To accomplish this work, we have 
spared no time, pains nor expense. All the information rel» 
tive to the sightless condition, that could be obtained from the 
records of our Institutions for this class, was, through the kind- 
ness of their Principals, placed at our command; and we have 
imported from Europe for this purpose, numerous valuable 14 
INTRODUCTION. 
works written by the blind, never before possessed by an 
American public. From these writings, as from many others 
of our class, we have made a sufficient number of extracts to 
put beyond question the literary taste and capacity of our 
order. 
It is frequently not uninteresting to the reader, to know some- 
thing of the author whose thoughts he is perusing. But upon 
ihe history of our lives we shall say but little. The principal 
scenes of life's drama in which we have acted, during our short 
peregrinations over the rugged face of old mother earth, are so 
much like those of our class in general, given in other connec 
tions, that we shall not here enter into detail. We will there- 
bre only say, for the satisfaction of the curious, that we were 
born in Western New York, somewhere within the vicinity of 
twenty-five years ago; that Artman lost his sight at the age 
of eighteen; that Hall's privation was congenital; that we 
were,both educated at the New York Institution for the Blind, 
and have for the last four or five years been endeavoring to 
force a subsistence from nature and society, in various, and of 
course honorable, occupations. 
If this, our first effort in a literary capacity, should find favor 
with the public, more from us may be heard hereafter. 
The Authors. 
♦ 
Dansville, grljiebtminfs of t|?e 
MEMOIRS OF EMINENT BLIND AUTHORS, 
WITH BEAUTIES FROM THEIR WRITINGS. 
That man must indeed be depraved, who does not 
discover in himself some reflection of a divine image, 
though sin may have blotted and mutilated its form. 
The whole field of science does not open up to the mind 
a more pleasing subject for contemplation, or one 
fraught with more intense interest, than the study of 
its own mysterious nature. What are the elements 
that enter into its composition ? Can it exist as distinct 
from matter, or is it merely the result of physical or- 
ganization, as sound is the result of vibration ? Is the 
brain only a system of organs, conspiring to produce 
thought, as melody is produced by musical instru- 
ments ? Flow did the mind come in possession of its 
own identity, or that inward consciousness of a sepa- 
rate existence as distinct from the laws of nature 
which silently govern matter? How does it put 
forth volition ? In what way do outward manifesta- 
tions awaken painful or pleasant emotions, and why 
should it possess that fearful power of perverting its 16 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
own affections, or destroying its own energies ? 
These are themes upon which every contemplative 
mind loves to dwell. Speculative philosophy is, 
however, not without its attendant evils; it may ri- 
pen into rank infidelity if not carefully guarded. In- 
vestigations of mental phenomena should be con- 
ducted with a prayerful heart. The relations which 
the creature sustains to its Creator, should be kept 
constantly in view, and no apparent discrepancy or 
incongruity, should be allowed to shake our faith in 
the wisdom and goodness of a Supreme Being. 
Next to an earnest and careful inquiry after God's 
revealed will to man, the study of man himself is 
paramount to all others. He who best knows him 
self, is best able to judge others. Yet, without re- 
vealed religion, it is impossible to determine what is 
laudable in ourselves, without studiously observing 
what traits of character are lovely or hateful in oth- 
ers. Hence it happens, that biography has been read 
and admired in all ages, and is found to be of such 
vital importance to the young. In the history of a 
great and good man, the youth finds a pattern by 
which he may mould his character. It is much easier 
to imitate good examples, than to act well from wise 
suggestions. It is less hazardous to follow closely in 
the footsteps of a virtuous and prudent man, whose 
path has led to honor and distinction, than to mark 
out for one's self a new course in life. 
Tread you my steps I 'T is mine to lead the race, 
The first in glory, and the first in place. AN ACCOUNT OF THE LIFE OF HOMER. 
So little is known of this truly great man, that all 
our most anxious inquiries concerning him, have been 
but meagerly rewarded. The vague conjectures of 
his numerous biographers, serve only to thicken the 
haze that has settled over his long-since faded path- 
way. 
So many fabulous accounts have been given of this 
prince of poets, by his early biographers, that some 
rather too skeptical, now deny even his existence. 
His wonderful poems, however, (the Iliad and Odys- 
sey,) stand as monuments of his true greatness. They 
are voices from the grave of the past, floating on the 
tide of time, breathing in poetic numbers the fire of 
youth and the frenzy of love. The most reliable 
sources of information concerning Homer are, per- 
haps-Bibliotheca Grseca, by Fabricus, Wood's Essay 
on the Genius and Writings of Homer, Cumberland's 
Observer, Lempriere's Classical Dictionary, Herodo- 
'us, Plutarch, and the Encyclopedia Britannica. 
Various opinions have been entertained respecting 
the period in which he flourished, the place of his 
birth, and even his true name. These have been 
subjects of heated controversies among the learned of 
all ages. 18 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
In the most important events of his life's history 
the most of his biographers agree; namely, that he 
became blind early in life, after which he completed 
the Iliad and composed the Odyssey ; was a wander- 
ing minstrel; that the age in which he lived was un- 
worthy of so great a genius; and that he lived and died 
in the most abject poverty. It is not the design of 
the present writers to hazard any conjectures of their 
own respecting the age in which he lived, or which 
of the seven illustrious cities - Smyrna, Colophon, 
Chios, Salamis, Rhodes, Argos, or Athenea, had the 
honor of giving birth to so great a prodigy ; nor will 
we here offer any comments upon his merits. Some 
suppose Homer to have flourished three hundred and 
forty years after the siege of Troy ; but according to 
Herodotus about one hundred and sixty-eight years, 
and six hundred and twenty-two years before the ex- 
pedition of Xerxes. 
The place.of his nativity is not certainly known 
But the most prevalent opinion among historians is, 
that he was born at Smyrna, nine hundred years be- 
fore the Christian era. His mother's name was Cry- 
theis, an orphan left to the care of one Cleonies, her 
father's friend, by whom she was seduced. This 
coming to the knowledge of her guardian, he was 
anxious to conceal it, and accordingly sent her to 
Smyrna. Crytheis being near her time, went one 
day to a festival which the inhabitants were celebra- 
ting on the banks of the river Melis, where she was 
delivered of the immortal Homer, whom she named HOMER. 
19 
Melesigenes. Crytheis was afterwards married to 
Phemius, a teacher of music and literature in Smyrna, 
who likewise adopted her son, and soon found in him 
marks of extraordinary genius. After the death of 
Phemius, Homer was left to the management of his 
father's school; but he was soon after induced to em- 
bark on a voyage with a person named Mentes. 
Having then commenced writing his Iliad, he was 
anxious to visit the places he should have occasion to 
mention ; and he accordingly traveled through all 
Greece, Asia Minor, and many other places. From 
Egypt he brought the names of all their gods, the 
chief ceremonies of their religion, and a more im- 
proved knowledge of the arts. 
He next sailed to Africa and Spain, and on his re- 
turn touched at Ithaca, where he was detained for 
some time with a disease of the eye, which ended ul- 
timately in total blindness. Here he was hospitably 
entertained by a friend of Mentes, named Mentor, a 
man of wealth, from whom he learned many things 
relating to Ulysses, which he afterward made use of 
in composing his Odyssey. 
Mentes, on his return to Ithaca, took Homer with 
him to Colophon; from thence he returned to Smyrna. 
Being now reduced to the most extreme want, and 
still cherishing the fond hope that something might 
yet be done to restore his sight, our poet removed to 
Coma. Here he was received with great joy, and 
his poems highly applauded. But when he proposed 
to immortalize their city by writing a poem in its 20 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
praise, on condition that he should be supported bv 
the public treasury by an annual income, he was tol 
there would be no end of maintaining the Homeroi 
or blind men. From this he received the name Ho 
mer. Finding his generous offer so ill deserved by the 
citizens of Cuma, he left that city, uttering this im- 
precation : " May no poets ever be born in Cuma to 
celebrate it by their poems." He afterward wandered 
for several years from place to place, as a minstrel, 
and finally settled at Chios, where he established a 
school of poetry, and composed his Odyssey. From 
this he realized a small profit, married, and had two 
daughters, one of whom died young; the other be- 
came the wife of a very dear friend at Bolyssus. 
Having now determined to visit Athens, he embarked 
in a vessel for that city, but was driven on the Island 
of Samos, where he spent the winter singing at the 
houses of the great, for a bare subsistence. On the 
opening of spring he again set sail for Athens; but, 
landing by the way at los, he fell sick, died, and was 
buried on the sea shore. 
""Narrow is thy dwelling now, 
Dark the place of thine abode 
Deep is the sleep of the dead, 
Low their pillow of rest. 
When shall it be morn in the grave ? 
To bid the slumberer awake." 
Ossian. 
According to some Grecian traditions, both the 
Iliad and Odyssey were written by Homer after his 
blindness. Longinus, an eminent Greek critic and 21 
HOMER. 
philosopher, compares the former to die mid-day, and 
the latter to the setting sun ; and observes, " that 
though the Iliad claims an uricontested superiority 
over the Odyssey; yet, in the latter, the same force, 
the same sublimity and elegance prevail, though di- 
vested of their most powerful fire ; and that it still 
preserves its original splendor and majesty, though 
deprived of its meridian heat." 
These two celebrated poems are so frequently met 
vith in this land of books, and so universally admired, 
that whatever we might here offer in praise of their 
author's wonderful inventive powers, the purity of 
his style and his godlike conceptions, would seem 
superfluous. He has been very justly called the 
father of Epic Poetry. So charmed was Alexander 
the Great with his compositions, that he commonly 
placed them, together with his sword, under his pil- 
low. The Iliad he carefully deposited in one of the 
most valuable caskets of Darius, in said he to 
uis courtiers, " that the most perfect production of the 
human mind, may be enclosed in the richest casket 
in the world." It is related of Alcibiades, that he 
once gave a rhetorician a sound box on the ear, for 
not having the writings of Homer in his school. The 
Battle of the Frogs and Mice, and several epigrams, 
have been ascribed to him ; but the most probable 
opinion is, that there are none of his writings now 
extant, except the Iliad and Odyssey. 
By many of the ancients, Homer was worshiped 
as a Divinity, and sacrifices were offered to bim. 22 
BEAUTIES OF THE BBijMjJ. 
But not until after his death did fame breathe aloud 
his praise. It has since been echoed through each 
succeeding age, by applauding millions. " Our au- 
thor's work," says Mr. Pope, "is a wild paradise, 
where, if we cannot see all the beauties so distinctly 
as in an ordered garden, it is only because the num- 
ber of them is infinitely greater. It is like a copious 
nursery, which contains the seeds and first produc- 
tions of every kind, out of which those who followed 
him have but selected some particular plants, each 
according to his fancy, to cultivate and beautify. If 
some things are too luxuriant, it is owing to the rich- 
ness of the soil; and if others are not arrived to per- 
fection or maturity, it is only because they are over- 
run and oppressed by those of a stronger nature." 
In speaking of the growing interest of the Iliad, and 
the poet's fancy, he says : " It is, however, remarka- 
ble that his fancy, which is everywhere vigorous, is 
not discovered immediately at the beginning of his 
poem in its fullest splendor: it grows in the progress, 
both on himself and others, and becomes on fire, like 
a chariot wheel, by its own rapidity. Exact disposi- 
tion, just thought, correct elocution, polished num- 
bers, may have been found in a thousand ; but this 
poetic fire, this c vivida vis animi,' in a very few." 
The inimitable writings of Homer, as translated by 
Pope, we have read with enthusiastic delight. How 
it is that the blind can derive any degree of satisfac- 
tion from descriptive poetry, has long been a subject 
of speculation and doubt. Nor can we reflect much 23 
light upon it. How k is that one who has never seen 
light and color, is able to form any conception of dis- 
tance, or extent beyond his reach, or of brilliant ob- 
jects, as the moon and stars, of the rainbow or the 
landscape, must remain, to the seeing, enigmatical. 
We can no more describe to you, fortunate reader, 
the light which our own fancy sheds around objects, 
by which our minds take cognizance of them, than 
you can describe to us the clear light of the sun, or 
how it pictures upon your mind the objects from 
which it is reflected. 
It may not be uninteresting to those of our readers 
who have followed us thus far, to give in this connec- 
tion, a brief description (however vague and imper- 
fect) of our own feelings on reading the wonderful 
productions of Homer. As our reader gives rapid 
and distinct utterance to each happily applied word, 
and as each complete sentence conveys to the mind 
its full import, every picture drawn by the immortal 
poet lies before us, glowing with its own poetic fire, 
and busy with life. Every active, moving and 
breathing image passes in quick succession before our 
view, and at their respective distances from each 
other. Entirely wrapped within ourselves., and ex- 
cluded from meaner objects without, we are borne 
unconsciously and irresistibly, on the wings of fancy, 
to the scenes so vividly described. Our reader is 
transported with us, and performs a conspicuous part 
in the drama. He is successively transformed in the 
HOMER. 24 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
several characters; and every word he articulates, 
grows with significance as the scene heightens. 
The writings of Homer must ever stand an inde- 
structible monument of his deathless fame : a sublime 
structure so well proportioned in all its parts, and so 
sacred to genius, that it is almost sacrilege to tear 
from it relics of artistic skill. 
FROM THE EIGHTH BOOK OF THE ILIAD. 
Jupiter assembles the gods, and commands them 
not to assist either army. Minerva, however, obtains 
his consent to aid the Greeks. He afterwards de- 
scends to Mount Ida, and balances the fate of the 
Greeks and Trojans. For force and dignity, this de- 
scription excels everything we have yet read. The 
most perfect creations of modern degenerate genius, 
are mere pigmies when compared with this giart - 
this twin-brother of perfection. 
Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn, 
Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn, 
When Jove convened the senate of the skies, 
Where high Olympus' cloudy tops arise. 
The sire of gods his awful silence broke, 
The heavens, attentive, trembled as he spoke : 
"Celestial states, immortal gods I give ear! 
Hear our decree, and reverence what ye hear! 
The fix'd decree, which not all heaven can move, 
Thou, Fate! fulfill it; and, ye powers, approve 
What god but enters yon forbidden field, 
Who yields assistance, or but wills to yield, HOMES. 
25 
back to the skies with shame he shall be driven, 
Gash'd with dishonest wounds, the scorn of heaven: 
Or far, oh 1 far, from steep Olympus thrown, 
Low in the dark Tartarean gulf shall groan, 
With burning chains fixed to the brazen floors. 
And lock'd by hell's inexorable doors; 
As deep beneath the infernal center hurl'd, 
As from that center to the ethereal world. 
Let him who tempts me dread those dire abodes , 
And know, the Almighty is the god of gods. 
League all your forces then, ye powers above, 
Join all, and try the omnipotence of Jove : 
Let down our golden, everlasting chain, 
Whose strong embrace holds heaven, and earth, and main 
Strive all, of mortal, and immortal birth, 
To drag, by this, the Thunderer down to earth 
Ye strive in vain 1 If I but stretch this hand, 
I heave the gods, the ocean, and the land; 
I fix the chain to great Olympus' height, 
And the vast world hangs trembling in my sight I 
For such I reign, unbounded and above; 
And such are men and gods compared to Jove." 
Th' Almighty spoke, nor durst the powers reply, 
A reverend horror silenced all the sky : 
Trembling they stood before their sovereign's look ; 
At length his best beloved, the power of wisdom spoke: 
" Oh, first and greatest I god by gods adored I 
We own thy might, our father and our lordl 
But, ah ! permit to pity human state ; 
If not to help, at least lament their fate. 
From fields forbidden we submiss refrain, 
With arms unaiding mourn our Argives slain; 
Yet grant my counsels still their breasts may move. 
Or all must perish in the wrath of Jove." 
The cloud-compelling god her suit approved, 
And smiled superior on his best beloved: 
Then called his coursers, and his chariot took ; 
The steadfast firmament beneath them shook" 26 
BEAUTIES OF THE BTWD. 
Rapt by th' ethereal steeds the chariot roll'd; 
Brass were their hoofs, their curling manes of gold 
Of heaven's undrossy gold the god's array, 
Refulgent, flash'd intolerable day. 
High on the throne he snines: his coursers fly 
Between th' extended earth and starry sky, 
But when to Ida's topmost height he came, 
(Fair nurse of fountains and of savage game,) 
Where, o'er her pointed summits proudly raised, 
His fane breathed odors, and his altars blazed: 
There from his radiant car the sacred sire 
Of gods and men released the steeds of fire ; 
Blue ambient mists th' immortal steeds embraced, 
High on the cloudy point his seat he placed ; 
Thence his broad eye the subject world surveys, 
The town, and tents, and navigable seas. 
Now had the Grecians snatch'd a short repast, 
And buckled on their shining arms with haste. 
Troy roused as soon; for on this dreadful day 
The fate of fathers, wives, and infants lay. 
The gates unfolding pour forth all their train ; 
Squadrons on squadrons cloud the dusky plain: 
Men, steeds, and chariots shake the trembling ground 
The tumult thickens, and the skies resound. 
And now with shouts the shocking armies closed. 
To lances, lances, shield' to shields opposed; 
Host against host with shadowy legions drew, 
The sounding darts in iron tempests flew ; 
Victors and vanquish'd join promiscuous cries, 
Triumphant shouts and dying groans arise : 
With streaming blood the slippery fields are dyed, 
And slaughtered heroes swell the dreadful tide. 
Long as the morning beams increasing bright, 
O'er heaven's clear azure spread the sacred light: 
Commutual death the fate of war confounds, 
Each adverse battle gored with equal wounas. 
But when the sun the height of heaven ascends, 
The sire of gods his golden scales suspends HOMER. 
27 
With equal hand : in these explored the fate 
Of Greece and Troy, and poised the mighty weight 
Press'd with its load, the Grecian balance lies 
Low sunk on earth, the Trojan strikes the skies. 
Then Jove from Ida's top his horror spreads; 
The clouds burst dreadful o'er the Grecian heads: 
Thick lightnings flash ; the muttering thunder rolls, 
Their strength he withers, and unmans their souls. 
Before his wrath the trembling hosts retire ; 
The gods in terror, and the skies on fire. 
In the eighth book of the Odyssey, Homer alludes 
„o his condition, if not to himself, in the person of 
Demodocus. The picture is by no means a sad one, 
nor is the immortal bard made to feel his blindness a 
disgrace, or to regret his loss of sight, by the neglect 
of his friends. The most distinguishing honors are 
paid him by the king and his courtiers. 
Be there Demodocus the bard of fame, 
Taught by the gods to please, when high he sings 
The vocal lay, responsive to the strings. 
In entertaining Ulysses, the royal guest of Alcinous, 
the blind bard is deemed indispensable : 
The herald now arrives, and guides along 
The sacred master of celestial song : 
Dear to the muse! who gave his days to flow 
With mighty blessings, mixed with mighty wo ; 
With clouds of darkness quench'd his visual ray, 
But gave him skill to raise the lofty lay. 
High on a radiant throne sublime in state, 
Encircled by huge multitudes, he sate : 
With silver shone the throne : his lyre well strung 
To rapturous sounds, at hand Pontinus hung: 
Before his seat a polish'd table shines, 
And a full goblet foams with generous wines, 28 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
His food a herald bore: and now they fed; 
And now the rage of craving hunger fled. 
Then fired by all the muse, aloud he sings 
The mighty deeds of demigods and kings. 
Again: 
The bard a herald guides: the gazing throng 
Pay low obeisance as he moves along : 
Beneath a sculptured arch he sits enthroned, 
Then peers encircling form an awful round. 
Then from the chine, Ulysses carves with ar* 
Delicious food, an honorary part: 
"This let the master of the lyre receive, 
A pledge of love! 't is all a wretch can give. 
Lives there a man beneath the spacious skies 
Who sacred honors to the bard denies? 
The muse the bard inspires, exalts his mind : 
The muse indulgent loves th' harmonious kind. 
The herald to his hand the charge conveys, 
Not fond of flattery, nor unpleased with praise. 
When now the rage of hunger was allay'd, 
Thus to the lyrist wise Ulysses said: 
"Oh, more than man I thy soul the muse inspire* 
Or Phoebus animates with all his fires : 
For who by Phoebus uninform'd, could know 
The woe of Greece, and sing so well the woe I 
Just to the tale, as present at the fray, 
Or taught the labors of the dreadful day : 
The song recalls past horrors to my eyes, 
And bids proud Ilion from her ashes rise. 
Once more harmonious strike the sounding string, 
The Epaen fabric framed by Pallas, sing: 
How stern Ulysses, furious to destroy, 
With latent heroes sack'd imperial Troy. 
If faithful thou record the tale of fame, 
The god himself inspires thy breast with flame ; 
And mine shall be the task henceforth to raise 
In every land thy monument of praise." OSSIAN, THE CELTIC BARD. 
It is to us a source of no small satisfaction, as 
it must be to every blind person who has a philan- 
thropic zeal for the honor and elevation of his or- 
der, to find so many characters laboring under the 
same privation, in every period of man's history, who 
have walked triumphantly the path of fame. Of all 
the antique literature that has withstood the ravages 
of time, and at the present day enriches the common- 
wealth of letters, there is none more justly claiming 
our admiration, than the poems of this illustrious 
Celtic bard. As the meteor shoots through blackest 
night, and pours its glaring light over torrents wild, 
rocky cliff, and ocean surge, so do ttie works of this, 
and the Grecian poet, shine forth with transcendent 
luster through all succeeding ages. 
But as the venerable Ossian flourished in an age 
when traditional songs supplied the place of written 
history, we can learn nothing of his long and event- 
ful life, save the few particulars we gather from his 
poems. So little do we know of him, that even the 
era of his life has long been a su bject of dispute. But 
from the incidents which the poet mentions, identical 
in Roman and other authentic histories, we think it 30 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
may be decided without doubt to have been in tne 
latter part of the third century. In this we agree 
with McPherson, the translator, and Rev. Dr. Blair, 
the reviewer, of these sublime poems. Ossian waa 
the last of a line of kings renowned in their time for 
magnanimity and heroism in war, and clemency and 
magnificence in peace, who held dominion over Mor- 
ven, a kingdom comprising that mountainous section 
of country lying along the north-west coast of Scot- 
land. Fingal, his father, is represented to us as a 
true hero; though terrible in battle, he displayed 
many of those ennobling graces found in civilized life. 
His ancestors, Trathal and Trenmor, are also por- 
trayed in song, possessing such manly virtues as 
make us forget that they lived in a period when hu- 
manity was disgraced at Rome, and heathen dark- 
ness, like the dusky curtains of night, spread over 
the earth. 
The following advice of Fingal to his grandson, 
Oscar, (son of Ossian,) concerning his conduct in 
peace and war, is an example of true generosity, wor- 
thy of the most refined age : " O Oscar, pride of 
youth. I saw the shining of the sword. I gloried 
in my race. Pursue the fame of our fathers; be thou 
what they have been, when Trenmor lived, the first 
of men, and Trathal, the father of heroes! They 
fought the battle in their youth. They are the song 
of bards. O Oscar! bend the strong in arm; but 
spare the feeble hand. Be thou a stream of many 
tides against the foes of thy people ; but like the gale OSSIAN. 
31 
that moves the grass, to those who ask thine aid. So 
Trenmor lived ; such Trathal was ; and such has Fin- 
gal been." 
While the fire of youth inspired the heroic heart 
of Fingal, his military aid was solicited by Cormac, 
king of Ireland, to quell the insurrection and usurpa- 
tion of Colculla, chief of Atha, where he fell in love 
with and took to wife Rosecanna, daughter of Cor- 
mac, who became the mother of our poet. If the 
long-established maxim is true, that the first striking 
event and impressions in one's existence, give the 
leading impulse to character, it was but natural that 
Ossian should become a great poet and musician. 
The wild, animating, and heroic songs of the thousand 
bards that crowded the halls of Selma, during the life 
and triumphant career of his father, were perhaps the 
first sounds that greeted his ear, and formed the lul- 
laby of his early years. It has been the well-founded 
opinion of our ablest modern literary persons, that an 
age of uncivilization, when the passions and feelings 
of men are in unrestrained exercise, is more favora- 
ble to poetry than one of nice refinement, when the 
intellect bows to the deity of arbitrary rules. So 
prevalent has this opinion become among the literati 
of our day, that we not unfrequently hear the period 
known in ancient history as " the dark ages," classi- 
cally termed the age of poetfy. 
The method of transmitting history and heroic fame 
to future times, through poems or traditional songs, 
which nearly all the nations of antiquity adopted be 32 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
fore the art of writing became prevalent, afforded a 
powerful incentive to the exaltation of poetic genius. 
A skillful bard, familiar with the history of heroes, 
and able to poetize with luster what was deemed no- 
ble and generous in character, was ever greeted with 
cordiality at the mansions of the great, and flattered 
at kingly courts. We are informed that the ancient 
Spartans were so prejudiced in favor of transmitting 
their laws and panegyrics in this way, that they never 
would allow them to be committed to writing. The 
Germans also preserved monuments of their antique 
history, and transmitted them orally to quite a mod- 
ern date, by couching into verse the elegies of their 
heroes and chief national transactions. 
But especially did poetic genius obtain great pop- 
ularity among the Celtic tribes. Living a roving and 
indolent life, their highest entertainment in peace, 
was to gather around the burning oak, or sit in the 
halls of their fathers, and listen to the praises and ex- 
ploits of their heroes, from the lips of bards ; and in 
war, these poets rehearsed the deeds of their ances- 
tors to inspire the chiefs with heroic fire. Their 
greatest incentive to noble deeds was to receive their 
fame ; that is, to become worthy of being celebrated 
in the songs of bards ; and to have their name on the 
four gray stones. To die unlamented by a bard, was 
deemed so great a misfortune as even to disturb «,ueir 
ghosts in another state. " They wander in thick 
mists beside the reedy lake ; but never shall they 
rise, without the song, to the dwelling of winds." ossixn. 
33 
Julius Csesar informs us, that this class of men 
comprised many of the first rank, possessing superior 
talents, highly respected in state, and was supported 
by public establishment. So thorough a knowledge 
of ancient historical poetry was requisite, before be 
ing initiated into this order, that, ■with many, a course 
of diligent study for a term of twenty years was re- 
quired.* In this way the Celtic bards transmitted, 
as a sacred charge, their poems through successive 
generations. Consequently, wre not unfrequently hear 
them termed, in ancient verse, the sons of future 
times. Th'pii' persons were held so inviolable, that 
they were ever secure against personal outrage from 
foes. " He feared to stretch his' sword to the bards, 
though his soul was dark." When .this institution 
had attained to its meridian excellence, and the cap 
ital of Morven was enriched and embellished, to a 
degree of magnificence before unknown among the 
nations of north-western Europe, the voice and harp 
of Ossian woke their echoes in the halls of Selma, 
the first among a thousand bards. The heroic splen- 
dor and peculiar institutions of Ossian's age, formed 
a conjunction of circumstances highly favorable 
towards developing a poetic spirit. " Ossian him- 
self," says Dr. Blair, " appears to have been endowed 
* Under an institution like this, it is not strange that the best po- 
ems produced and preserved of those times, were the compositions 
of blind bards. Their extraordinary concentrative and retentive 
powers, and natural fondness for poetic numbers, must have given 
them great superiority over their cotemporaries. 34 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
by nature with an exquisite sensibility of heart; prone 
to that tender melancholy which is so often an at- 
tendant on great genius, and susceptible equally of 
strong and of soft emotion." His first adventure of 
which we have any account, was his contest with the 
chiefs of Erin, for Ever-allin, the beautiful daughter 
of Branno, king of Ireland, in which he was triumph- 
ant, and Ever-allin became his wife, and mother of 
his only sou, Oscar, who was treacherously assassina- 
ted by Cairbar, a chief of Erin, and his young spouse 
Melvina was left in Cona, to mourn the fall of her 
beloved hero. She became the solace of Ossian in 
his age and blindness, and it is to her that many of 
his most beautiful poems are addressed. At what age 
or period of his life, or from what circumstances, 
Ossian lost his sight, we cannot definitely determine 
from his poems ; but it must have been at a consid- 
erably advanced age, for he sings of expeditions and 
battles in which he fought, when in the full vigor 
and strength of manhood, in company with his son 
Oscar. That these poems were written, however, af- 
ter he was blind, appears evident from the fact that 
he, in nearly all of them, adverts to and laments his 
sightless condition. Notwithstanding the almost uni- 
versal applause and admiration which these composi- 
tions have received from all lovers of true poetry, 
and their translation into almost every refined lan- 
guage in the civilized world, as Ossianic, every 
reader in the least acquainted with their history, 
must be aware that their authorship has been a sub- OSSIAN. 
35 
ject of long and earnest dispute since their first pub- 
lication. The idea that poems of so pure a style, 
abounding in such exquisite tenderness and sublim- 
ity, should have been produced in an age so rude in 
every other respect, and transmitted by oral tradition 
without corruption, through a period of nearly four- 
teen hundred years, has shocked the credulity of 
many intelligent and well-disposed persons. This 
has been looked upon by many literary characters, 
especially those of England, as so far out of the ordi- 
nary course of things, that they have by some been 
attributed to McPherson, who, it is maintained, wrote 
and ascribed them to an ancient bard, to avoid the 
criticism and envy of his cotemporary writers. 
Much light had been thrown upon this subject, 
from time to time, by the numerous methods institu- 
ted for this purpose, until Dr. Blair, in his critical 
dissertation concerning the poems of Ossian, so thor- 
oughly canvassed the subject, and by facts, deduc- 
tions, and arguments, proved them to be the genuine 
poems of Ossian, that there is scarcely room left for 
a doubt. There yet remains, however, unemployed, 
one argument with which, had it been at the com- 
mand of this clear-minded and profound writer, he 
would have dispelled all speculation on this subject, 
as flee the shadows of night before the morning sun. 
This argument is predicated upon the perfect deline- 
ations of feeling in which these poems abound, intui- 
tive in the bosom of every blind person. No less 
than twenty times does the author refer to this de- 36 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
privation, in a manner so striking, that every blind 
person acquainted with his own thoughts and emo 
tions, cannot fail to recognize them as kindred to 
those awakened in his own breast. Were these the 
only proofs in favor of their being the poems of Os- 
sian, his claim would be established firm as the pyr- 
amids of Egypt, defying all the armies of literary 
dabblers and cavilers that have ever questioned their 
authorship. We do not pretend to deny, that poems 
whose themes and imagery are drawn from the uni- 
versal field of nature, to which every author has ac- 
cess, may sometimes be imitated, with considera- 
ble exactness ; but these are the emotions and vibra 
tions of the soul's intensest struggles, and are as proof 
against forgery, as the voice of the earthquake. One 
of the writers of this article, having possessed the ad- 
vantages of sight, until at a considerable mature age, 
he can fully appreciate the difficulty under which he 
labors to make himself understood on this point, by 
those who have never felt the peculiar emotions 
awakened by a sense of blindness. There are pecu- 
liarities in all the descriptive writings of the blind, so 
striking, especially when portraying their own con- 
dition, or that of others under similar circumstances, 
that we find no difficulty whatever in tracing their 
identity. 
But that these marks of recognition are not so ap- 
parent to the seeing, is clearly manifest from the fol- 
xOwing remarks of Dr. Kitto, relative to Homer and 
his writings: "The fact that he was blind," says OSSIAN. 
37 
this celebrated author, " could not, we apprehend, be 
collected from his works; but we may accept with- 
out dispute the ancient and universal tradition of his 
being in that condition." With all due deference 
to the doctor's clear perception, we beg leave to af- 
firm, that while the account of Demodocus remains 
in the Odyssey, and the description of the Cyclopean 
giant, (whose huge eye Ulysses put out,) in the ninth 
book of that poem, this master-work will be claimed 
by the blind, though every tradition of its author 
should sink into oblivion. 
These remarks are alike applicable to Milton, Dr. 
Blacklock, Rev. Dr. Lucas, and others. So numer- 
ous and striking are the pictures which these authors 
have drawn of their own peculiar privations, that 
they form true mirrors in which every blind person 
may behold reflected his own condition. In the third 
book of " Paradise Lost," and in the dramatic poem, 
" Samson Agonistes," their inimitable author has left 
such glaring images of blindness, as must forever be- 
tray the privation under which they were conceived, 
though all incidents of his life were erased from the 
pages of history. 
How forcibly and pathetic do the following senti 
ments address themselves to our own hearts : 
Thus with the year 
Seasons return ; but not to me returns 
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, 
Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, 
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine • 38 
BEAUTIES 
OF THE BLIND. 
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark 
Surrounds me | * * * * 
So much the rather thou, celestial Light! 
Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 
Irradiate ; there plant eyes ; all mist from thence 
Purge and disperse ; that I may see and tell 
Of things invisible to mortal sight. 
Dr. Blacklock, also, in the following expressive 
lines, not only paints his own experience, but that of 
his entire class : 
Wide o'er my prospect rueful darkness breathes 
Her inauspicious vapor; in whose shade, 
Fear, grief, and anguish, natives of her reign, 
In social sadness gloomy vigils keep ; 
With them I walk, with them still doomed to share 
Eternal blackness, without hope of dawn. 
But among all the eminent poets of this order 
there is none who has more strikingly portrayed the 
emotions native to a sense of blindness, than the ven- 
erable Ossian. In almost every poem in this entire 
collection, he laments over his sightlessness, in strains 
so touching, as are not only indicative of condition, 
but prove to us that the emotions awakened by thia 
affliction have been the same in every age of the 
world and state of society. In the fourth book of 
Fingal, in a strain of sublimity that portrays the deep 
emotions of his soul, he thus sadly mourns over his 
deprivations: " Daughter of the land of snow, I 
was not so mournful and blind, I was not so dark and 
forlorn, when Ever-allin loved me ! " 
Again, in the same book of that poem, he thus ad- OSSIAN. 
39 
dresses Malvina : " But I am sad, forlorn, and blind : 
no more the companion of heroes! Give, lovely 
maid, to me thy tears." 
In Carthon, he beautifully speaks of feeling and 
hearing, the two senses on which every blind person 
most depends. " I feel the sun, O Malvina I leave 
me to my rest. Perhaps they may come to my 
dreams. I think I hear a feeble voice ! The beam 
of heaven delights to shine on the grave of Carthon. 
I feel it warm around." Amd again, in the fifth 
book of Fingal, lamenting fall of that hero : " I 
hear not thy distant voice on Cona. My eyes per- 
ceive thee not. Often forlorn and dark, I sit at. thy 
tomb, and feel it with my hands. When I think 1 
hear thy voice, it is but the passing blast. Fingal 
has long since fallen asleep, the ruler of the war ! " 
In the characters of Crothar, Lamor, and Barbardu- 
thal, who are represented blind, Ossian so perfectly 
delineates the gestures and feelings consequent upon 
such a state, as could be done by no author to whom 
these were not prompted by experience. In Croma, 
the poet, speaking of his interview with Crothar, and 
that hero, referring to the shield presented to him by 
Fingal, thus speaks : " Dost thou not behold it on 
the wall ? for Crothar's eyes have failed. Is thy 
strength like thy father's, Ossian ? let the aged .feel 
thine arm I I gave my arm to the king; he felt it 
with his aged hands." 
These quotations, in connection with what has been 
said in the foregoing, we deem sufficient to substan- 40 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
tiate the position we have taken relative to the au- 
thorship of the poems in question. But should any- 
one argue that passages like these could be pilfered 
from the writings of the blind, and so patched into the 
compositions of another as not to discover theft, we 
can only say, he betrays such an ignorance of the 
true spirit of poetry, that we fear no opposition from 
this source. While heroic themes, robed in nature's 
own beauty and majesty, can interest the intelligent 
reader, the poems of " Blind Ossian " will be read 
with undiminished interest, and wTe cannot close this 
article without offering a few extracts, that may not 
only serve to throw light upon their author's history, 
but recommend this collection to all lovers of true 
poetry. 
OSSIAN'S ADDRESS TO THE SUN. 
0 thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! 
Whence are thy beams, 0 Sun? thy everlasting light? Thou comest 
forth in thy awful beauty ; the stars hide themselves in the sky; 
the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave; but thou thy- 
self movest alone. Who can be a companion of thy course ? The 
oaks of the mountain fall; the mountains themselves decay with 
years ; the oeean shrinks and grows again ; - the moon herself is lost 
in heaven : but thou art forever the same, rejoicing in the bright- 
ness' of thy course. When the world is dark with tempests, when 
thunder rolls and lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from the 
clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in 
vain, for he beholds thy beams no more: whether thy yellow hair 
flows on the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the 
west. But thou art, perhaps, like me, for a season; thy years will OSSIAN. 
41 
have an end. Thou shalt sleep in thy clouds, careless ot the voice 
of the morning. Exult then, O Sun, in the strength of thy youth I 
Age is dark and unlovely; it is like the glimmering light of the 
moon, when it shines through broken clouds, and the mist is on the 
hills : the blast of the north is on the plain the traveler shrinks in 
the midst of his journey. 
FROM THE POET'S LAST SONG. 
Lead, son of Alpin, lead the aged to his woods. The winds begin 
,o rise. The dark wave of the lake resounds. Bends there not a 
tree from Mora with its branches bare ? It bends, son of Alpin, in 
the rustling blast. My harp hangs on a blasted branch ; the sound 
of its strings is mournful. Does the wind touch thee, 0 harp, or is 
it some passing ghost? It is the hand of Malvina! Bring me the 
harp, son of Alpin. Another song shall rise. My soul shall depart 
in the sound. My fathers shall hear it in their airy hall. Then- 
dim faces shall hang, with joy, from their clouds ; and their hands 
receive their son. The aged oak bends over the stream. It sighs 
with all its moss. The withered fern whistles near, and mixes, as 
it waves, with Ossian's hair. Strike the harp, and raise the song • 
be near, with all your wings, ye winds. Bear the mournful sound 
away to Fingal's airy hall. Bear it to Fingal's hall, that he may 
hear the voice of his son : the voice of him that praised the mighty! 
The blast of the north opens thy gates, 0 king ! I behold thee sit- 
ting on mist dimly gleaming in all thine arms. Thy form now is 
not the terror of the valiant. It is like a watery cloud, when we 
see the stars behind it with their weeping eyes. Thy shield is 
the aged moon : thy sword a vapor half kindled with fire. Dim 
and feeble is the chief who traveled in brightness before. But thy 
steps are on the winds of the desert. The storms are darkening in 
thy hand. Thou takest the sun in thy wrath, and hidest him in 
thy clouds. The sons of little men are afraid. A thousand show- 
ers descend. But when thou comest forth in thy mildness, the gale 
of the morning is near thy course. The sun laughs in his blue 
fields; the gray stream winds in its vale. The bushes shake theii 
green heads in the wind. The roes bound towards the desert 42 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
There is a murmur in the heath 1 the stormy winds abate ! I hear 
the voice of Fingal. Long has it been absent from mine ear! Come. 
Ossian, come away, he says. Fingal has received his fame. We 
passed away like flames that have shone for a season. Our depar- 
ture was in renown. Though the plains of our battles are dark 
and silent; our fame is in the four gray stones. The voice of Os- 
sian has been heard. The harp has been strung in Selma; come, 
Ossian, come away, he says, come, fly ■with thy fathers on clouds. 
I come, I come, thou king of men ! The life of Ossian fails. I be- 
gin to vanish on Cona. My steps are not seen in Selma. Beside 
the stone of Mora I shall fall asleep. The winds whistling in my 
gray hair shall not awaken me. Depart on thy wings, 0 wind, thou 
canst not disturb the rest of the bard. The night is long, but his 
eyes are heavy. Depart, thou rustling blast BEAUTIES FROM THE WRITINGS OF JOHN MILTON. 
" But Milton next, with high and haughty stalks, 
Unfettered in majestic numbers walks; 
No vulgar hero can his muse engage, 
Nor earth's wide scene confine his hallowed rage." 
There is much in the long and eventful life of this 
great and good man, worthy of detail, and eminently 
calculated to interest the general reader. But so 
many excellent memoirs of him have been given to 
the public, in connection with his works, from pens 
eloquent with praise, and glowing with fervent admi- 
ration of his genius, that we purpose, in this article, 
to confine ourselves mainly to that period of his life 
subsequent to the loss of his sight. He was born, it 
appears, at London, in 1608; greatly impaired his 
sight by hard study in youth; took the degree of 
A. M. at Christ College, in his twenty-fourth year; 
zealously embarked in the political and religious con- 
troversies of the times, and, while engaged in writing 
his defense of the English people, again overtasked 
his eyes, and brought on a gutta serena, which ended 
in the total extinction of his sight, in the forty-fourth 
year of his age. Of this melancholy result he was, 
however, forewarned by his physician, but, in *he 44 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
alternative of evils, preferred, it seems, the loss of 
sight to the dereliction of his duty. 
As clouds collect around them dark, floating vapors, 
and seem to convert into blackness the bright blue 
sky itself, so great afflictions accumulate sorrow, until 
every glad beam of hope and joy is shut out from the 
heart. Very much about this time, Milton was called 
to mourn the death of his wife, who left to his protec- 
tion three orphan daughters. He did not, however, 
long remain in this friendless situation, but shortly 
after married Catharine, daughter of Captain Wood- 
cock, of Hackney, who seems to have been the object 
of his fondest affection, but who died within a year 
after their marriage. 
This new accession of sorrow again brought back 
his helpless and forlorn condition, and no doubt cast 
a deeper gloom over his spirits than either of his for- 
mer afflictions had done. It forms the subject of that 
beautiful and melting sonnet to his deceased wife. 
This sonnet is found in Milton's collected poems, and 
possibly lives in the reader's memory, as one of its 
brightest and purest images of thought. But as it 
brings out some valuable ideas in relation to the 
dreams of the blind, and offers us the welcome op- 
portunity of drawing upon our own experience, we 
gladly give it room : 
Methought I saw my late espoused saint 
Brought to me, like Alcestis from the grave, 
Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, 
Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint. 
Mine as whom wash'd from spot of child-bed taint MILTON. 
45 
Purification in the old Law did save, 
And such, as yet once more I trust to have 
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint;- 
Came, vested all in white, pure as her mind: 
Her face was veil'd; yet to my fancied sight 
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined 
So clear; as in no face with more delight. 
But, 0, as to embrace me she inclined, 
I waked; she fled; and day brought back my night. 
The sudden transit of the blind from a day of dreams 
to a night of realities, could not have been more hap- 
pily or correctly described. Yet some coarse critics 
as ignorant of the true spirit of poetry as of the sensa- 
tions of disappointment, experienced by the blind 
on awakening to a world of darkness, have presumed 
to pronounce the last line of this sonnet a conceit, 
and even faulty in construction. It may be interest- 
ing to those who would sometimes gladly close their 
eyes, and even memory, from the busy and active 
scenes of life, but who welcome with joy the first 
glad ray of morning, to know that to those who lose 
their sight late in life, night alone can rest.ore a world 
of light and color, of bright eyes and happy familial 
faces, of woods, streams, flowers, and merry sunshine. 
But what is more strange, we are able to recognize, in 
dreams, persons with whom we may have formed an 
acquaintance subsequent to blindness: sometimes by 
that peculiar expression of countenance with which 
fancy may have invested them, but more commonly 
by the familiar sound of their voices. 
To those who have never seen light, (and hence are 46 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
ignorant of darkness,) the world of dreams and that 
of realities are the same, except that in the latter, 
fancy is controlled by will and reason, and the senses 
are awake to external impressions. In dreams, the 
imagination presents to our fancied touch, strange or 
familiar objects, bearing marks of recognition, with 
smooth and rough surfaces, differing in form and di- 
mension, and sometimes frightful scenes, such as build- 
ings on fire, assassins in pursuit of their victims, armies 
in deadly strife, the boisterous ocean, flying clouds, 
and, in short, every phenomenon of which it is possi- 
ble to gain a knowledge from description. 
Milton, finding himself a second time a widower, em- 
ployed Dr. Paget to aid him in making choice of a third 
consort, who was Elizabeth Minshul, of Cheshire. 
By the assistance of his three daughters, who, under 
his instruction, had become very serviceable, he was 
now able to prosecute his studies with nearly as much 
pleasure and profit, as when he depended upon his 
own resources for information. His two elder daugh- 
ters are said to have been able to pronounce the Latin, 
Greek, and Hebrew languages, and to read in their 
respective originals whatever authors he wished to 
consult, though they understood none but their mother 
tongue. But notwithstanding all these advantages, 
no one, perhaps, ever felt his loss of sight more deeply, 
or described it more pathetically, than Milton. In 
view of the ills that followed in its train, this afflic- 
tion was no doubt to him a source of bitter regret ■ 
hut to the world, it will ever be regarded as a bless- MILTON. 
47 
ing. For had not this night closed upon his political 
career, shut out from his view objects of sense, and 
left his great soul to concentrate its powers in sublime 
contemplation, and to find utterance only in glowing 
images of thought, " Paradise Lost," would never have 
been written. Not that darkness is likely to produce 
new mental phenomena, or favor a more extended re- 
search into physical sciences; but that the absence 
of sight does aid reflection, concentration, and the 
imagination, few will deny. 
Milton, it is true, like Homer, had collected much 
of his material of thought, before the loss of his sight. 
He had visited the classic grounds of Italy, and had 
seen nature robed in her brightest and richest attire. 
While a student of Christ's College, he composed many 
Latin poems, and is said to have been the first English- 
man who wrote Latin verse with classical elegance. 
His " Mask of Comus," " L 'Allegro," and " Pense- 
roso," bear the unmistakable impress of true genius; 
and would have been sufficient to render his name 
immortal, had he left no other monuments of his great- 
ness. But as stars fade at the approach of morning 
light, so these recede before the noonday splendor of 
" Paradise Lost; " an epic poem only inferior to the 
" Iliad," in force and heroic fire, and not in profound 
contemplation. The description of Satan's escape 
from his dungeon, and ascent through the realm of 
chaos, up to light, in the second book of this poem, 
is perhaps one of the loftiest conceptions that ever 48 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
sprang from the human intellect. And we are fullj 
persuaded, that, had not the author been surrounded 
by the hollow darkness which he here describesj and 
wholly shut in with self and thought, while ever- 
during night kept sentinel without, this scene could 
never have been rendered so complete. The view 
presented to Satan, sin and death, on the opening of 
the* infernal gates, set forth in the following, in point 
of sublimity is certainly without a parallel: 
Before their eyes in sudden view appear 
The secrets of the hoary deep; a dark 
Illimitable ocean, without bound, 
Without dimension, where length, breadth, and height, 
And time, and place, are lost; where eldest Night 
And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold 
Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise 
Of endless wars, and by confusion stand: 
For hot, cold, moist, and dry, four champions fierce, 
Strive here for mast'ry, and to battle bring 
Their embryon atoms; they around the flag 
Of each his faction, in their several clans, 
Light-arm'd or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift, or slow, 
Swarm populous, unnumber'd as the sands 
Of Barca or Gyrene's torrid soil, 
Levied to side with warring winds, and poise 
Their lighter wings. To whom these most adhere, 
He rules a moment; Chaos umpire sits, 
And by decision more embroils the fray, 
By which he reigns: next him, high arbiter, 
Chance governs all. Into this wild abyss, 
(The womb of nature, and perhaps her grave,) 
Of neither sea, nor shore, nor air, nor fire, 
But all these in their pregnant causes mix'd 
Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight, 
(Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain MILTON. 
49 
His dark materials to create more worlds;) 
Into this wild abyss the wary fiend 
Stood on the brink of hell, and look'd a whilt 
Pondering his voyage. 
w * 
After much difficulty this divine poem was licensed 
ror the press, and published first at London, in 1667. 
To show how little the age in which Milton lived was 
worthy of so great a genius, we need only mention 
that on the completion of this great work, the poet 
could sell the copy for no more than fifteen pounds, 
the payment of which depended upon the sale of three 
large editions; and his widow afterwards sold her 
claims for eight pounds. Three years after the pub- 
lication of " Paradise Lost," he published " Samson 
Agonistes," a tragedy in the purest style of the Greek 
Drama; and "Paradise Regained," the subject of 
which is said to have been suggested by the following 
circumstance : Elwood, a Quaker, who had read " Par- 
adise Lost," in manuscript, on returning it, put this 
quaint interrogation: " What hast thou to say to Par- 
adise Found ? " 
We have only farther to mention that, worn out 
by the gout, our poet paid the debt of nature in 1674, 
in his sixty-sixth year. 50 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
The following sublime and affecting production was 
but lately discovered among the remains of our great 
epic poet, and is published in the recent Oxford edi- 
tion of Milton's Works: 
I am old and blind! 
Men point at me as smitten by God's frown ; 
Afflicted and deserted of my kind; 
Yet I am not east down. 
I am weak, yet strong ; 
T murmur not that I no longer see; 
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong, 
Father supreme I to thee. 
0, merciful one ! 
When men are farthest then thou art most near; 
When friends pass by me, and my weakness shun. 
Thy chariot I hear. 
Thy glorious face 
Is leaning towards me; and its holy light 
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling place- 
And there is no more night. 
On my bended knee 
I recognize thy purpose clearly shown: 
My vision thou hast dimm'd, that I may see 
Thyself-Thyself alone. 
I have nought to fear; 
This darkness is the shadow of thy wing ; 
Beneath it I am almost sacred; here 
Can come no evil thing. 
0 I I seem to stand 
Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been, 
Wrapp'd in the radiance of thy sinless land, 
Which eye hath never seen. MILTON. 
51 
Visions come and go: 
Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng ; 
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow 
Of soft and holy song. 
Is it nothing now, 
When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes!- 
When airs from paradise refresh my brow 
The earth in darkness lies. 
In a purer clime 
My being fills with rapture-waves of thought 
Roll in upon my spirit-strains sublime 
Break over me unsought. 
Give me now my lyre! 
I feel the stirrings of a gift divine : 
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire 
Lit by no skill of mine. REV RICHARD LUCAS, D. D. 
Theke is no other period in the history of England 
that produced as many able polemic writers, as the 
seventeenth century. The enthusiasm and cruel per- 
secutions that attended the first outbreak of the re- 
formation in that country, had then much subsided, 
and both the great leading powers (Protestant and 
Papal) were made willing to consecrate their faith 
and creeds at the shrine of reason and revelation. 
This concession, so long sought for by the reformers, 
inspired and brought into the field many of the most 
learned and distinguished men of those spirit-stirring 
times. Their fervent discussions of holy writ, tem- 
pered with that moderation and zeal which an earn- 
est inquiry after the truth always inspires, resulted 
in the discovery and establishment of those vital doc- 
trines, in the propagation of which the Christian 
church has since been so eminently successful. In 
this arena of giant intellects, was spent the life of our 
author, a bright luminary, lighting up the path of the 
inquirer after truth, and by his profound learning 
vanquishing the advocates of error on every side. 
This eminent divine was of Welsh origin, the son 
of Mr. Richard Lucas, of Resteign, in Radnorshire, 
England, and was born in that county in the year REV. RICHARD LUCAS, D. D. 
53 
1648. He early evinced a strong desire for know- 
ledge, and after a thorough training in the common 
branches of science, he was sent to Oxford, and en- 
tered a student of Jesus College, in 1664. 
Having taken both his degrees in arts, he entered 
into holy orders about the year 1672, and was after- 
wards master of the free school at Abergavenny; but 
being much esteemed for his talents in the pulpit, he 
-was chosen vicar of St. Stephen's, Coleman-street, 
London, and lecturer of St. Olave, Southwark, in 
1683. His sight began to fail in his youth, but he 
lost it totally about this time. 
The privation of this important sense, in the full 
vigor of life and highest sphere of usefulness, might 
have been considered by some, (less noble,) a justifia- 
ble excuse for a retirement from the duties and re 
sponsibilities of public life. But he, true to that ex- 
cellency of soul that characterized his former career, 
made up in energy and perseverance what he lost in 
sight, and continued to devote himself to the public 
good with such well-directed zeal as must merit the 
highest respect of all succeeding generations. 
Early in life, at an age when most young men 
spend their time in trifling amusements, this cham- 
pion of the cross consecrated all his powers to the 
service of his divine Master, and was, therefore, 
meekly resigned to whatever privation or affliction a 
benign Providence might assign him. 
As a testimonial of his resignation we quote the 
following from the preface of the author's work, en- 54 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
titled " Enquiry after Happiness: " " It has pleased 
God, that in a few years I should finish the more 
pleasant and delightful part of life, if sense were to 
be the judge and standard of pleasure, being con- 
fined (I will not say condemned) to retirement and 
solitude. 
"In this state conversation has lost much of its 
former air and briskness; study, which is the only 
employment left me, is clogged with this weight and 
incumbrance, that all the assistance I can receive 
from without, must be conveyed by another's sense, 
not my own ; which, it may easily be believed, 
are instruments or organs as ill fitted and awk- 
wardly managed by me, as wooden legs and hands 
by the maimed. Should I ambitiously affect to have 
my name march in the train of those, although not 
all equally great ones, Homer, Appius, Aufidius, 
Didymus, Walkup, Pere Jean 1'Aveugle, &c., all of 
them eminent for their service and usefulness, not- 
withstanding their affliction of the same kind with 
mine, even this might seem almost a commendable 
'infirmity ; for the last thing a mind truly great and 
philosophical puts off, is the desire of glory. But 
this treatise owes neither its conception nor birth to 
this principle ; for, besides that I know my own in- 
sufficiency, I must confess I never had a soul great 
enough to be acted by the heroic heat which the love 
of fame and honor has kindled in some." 
Notwithstanding the inconvenience of this priva- 
tion, Dr. Lucas continued to discharge the duties of REV. RICHARD LUCAS, D. D. 
55 
his holy calling, with such zeal and ability as brought 
him to the notice and favor of some of the leading 
o 
men of his day. He took the degree of doctor of di- 
vinity, and was installed prebendary of Westminster, 
in 1696. He died, June, 1715, and was interred in 
Westminster Abbey. 
" So, peaceful rests, without a stone, a name, 
That once had titles, piety, and fame." 
"How loved, how honored once, avails thee not, 
To whom related, or by whom begot; 
A heap of dust alone remains of thee ; 
'Tie all thou art, and all the proud shall be I " 
Dr. Lucas wrote many valuable works, namely : 
" A Treatise on Practical Christianity ; " " The Mo- 
rality of the Gospel; " "A Guide to Heaven ; " "An 
Enquiry after Happiness; " " Christian Thoughts for 
every Day of the Week ; " " The Duty of Servants; " 
and " Sermons," in five volumes. He also made a 
Latin translation of the "Whole Duty of Man," which 
was published in 1680. 
Of Dr. Lucas, Mr. Orton has given the following 
from Dr. Doddridge's Mss.: " His style is very pe- 
culiar : sometimes exceedingly fine, nearly approach- 
ing to conversation ; sometimes grand and sublime; 
generally very expressive. His method not clear, 
but his thoughts excellent; many are taPen from at- 
tentive observation of life; he wrote as entirely de- 
voted to God, and superior to the world." His 
" Practical Christianity " is most valuable, and also 
his "Enquiry after Happiness," especially the second 56 
beauties of the blind. 
volume. Orton speaks of reading the latter work a 
sixth time. The pious Mr. Hervey, in speaking of 
his work, says : " May I be permitted to recommend 
as a treasure of inestimable value, Dr. Lucas' ' En- 
quiry after Happiness; ' that part, especially, which 
displays the method, and enumerates the advantages 
of improving life, or living much in a little time ; 
chapter iii, page 158 of the 6th edition. An author 
in whom the gentleman, the scholar, and the Chris- 
tian, are most happily united ; a performance which, 
in point of solid argument, unaffected piety, and a 
vein of thought amazingly fertile, has, .perhaps, no 
superior. Nor can I wish my reader a more refined 
pleasure, or a more substantial happiness, than that 
of having the sentiments of this entertaining and pa- 
th etic writer woven into the very texture of his 
1 art." The treatise on " Practical Christianity " is 
earnestly recommended, also, by Sir Richard Steele, 
in the Guardian, No. 43. To these great names we 
must add that of Rev. John Wesley, who warmly re- 
commends the "Treatise on Happiness" to his peo- 
ple, as onu of the most valuable books a Christian 
can read. 
What has been said in the foregoing sketch, re- 
specting the life and commendable characteristics of 
this great man, may have raised a wish in our read- 
ers to have a specimen of his writings. We there 
fore copy at length from his inimitable work. We 
do it the more cheerfully, from the conviction that 
none of the literary productions of this author, so em- REV. RICHARD LUCAS, D. D. 
57 
inent in his own country, have ever been before the 
American public. 
[From"Enquiry after Happiness," published in London, in 1806.] 
ADDRESS TO THE YOUNG. 
You are now in your bloom. What glorious fruit 
may you bring forth! what honor may you do 
God ! what service may you render your relations 
and your country! and what joys and blessings 
may you not heap on yourselves ! Time and tide 
seem to wait on you; even the providence and 
grace of God, with reverence be it said, seem to at- 
tend and court you. 
But, ah ! remember, they will not do so forever ; 
these smiles and invitations of heaven and nature 
will not last continually; your infidelity or ingrati- 
tude, your folly and sensuality, will soon blast and 
wither'all these fair hopes, turn all your pleasures 
into gall and wormwood, and all your blessed advan- 
tages into the instruments of your ruin, and aggrava- 
tions of it, too. Grace will soon retire, nature degen- 
erate, time grow old, the world despise you, the God 
of it frown upon you, and conscience, guilty con- 
science, will be either stupefied and benumbed, or 
fester and rage within you, and death will come, and 
then judgment; and how soon it will come, ah ! who 
knows ? Sudden and early deaths ought to convince 
j on on what uncertain ground you stand. The 58 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
scythe of death stays not always till the harvest be 
ripe, but promiscuously mows down the young and 
old. Ah! begin, begin, then, to live! seize upon 
pleasure and happiness while they stand courting 
and inviting you ; pursue virtue and glory immedi- 
ately, while the difficulties are fewer, your strengths 
and aids greater, your judgments being not yet cor- 
rupted by the maxims or rather the fancies of the 
world, nor your wills yet disabled and enslaved by a 
custom of sin. 
Ah! venture not to devote your youth to vanity 
and folly, on presumption of devoting your age to re- 
pentance and religion ; for if this were a rational and 
just design in itself, yet it is to you a very unsafe 
and doubtful one. For which way can you insure 
life, or on what ground can you confide on the mor- 
row ? " Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou 
knowest not what a day may bring forth." Prov. 
xxvii, 1. 
I know what opposition will be raised •against 
this kind of exhortation, and with what rude reflec- 
tion they will be treated. Come, say they, this is 
our spring, let us enjoy ourselves whilst we have 
time and vigor; religion looks too grave and formal 
for these years: we shall have time enough to be 
dull and melancholy. Come on, then ; let us enjoy 
ourselves as becomes our youth ; this is our portion, 
and our lot is this ; and whatever they who have 
now outlived themselves, whose blood is sour and 
spirits low, may gravely talk against these things, REV. RICHARD LUCAS, D. D. 
59 
they, too, when time was, admired what they now 
would have us despise as vanity, and committed 
themselves what they now condemn in us. 
In. answer to this, let us pass over the briskness 
and the flourish, and examine the sense and reason 
of this sort of talk. The substance of it may be re- 
duced to three heads : 
First. Youth is the season of pleasure, i. e. sin 
and folly. Inclination and opportunity conspire to 
invite you to it; therefore you indulge it. What a 
strange argument is this! Is there any period of our 
life, from our cradle almost to our coffin, I mean 
from the moment we arrive at the use of reason to 
our grave, wherein some sin or other is not in sea- 
son ? May not manhood defend ambition, and old 
age covetousness, by the same argument by which 
you do your sinful pleasures ? If inclination to a 
folly would justify our commission of it, in what 
part of life should we begin to be wise and virtuous? 
It will be hard to find the time wherein we shall 
nave no inclination to any sin or folly ; or rather, if 
this be so, who can be guilty ? The adulterer will 
impute his uncleanliness to the impetus of his lust; 
the murderer his bloodshed to the violence of his 
rage ; i. e. each of them their sins to the strength of 
their inclinations ; and if your argument be good 
they will be innocent. But do not deceive your- 
selves ; then is your obedience, as most acceptable to 
God, sq most indispensable in itself, when you lie 
under temptations to sin, and heaven is proposed as 60 
BkAUTTES of the blind. 
a reward, not of following, but conquering your 
inclinations. 
The second part of the objection is, that religion 
doth not look very graceful in young men. This I 
could never well understand. If you be so foolish 
as to think religion consists in sour faces, or an af- 
fected moroseness and sullenness, or in stupidity and 
melancholy, I must confess you have little reason to 
be fond of it; for this becomes no age, and much 
less the more verdant one. 
But if by religion you understand devotion toward 
God, reverence towards your parents and superiors, 
temperance and chastity in yourselves, and such like 
virtues, I must needs say, nothing can appear to me 
more great and lovely than religion in youth. What 
can better become those who possess the gifts of na- 
ture in their own perfection, than gratitude to the 
God of nature ? What can be a greater glory to the 
young, than obedience to parents, and reverence to 
their elders and superiors ? What does more pre- 
serve or better become strength, than sobriety and 
temperance ? What is a more charming or more 
lasting ornament to beauty, than modesty and chas- 
tity ? After all this, it is a vain thing to comfort 
yourselves with saying, that the grave and wise, 
when they had the same inclinations you now have, 
did as you do-indulge and gratify them ; for, first, 
this is not generally true ; and, secondly, the less they 
did it, the more were they honored and beloved ; but 
thirdly, if they did, it is certain that they have bit- KEV. RICHARD LUCAS, D. D. 
61 
terly condemned it and repented it. And is it not 
strangely absurd, that you should propose to your- 
selves nothing in the lives of the wise and virtuous 
but their frailties and errors, for your example ; that 
you should pitch upon that only for your imitation, 
which all the wise and good detest and bemoan, as 
their sin and shame, and think it their highest wis- 
dom to do so. 
To -conclude this address to the younger sort, un- 
less there be any who are possessed with a spirit of 
infidelity, against which I will not now enter the lists, 
all the pretences you can possibly form for your de- 
ferring to devote yourselves instantly to wisdom and 
religion, are founded in two suppositions, of which 
the one is false, and the other absurd. The false one 
is, that sin is a state of pleasure ; virtue of trouble 
and uneasiness ; the contrary of which is, I think, 
sufficiently demonstrated through this whole treatise ; 
and would you but be prevailed with to taste the 
pleasures of a sincere virtue, your experience would 
soon confute this fancy. What madness, then, is it 
to be afraid of becoming happy too soon ! Ah ! how 
differently are we affected under the maladies of the 
mind and of the body ! Did the lame or blind, the 
lepers, the lunatics, or demoniacs, ever entreat our 
Lord to defer their cure, and give them leave to en- 
joy their miseries, diseases, and devils, a little longer? 
The other supposition is absurd; which is, that 
you will repent hereafter. Must you then repent 
hereafter ? Must this be the fruit of all your sinful 62 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
pleasures, guilt and remorse, grief and fear, 
and agony of soul ? Do revelation and reason, death 
and judgment, do all your sober and retired thoughts 
preach you this one lesson, repentance1? And yet 
can you resolve to plunge yourselves in that filthi- 
ness which must be washed off with tears ? Can you 
resolve to indulge those cheating and deceitful lusts 
which will one day fill your soul with shame and 
sorrow, with distraction, horror, and amazement? 
Ah, infatuation ! ah, bewitchery! that ever a ra- 
tional creature should live in such an open defiance 
and hostility against his reason ! And yet, if repent- 
ance, after many years, and innumerable sins, would 
be more easy ; if your sins would be more easily con- 
quered, or more easily atoned ; this frenzy would not 
want some little color. But how contra; y is this to 
truth. THE LIFE OF T. CAROLAN, 
THE CELEBRATED IRISH MUSICIAN AND LYRICAL WRITER 
"Erin from her green throne surveys 
The progress of her tuneful son, 
Exulting as the minstrel plays, 
At the applause his harp has won. 
Then grieve not for the loss that shades 
Fair nature's landscape from your view; 
The genius that no gloom invades, 
She gave in recompense to you." 
Carol an was born in 1670, in the village of Nob- 
ber, in the county of Westmeath. lie is among the 
last of the Irish bards of any distinction. His father 
was a poor farmer, the humble proprietor of a few 
acres, which yielded him a scanty subsistence. Car- 
dan lost his sight at a very early age, by the small- 
pox. He soon evinced a fondness for music and po- 
etry, and received every encouragement from his 
friends that their limited means would allow. At 
twelve years of age he commenced a thorough course 
of musical study, under a proficient master, who in- 
structed him upon the harp ; but unfortunately for 
him, his remarkable genius was not coupled with that 
rigid application so requisite to success. Genius sel- 
dom makes diligence her companion : her perfect cre- 64 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
ations appear at her bidding, and if nature does not 
give them breath, she disowns her offspring. 
Carolan spent the most of his life as an itinerant 
musician, singing at the houses of the great, where 
he never failed to meet with a cordial welcome. He 
thought the tribute of a song due to every house in 
which he was entertained, and never failed to pay it, 
choosing for his subject either the head of the family, 
or some one of its loveliest members. He is said to 
have composed upward of four hundred pieces ; and 
contributed much towards correcting and enriching 
the style of national Irish music, by his productions. 
He alternately tried almost every style of music, the 
elegiac, the festive, the amorous, and the sacred ; and 
has so much excelled in each, that we scarcely know 
to which of them his genius was best adapted. 
Among the numerous instances in which he displayed 
a knowledge of harmony and purity of taste, not com- 
mon to the Irish at that period, the following is per- 
haps the most striking : 
. His fame as a musician having reached the ears 
of an eminent Italian music-master in Dublin, he de- 
vised a plan for ntting his abilities to a very severe 
test. He singled out an elegant piece of music in the 
Italian style ; but here and there he altered or muti- 
lated it, in such a manner that none but a real judge 
could detect the alterations. Carolan, quite unaware 
that it was intended as a trial of his skill, gave the 
deepest attention to the performer who played the 
piece, thus altered, in his presence. He then de- CABOLAN. 
65 
dared it to be an excellent piece of music; but, to 
the astonishment and satisfaction of the company, 
added humorously, 'but here and there it limps and 
stumbles.' He was then requested to rectify the er- 
rors, which he accordingly did. In this state the 
piece was sent back to Dublin ; and the Italian mas- 
ter no sooner saw the amendments, than he cordially 
pronounced Carolah to be a true musical genius. 
Aside from his superior musical abilities, he was a 
very fair poet, and has left coupled to his music 
many fine lyric poems. As music always tends to 
soften and refine the feelings, and to kindle in the 
soul deep and ardent passions, Carolan was by no 
means exempt from this rule. Being frequently de- 
pendent upon others for kind offices, and perhaps 
sometimes accused by them of ingratitude, he no 
doubt felt most keenly, at times, his forlorn and 
friendless condition. When he grew to manhood, 
there was a time when his harp could only reecho the 
impulses of love. About this time he became warmly 
attached to a young lady by the name of Bridget 
Cruise. But Bridget, it appears, did not unite her lot 
with his ; and he afterward loved and married Mary 
Maguire, of a good family, in the county of Ferma- 
nagh. After this event, he built him a neat little 
house, on a small farm near Mars-hill, where he 
lived, it is said, more merrily than wisely. 
An interesting anecdote is related of our blind poet 
and musician, in which it appears he was able to re- 
cognise a very dear friend, who had long been ab 66 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
sent, by the shape of her hand. Many years after 
his marriage, he went on a pilgrimage to St. Patrick's 
Purgatory, a cave in the island of Soughderg, Done- 
gal ; and on returning to the shore, met several pil- 
grims waiting the arrival of the boat that conveyed 
him. On assisting some of these into the boat, his 
hand unexpectedly met one which caused him to 
start, and he instantly exclaimed, " This is the hand 
of Bridget Cruise I " His sense of feeling had not de- 
ceived him. It was the hand of her he had once 
loved so passionately. It is by no means uncommon 
for the blind to recognise their friends by touching 
their hands; yet the narrator of this anecdote, (as 
though fearful the account might be thought fabu- 
lous and legendary in a few generations,) acids : " I 
had this anecdote from his own mouth, and in terms 
which gave me a strong impression of the emotion 
which he felt on meeting the object of his early 
affection." 
By many it is thought wonderful, that blind per- 
sons should be able to recognise their friends by the 
sound of their voices, or the peculiar form of their 
hands. To us, it appears no more strange, than that 
the seeing should recognise a friend by the counte- 
nance he is in the habit of wearing every day; to 
say nothing of the one he has in reserve for extra oc- 
casions. The reserve is only a counterfeit of the one 
nature gave him, though perhaps a little more highly 
carved and polished. If there are some faces more 
striking than others, there are some voices riiore at- CAROLAN. 
67 
ti active than others. When men habitually wear a 
face expressive of severity, constantly clouded with 
frowns, the voice is sure to indicate it. It is no more 
surprising that the blind should discover marks of re- 
cognition in the hand, or voice, than that the seeing 
should observe differences in figure and dress. Al- 
most any one can distinguish a friend from a stranger, 
even in the dark, by the sound of his voice; yet, be- 
cause the loss of sight compels one to resort to this 
method, it is made a matter of wonderment and sur 
prise, even among those who can do it themselves. 
At a period in Carolan's life when he most needed 
the attention of a kind friend, he was called to mourn 
the loss of an affectionate wife. After this sad even! 
Carolan lived but five years. While on a visit at the 
house of Mrs. McDermott, of Alderford, in the county 
of Roscommon, he died, in March, 1738, in the sixty 
eighth year of his age. 
A monody, composed by him, on the death of his 
wife, we subjoin: 
ON THE DEATH OF MARY MAGUIRE. 
Were mine the choice of intellectual fame, 
Of skillful song and eloquence divine, 
Painting's sweet power, philosophy's pure flame, 
And Homer's lyre and Ossian's harp were mine,- 
The splendid arts of Erin, Greece, and Rome, 
In Mary lost, would love? their wonted grace; 
All would I give to snatch her from the tomb, 
Again to fold her in my fond embrace! 68 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Desponding, sick, exhausted with my grief, 
Awhile the founts of sorrow cease to flow , 
In vain I rest, and sleep brings no relief; 
Cheerless, companionless, I wake to woe. 
Nor birth, nor beauty, shall again allure, 
Nor fortune win me to another bride ; 
Alone I'll wander, and alone endure, 
Till death restore me to my dear one's side. 
Once every thought and every scene was gay, 
Friends, mirth, and music, all my soul enjoyed; 
Now doom'd to mourn my last sad years away ; 
My life a solitude, my heart a void. 
Alas ! the change, to change again no more, 
For every comfort is with Mary fled; 
And ceaseless anguish shall her loss deplore, 
Till age and sorrow join me with the dead. 
Adieu 1 each gift of nature and of art, 
• That erst adorn'd me in life's earliest prime ; 
The cloudless temper and the social heart, 
The soul ethereal, and the flight sublime. 
Thy loss, my Mary, chas'd them from my breast! 
Thy sweetness cheers, thy judgment aids no more • 
The muse deserts a heart with grief oppress'd, 
And lost is every joy that charm'd before! 
A SONG. 
[The following lines were addressed to a young lady, written 
perhaps, while yet our poet's harp was rapturously tuned to th< 
sweet plaints of love :] 
To thee harmonious powers belong, 
That add to verse the charms of song, 
Soft melodies with numbers join, 
And make the poet half divine. CAROLAN. 
69 
As when the softly blushing rose, 
Close by some neighboring lily grows, 
Such is the glow thy cheeks diffuse, 
And such their bright and blended hues! 
The timid luster of thine eye 
With nature's purest tints can vie ; 
With the sweet blue-bell's azure gem, 
That droops upon the modest stem I 
The poets of lerni's plains . 
To thee devote their choicest strains ; 
And oft their harps for thee are strung, 
And oft thy matchless charms are sung. 
Since the fam'd fair of ancient days, 
Whom bards and worlds conspir'd to praisv, 
Not one like thee has since appear'd, 
Like thee to every heart endear'd. 
How blest the bard, 0 lovely maid! 
To find thee in thy charms arrayed; 
Thy pearly teeth, thy flowing hair, 
Thy neck beyond the cygnet fair. 
Even he, whose hapless eyes no ray 
Admit from beauty's cheering day; 
Yet though he cannot see the light, 
He feels it warm, and knows it bright 
In beauty, talents, taste refined, 
And all the graces of the mind, 
In all, unmatch'd thy charms remain, 
Nor meet a rival on the plain. THOMAS BLACKLOCK, D. D. 
So much has been said in praise of this excellent 
man by his numerous admirers, that a volume of the 
present size could not contain even their encomiums, 
much less a detailed account of his eventful life, to- 
gether with the selections we wish to make from his 
writings. We purpose, therefore, to give, in this con- 
nection, only a few of the most interesting particulars 
•of his life's history. 
Rev. Dr. Blacklock was born at Annan, Dumfrie- 
shire, Scotland, in 1721. His parents were of a highly 
respectable class, though in humble circumstances. 
His father was by trade a bricklayer. When but six 
months old, he was attacked by that most loathsome 
of all diseases, the small-pox, which entirely destroyed 
his sight. This misfortune, it was supposed, unfitted 
him for any of the mechanical pursuits, nor was it 
thought possible for him to attain any of the higher 
professions. His early education, however, was not 
entirely neglected. His father, to whom he so affec- 
tionately alludes in some of his poems, took great 
pleasure in reading for his sightless boy; at first such 
publications as were best calculated to amuse and in- THOMAS BLAUKLOCK, D. D. 
71 
struct him, and afterward such works as Allan Ramsay, 
Prior's Poems, and the Tattler, Spectator and Guar- 
dian. In this way, young Blacklock soon acquired a 
fondness for reading, and a love for poetry. 
Quite early in life, Milton, Spenser, Pope and Ad- 
dison were his favorite authors. At twelve years of 
age, he commenced writing verses in imitation of 
them. Some of these early productions, it is said, 
were not inferior to many of the premature composi- 
tions by schoolboys possessing the best advantages. 
At the early age of nineteen, his father was accident- 
ally killed by the falling of a malt-kiln. The loss 
of parents, at any period of one's life, is a trying af- 
fliction ; and it may well be supposed that the young 
poet felt his loss most deeply. The few hopes he had 
built upon his father's probable success in life, were 
suddenly destroyed. Thus deprived of the support 
on which his youth had leaned, and left in destitute 
circumstances, every bright prospect of future fame 
faded before him, leaving only clouds of despondency 
which, later in life, sometimes threw their dark shad- 
ows across his pathway. After this sad event, he 
lived about a year with his mother, and was consid- 
ered, among his personal friends, a young man of un- 
common ability. ' 
His remarkable talents and poetical genius soon 
attracted the notice of Dr. Stephenson, an eminent 
physician in Edinburgh, who came to Dumfries on a 
professional visit. In him, Blacklock found a warm 
friend and benefactor. This kind-hearted gentleman 72 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
placed him at a grammar school in the Scotch me. 
tropolis, and generously volunteered to defray the 
expenses of his education. Here he remained under 
the patronage of Dr. Stephenson, until 1745. He 
then returned to Dumfries, where he resided for some 
time with his brother-in-law, in whose house he was 
treated with kindness and affection. 
In 1746, he published a small collection of his po- 
ems, at Glasgow. Shortly after, he returned to Edin- 
burgh, and entered the University, where he pursued 
his studies for six years longer. He soon became 
master of Latin and Greek, and, it is said, could con- 
verse quite fluently in the French. 
In 1754, he published at Edinburgh a second edition 
of his poems, greatly improved and enlarged, to which 
was prefixed an account of his life. This publication 
attracted the notice of Mr. Spence, Professor of Poetry 
at Oxford, who was first to call the attention of the 
public to the true native genius and high intellectual 
attainments of this blind student, and to his original- 
ity, as a poet. Through the influence of the celebra- 
ted David Hume, a warm friend and admirer of 
Blacklock, a third edition of his poems was published 
in London, in 1756, under the superintendence of Mr. 
Spence, together with ah account of the author's life, 
and a very elaborate dissertation upon his character 
and superior merits. 
About this time, he published at Edinburgh a 
pamphlet on Universal Etymology, or the Analysis 
of a Sentence. THOMAS BLACKLOCK, D. D. 
73 
During his course of study at the University, ho 
acquired a knowledge of the various branches of phi 
losophy and theology, nor was polite literature neg 
lected by him. In 1757, he formed the design of 
establishing a school for the instruction of young men 
in oratory. But meeting with some discouragement 
from his friends, he abandoned the project, and com- 
menced a thorough course of theological study, with 
the intention of going into the church ; and was ac- 
cordingly licensed, in 1759, by the presbytery of 
Dumfries, to preach the gospel. In 1760, he pub- 
lished an able sermon, on the Right Improvement of 
Time. " The sentiments it contains," says Mr. Wil- 
son, '' are just and solid, and the advice is calculated 
to be useful "t all times, particularly in the the pros- 
pect of national danger or distress." In 1761, he 
published a lengthy discourse, on Faith, Hope, and 
Charity, in 8vo. . 
In 1762, he married Miss Sarah Johnston, of Dum- 
fries, a lady of highly respectable parentage. Her 
fine talents and generous nature, (personal charms 
most attractive to the blind,) combined with a sweet- 
ness of temper, and true devotion to the interests of 
her husband, made her a companion worthy of his 
love and confidence, and a star in the evening of his 
life, whose mild face was never hid among clouds of 
disappointment. Shortly after this event, he was 
ordained minister of the church at Kirkcudbright, cn 
the presentation of the Earl of Selkirk. But the peo- 
ple, on account of their prejudices toward one de- 74 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
prived of sight, refused to receive him as their spir 
itual guide. " Though undoubtedly blind enough 
themselves," says Mr. Bowen, " they did not like the 
Idea of having a blind clergyman." After a legal 
dispute of nearly two years, he was at last induced 
to compromise the matter, by resigning his situation 
and receiving a small annuity instead. 
A. very interesting anecdote is related of him, which 
shows his mental anxiety at this time, and deserves 
a place in Dr. Abercrombie's chapter on Somnambu- 
lism. It occurred at an inn in Kirkcudbright. " Dr. 
Blacklock, one day, harassed by the censures of the 
populace, whereby not only his reputation, but his 
very existence was endangered, and fatigued with 
mental exertion, fell asleep after dinner. Some hours 
after, he was called upon by a friend, answered his 
salutation, and rose and went with him into the dining- 
room, where some of his companions were met. lie 
joined with two of them in a concert, singing, as 
usual,'with taste and elegance, without missing a note, 
or forgetting a word ; he then wTent to supper, and 
drank a glass or two of wine. His friends, however, 
observed him to be a little absent and inattentive; 
by and by he began to speak to himself, but in so low 
and confused a manner as to be unintelligible. At 
last, being pretty forcibly roused, he awoke with a 
sudden start, unconscious of all that had happened, 
as, till then, he had continued fast asleep." 
In 1764, he removed to Edinburgh, and opened a 
boarding-house for young men, whom he proposed to THOMAS BLACKLOCK, D. D. 
75 
instruct in philosophy and the languages. Shortly 
after, the University of Aberdeen conferred upon 
him the degree of Doctor of Divinity. In 1767, he 
published a work entitled Consolation, deduced from 
Natural and Revealed Religion. In 1773, he pub- 
lished a satirical poem at Edinburgh, in 8vo. He was 
also the author of a heroic ballad, in four cantos. It 
may not be generally known that the article " Blind," 
in the Encyclopedia Britannica, published in 1783, 
was written by him. He died in 1791, in the seven- 
tieth year of his age, and was interred in the bury- 
ing-ground of Ease Chapel. 
"Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest! 
Bless'd in thy genius, in thy love, too, bless'd I " 
We cannot place before our readers a richer lite- 
rary feast, than our poet's beautiful soliloquy, copied 
from his Edinburgh edition : 
Occasioned by the author's escape from falling into a deep well where he must 
have been irrecoverably lost, if a favorite lap-dog had not, by the sound of its 
feet upon the board with which the wed was covered, warned him of danger. 
A SOLILOQUY, 
" Quid quisque viret, nunquam bomini satis 
Cautum est in horus." Horat. 
Where am 11-0 Eternal Power of Heaven ! 
Relieve me ; or, amid the silent gloom, 
Can Danger's cry approach no generous ear, 
Prompt to redress the unhappy ? 0 my heart! 
What shall I do, or whither shall I turn ? 
Will no kind hand, benevolent as Heaven, 
Save me, involv'd in peril and in night ? 
Erect with horror stands my bristling hair ; 76 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
My tongue forgets its motion ; strength forsakes 
My trembling limbs ; my voice, impell'd in vain, 
No passage finds; cold, cold as death, my blood, 
Keen as the breath of winter, chills each vein. 
For on the verge, the awful verge of fate 
Scarce fix'd I stand ; and one progressive step 
Had plunged me down, unfathomably deep 
To gulfs impervious to the cheerful sun 
And fragrant breeze ; to that abhorr'd abode, 
Where Silence and Oblivion, sisters drear I 
With cruel Death confed'rate empire hold, 
In desolation and primeval gloom. 
Ha! What unmans me thus ? What, more than horro 
Relaxes every nerve, untunes my frame, 
And chills my inmost soul ?-Be still, my heart 1 
Nor fluttering thus in vain attempt to burst 
The barrier firm, by which thou art confin'd, 
Resume your functions, limbs I restrain those knees 
From smiting thus each other. Rouse, my soul! 
Assert thy native dignity, and dare 
To brave this king of terrors ; to confront 
His cloudy brow, and unrelenting frown, 
With steady scorn, in conscious triumph bold. 
Reason that beam of uncreated day, 
That ray of Deity by God's own breath 
Infus'd and kindled, reason will dispel 
Those fancied terrors: reason will instruct thee, 
That death is Heaven's kind interposing hand, 
To snatch thee timely from impending woe ; 
From aggregated misery, whose pangs 
Can find no other period but the grave. 
For, oh! while others gaze on Nature's face, 
The verdant vale, the mountains, woods and streams ; 
Or, with delight ineffable, survey 
The sun, bright image of his parent God; 
The seasons, in majestic order, round 
This varied globe revolving ; young-eyed Spring, 
Profuse of life and joy ; Summer, adorn'd 
With keen effulgence, brightening heaven and earth , THOMAS BLACKLOCK, D. D. 
77 
Autumn, replete with Nature's various boon, 
To bless the toiling hind ; and Winter, grand 
With rapid storms, convulsing Nature's frame: 
Whilst others view heaven's all-involving arch, 
Bright with unnumber'd worlds ; and lost in joy, 
Fair Order and Utility behold ; 
Or, unfatigued, the amazing chain pursue, 
Which in one vast, all-comprehending whole, 
Unites th' immense, stupendous works of God, 
Conjoining part with part, and through the frame 
Diffusing sacred harmony and joy ; 
To me those fair vicissitudes are lost, 
And grace and beauty blotted from my view. 
The verdant vale, the mountains, woods, and streams, 
One horrid blank appear; the young-eyed Spring, 
Effulgent Summer, Autumn decked in wealth 
To bless the toiling hind, and Winter grand 
With rapid storms, revolve in vain for me : 
Nor the bright sun, nor all-embracing arch 
Of heaven, shall e'er these wretched orbs behold. 
0 Beauty, Harmony ! ye sister train 
Of graces; you, who, in th' admiring eye 
Of God your charms displayed, ere yet transcrib'd 
On Nature's form, your heavenly features shone, 
Why are you snatched forever from my sight, 
Whilst in your stead, a boundless waste expanse 
Of undistinguish'd horror covers all I 
Wide o'er my prospect rueful darkness breathes 
Her inauspicious vapor; in whose shade, 
Fear, Grief, and Anguish, natives of her reign, 
In social sadness, gloomy vigils keep : 
With them I walk, with them still doom'd to share 
Eternal blackness, without hope of dawn. 
Hence, oft the hand of Ignorance and Scorn, 
To barbarous Mirth abandon'd, points me out 
With idiot grin : the supercilious eye 
Oft, from the noise and glare of prosperous life 
On my obscurity diverts its gaze, 
Exulting, and, with wanton pride elate, 78 
BEAUTIES of THE BLIND. 
Felicitates its own superior lot: 
Inhuman triumph ! Hence the piercing taunt 
Of titled insolence inflicted deep. 
Hence the warm blush that paints ingenuous shame 
By conscious want inspir'd ; th' unpitied pang 
Of love and friendship slighted. Hence the tear 
Of impotent compassion, when the voice 
Of pain, by others felt, quick smites my heart 
And rouses all its tenderness in vain. 
All these, and more, on this devoted head, 
Have with collected bitterness been pour'd. 
Nor end my sorrows here. The sacred fane 
Of knowledge, scarce accessible to me, 
With heart-consuming anguish I behold; 
Knowledge, for which my soul insatiate burns 
With ardent thirst Nor can these useless hands 
Untutored in each life-sustaining art, 
Nourish this wretched being, and supply 
Frail nature's wants, that short cessation know. 
Where now, ah ! where is that supporting arm 
Which to my weak, unequal infant steps, 
Its kind assistance lent?* Ah ! where that love, 
That strong assiduous tenderness, which watch'd 
My wishes yet scarce form'd; and to my view, 
Unimportun'd, like all-indulging Heav'n, 
Their objects brought? Ah! where that gentle voice 
Which, with instruction, soft as summer dews 
Or fleecy snows, descending on my soul, 
Distinguish'd every hour with new delight ? 
Ah ! where that virtue, which amid the storms 
flie mingled horrors of tumultuous life, 
Jntainted, unsubdued, the shock sustain'd ? 
iM) firm the oak which, in eternal night, 
As deep its root extends, as high to Heaven 
Its top majestic rises ; such the smile 
Of some benignant angel, from the throne 
Of God dispatch'd, ambassador of peace ; 
r Ths ciiaracter here drawn Is that of the author's father, whoso unforeseen fata 
nad just before happened: he was killed by the fall of a malt kiln. THOMAS BLACKLOCK, D. D 
79 
Who on his look impress'd his message bears, 
And pleas'd, from earth averts impending ill 
Alas 1 no wife thy parting kisses shar'd; 
From thy expiring lips no child receiv'd 
Thy last, dear blessing, and thy last advice. 
Friend, father, benefactor, all at once, 
In thee forsook me, an unguarded prey 
For every storm, whose lawless fury roars 
Beneath the azure concave of the sky, 
To toss, and on my head exhaust its rage. 
Dejecting prospect 1 soon the hapless hour 
May come ; perhaps this moment it impends, 
Which drives me forth to penury and cold, 
Naked, and beat by all the storms of heaven, 
Friendless and guideless to explore my way ; 
Till on cold earth this poor unshelter'd head 
Reclining, vainly from the ruthless blast 
Respite I beg, and in the shock expire. 
Me miserable ! wherefore, 0 my soul I 
Was, on such hard conditions, life desir'd? 
One step, one friendly step, without thy guilt; 
Had plac'd me safe in this profound recess, 
Where, undisturb'd, eternal quiet reigns 
And sweet forgetfulness of grief and care. 
Why, then, my coward soul! didst thou recoil I 
Why shun the final exit of thy woe ? 
Why shiver at approaching dissolution? 
Say, why, by nature's unresisted force, 
Is every being, where volition reigns 
And active choice, impell'd to shun their fate, 
And dread destruction as the worst of ills; 
Say, why they shrink, why fly, why fight, why risk 
Precarious life, to lengthen out its state, 
Which, lengthen'd, is at best protracted pain ? 
Say, by what mystic charms, can life allure 
Unnumber'd beings, who, beneath me far 
Plac'd in th' extensive scale of nature, want 
Those blessings Heaven accumulates on me I 
Blessings superior ; though the blaze of day 80 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Pours on their sight its soul-refreshing stream, 
To me extinct in everlasting shades : 
Tet heaven-taught music, at whose powerful voice 
Corrosive care and anguish, charm'd to peace, 
Forsake the heart, and yield it all to joy, 
Ne'er soothes their pangs. To their insensate view 
Knowledge in vain her fairest treasure spreads. 
To them the noblest gift of bounteous Heaven, » 
Sweet conversation, whose enlivening force 
Elates, distends, and, with unfading strength, 
Inspires the soul, remains forever lost. 
The sacred sympathy of social hearts; 
Benevolence, supreme delight of heaven ; 
Th' extensive wish, which in one wide embrace 
All beings circles, when the swelling soul 
Partakes the joys of God, ne'er warms their breasts. 
As yet, my soul ne'er felt th' oppressive weight 
Of indigence unaided ; swift redress, 
Beyond the daring flight of hope, approached, 
And every wish of nature amply bless'd, 
Though, o'er the future series of my fate, 
Ill omens seem to brood, and stars malign 
To blend their baneful fire: while the sun 
Darts boundless glory through th' expanse of heaven, 
A gloom of congregated vapors rise, 
Than night more dreadful in her blackest shroud, 
And o'er the face of things incumbent hang, 
Protruding tempest; till the source of day 
Again asserts the empire of the sky, 
And o'er the blotted scene of nature, throws 
A keener splendor. So, perhaps, that care, 
Through all creation felt, but most by man, 
Which hears with kind regard the tender sigh 
Of modest want, may dissipate my fears, 
And bid my hours a happier flight assume. 
Perhaps, enlivening hope ! perhaps my soul 
May drink at Wisdom's fountains, and allay 
Her unextinguish'd ardor in the stream : 
Wisdom, the constant magnet, where each wish, THOMAS BLACKLOCK, D. D. 
81 
Set by the hand of Nature, ever points, 
Restless and faithful, as the attractive force 
By which all bodies to the center tend. 
What then! because th' indulgent sire of all 
Has, in the plan of things, prescrib'd my sphere ; 
Because consummate Wisdom thought not fit, 
In affluence and pomp, to bid me shine ; 
Shall I regret my destiny, and curse 
That state, by Heaven's paternal care design'd 
To train me up for scenes, with which compar'd, 
These ages, measured by the orbs of heaven, 
In blank annihilation fade away ? 
For scenes, where, finish'd by th' Almighty art, 
Beauty and order open to the sight 
In vivid glory; where the faintest rays 
Out-flash the splendor of our midday sun ? 
Say, shall the Source of all, who first assign'd 
To each constituent of this wondrous frame 
Its proper powers, its place and action due, 
With due degrees of weakness, where result's 
Concord ineffable; shall he reverse 
Or disconcert the universal scheme, 
The general good, to flatter selfish pride 
And blind desire?-Before th' Almighty voice 
From non-existence call'd me into life, 
What claim had I to being ? What to shine 
In this high rank of creatures, form'd to climb 
The steep ascent of virtue unrelax'd, 
Till infinite perfection crown their toil ? 
Who, conscious of their origin divine, 
Eternal order, beauty, truth, and good, 
Perceive, like their great Parent, and admire. 
Hush I then, my heart, with pious cares suppress 
This timid pride, and impotence of soul: 
Learn, now, why all those multitudes which crowd 
This spacious theater, and gaze on heaven, 
Invincibly averse to meet their fate, 
Avoid each danger; know this sacred truth, 
All-perfect Wisdom, on each living soul, 82 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Engrav'd this mandate, to preserve their frame 
And hold entire the general orb of being. 
Then, with becoming reverence, let each pow'r, 
In deep attention, hear the voice of God; 
That awful voice, which, speaking to the soul, 
Commands its resignation to his law I 
For this, has Heaven to virtue's glorious stage 
Call'd me, and placed the garland in my view, 
The wreath of conquest; basely to desert 
The part assigned me, and with dastard fear, 
From present pain, the cause of future bliss, 
To shrink into the bosom of the grave ? 
How, then, is gratitude's vast debt repaid ? 
Where all the tender offices of love 
Due to fraternal man, in which the heart 
Each blessing it communicates, enjoys? 
How then shall I obey the first great law 
Of nature's legislator, deep impress'd 
With double sanction, restless fear of death, 
And'fondness still to breathe this vital air? 
Nor is th' injunction hard; who would not sink 
Awhile in tears and sorrow, then emerge 
With ten-fold luster, triumph o'er his pain, 
And with unfading glory, shine in heaven ? 
Come, then, my little guardian genius 1 Cloth'd 
In that familiar form, my Phy lax, come! 
Let me caress thee, hug thee to my heart, 
Which beats with joy of life preserved by thee. 
Had not thy interposing fondness stay'd 
My blind precipitation, now, e'en now, 
My soul, by nature's sharpest pangs expell'd 
Had left this frame; had pass'd the dreadful 
Which life from death divides, divides this scene 
From vast eternity, whose deep'ning shades. 
Impervious to the sharpest mortal sight, 
Elude our honest search.-But still I err. 
Howe'er thy grateful, undesigning heart, 
In ills foreseen, with promptitude might aid; 
Yet this, beyond thy utmost reach of thought, 83 
THOMAS BLACKLOCK, D. D. 
Not e'en remotely distant couldst thou view. 
Secure thy steps the fragile board could press, 
Nor feel the least alarm, where I had sunk; 
Nor couldst thou judge the awful depth below 
Which, from its watery bottom, to receive 
My fall, tremendous yawn'd. Thy utmost skill. 
Thy deepest penetration here had stopt 
Short of its aim; and in the strong embrace 
Of ruin struggling, left me to expire. 
No-Heaven's high sovereign, provident of all, 
Thy passive organs moving,taught thee first 
To check my heedless course, and hence I live. 
Eternal Providence ! whose equal sway 
Weighs each event, whose ever wakeful care, 
Connecting high with low, minute with great, 
Attunes the wondrous whole, and bids each part 
In one unbroken harmony conspire; 
Hail! sacred Source of happiness and life! 
Substantial Good, bright, intellectual Sun! 
To whom my soul, by sympathy innate, 
Unwearied tends ; and finds in thee, alone, 
Security, enjoyment, and repose. 
By thee, O God! by thy paternal arm, 
Through every period of my infant state. 
Sustain'd, I live to yield thee praises due. 
O 1 could my lays with heavenly raptures warm. 
High as thy throne, reecho to the songs 
Of angels; thence, 0 ! could my prayer obtain 
One beam of inspiration, to inflame 
And animate my numbers; Heaven's full choir, 
In loftier strains, th' inspiring God might sing; 
Yet not more ardent, more sincere than mine. 
But, though my voice, beneath the seraph's note, 
Must check its feeble accents, low depress'd 
By dull mortality : to thee, great Soul 
Of heaven and earth 1 to thee my hallow'd strain 
Of gratitude and praise shall still ascend. LIFE OF HUBER. 
It Has been observed by writers, that there is no 
misfortune to which mankind is exposed, that so 
effectually shuts from us the book of nature and 
knowledge, as that of physical blindness. Yet, when 
we take into consideration the scores of blind per- 
sons, (many of them so from birth or early in life,) in 
almost every age and country, whose names are re- 
gistered high on the scroll of fame, for their attain- 
ments in literature and the arts, and their important 
service in the development of science, since its early 
dawn upon mankind, we are at an utter loss to de- 
termine from what strange oracle these writers have 
received such disparaging impressions, or what mode 
of reasoning they have adopted, to arrive at such 
conclusions. 
It is a well known matter of fact, as well as his- 
tory, that there is scarcely a single branch of natural 
science yet developed, requiring the minutest calcu- 
lation or profoundest thought, in which blind persons 
have not been celebrated proficients. The most in- 
tricate problems of mathematics they have demon- 
strated with ease ; to the beautiful science of chem- 
istry they have added many valuable experiments; 
hydrostatics, hydraulics, acoustics, and optics, have HUBER. 
85 
been to them themes of entertainment and delight; 
and even the motion of the heavenly bodies they have 
determined with accuracy, and the two noblest poems 
that yet gem the literary heavens, at this Augustin 
age, are the productions of the blind. 
With such truths before us, refulgent as the noon- 
day sun, we cannot help thinking that, whoever seeks 
to maintain that the immortal mind of man must re- 
main ignorant and unemployed, for the only reason 
that one of its avenues to the external world of 
knowledge has become obstructed, is guilty of the 
grossest inconsistency, and shows himself destitute 
of the most important of all senses - common sense. 
To receive that knowledge through other mediums 
of the mind, usually conveyed through that of the 
eye, is, we confess, in many instances inconvenient; 
but whoever has not sufficient force of character to 
grapple with such difficulties in the pursuit of knowl- 
edge, would, under the most favorable circumstances, 
arrive at no great celebrity. How the difficulties 
which the loss of sight occasions, may be overcome 
by ingenuity and perseverance, even in the investi- 
gation of those sciences requiring the minutest obser- 
vation, the achievments of this naturalist have cheer- 
ingly illustrated. 
Francis Huber was born at Geneva, on the 2d of 
July, 1750, of an honorable family, in which origi- 
nality and vivacity of mind formed a distinguishing 
characteristic. His father, John Huber, had the rep- 
utation of being one of the most witty men of his age, 86 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
a trait which was frequently noticed by Voltaire, who 
valued him for the originality of his conversation. 
He was an agreeable musician, and no inferior poet. 
To these accomplishments he joined the taste and art 
of observing the peculiarities of the animal creation. 
His love of natural history as well as his brilliancy 
of mind were completely inherited by his son. The 
latter attended from his childhood the public lectures 
at the college, and, under the guidance of good mas- 
ters, he acquired a predilection for literature, which 
the conversation of his father served to develop. He 
derived his fondness for science from the lessons of 
De Saussure, and from manipulations in the labora- 
tory of one of his relatives, who ruined himself in 
searching for the philosopher's stone. 
At the age of fifteen, his general health and his 
sight began to be impaired. The zeal with which he 
pursued his studies, constituting his highest pleasure, 
and his unremitting application to reading by the 
feeble light of a lamp, or that of the moon, were, it is 
said, the causes which threatened at once the loss of 
health and of sight. His father took him to Paris, to 
consult Tronchin on account of his health, and Ven- 
zel, on the condition of his eyes. 
With a view to his general health, Tronchin sent 
him to an agricultural district near Paris, to divert 
his attention from all laborious study. He there 
practiced the life of a simple peasant, engaging in 
those rural concerns that never fail to give quietude 
jf mind, and healthful activity to the body. This HUBER 
87 
recreation proved happily effectual, and Huber ever 
after not only retained confirmed health, but a tender 
recollection and decided taste for rural life. 
But Venzel, his oculist, was not so successful. The 
cataracts which had been forming on Huber's eyes 
were then considered irremovable ; it was, therefore, 
announced to him that he must be doomed to utter 
blindness. JOui before his departure, he found a con- 
genial spirit in the person of Maria -Aimee Lullin, a 
daughter of one of the syndics of the Swiss republic; 
and such a mutual love was cherished by them as 
the age of seventeen is apt to produce. But fearing 
that the loss of sight might unfavorably affect the 
dearest object of his affections, he resorted to dissim- 
ulation. While he could discern a ray of light, he 
acted and spoke as if he could see perfectly, and of- 
ten beguiled his own misfortune by such pretences. 
But M. Lullin, possessing the true heart of woman, 
and being inspired by that love not based upon mere 
policy or expediency, remained constant to the favor- 
ite companion of her youth, notwithstanding the de- 
termined opposition of her father. As soon as she 
had attained her majority, she presented herself at 
the altar with him who had been her choice, and to 
the amelioration of whose sad misfortune she now de- 
termined to devote her life. 
Madame Huber proved, by her attachment to his 
interest, herself worthy of so true and ardent a lover. 
During the forty years of their union, she never 
ceased to bestow upon her husband the kindest atten- 88 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
tion. She was his reader, his secretary, his observer, 
and she removed, as far as possible, all those embar- 
rassments which would naturally arise from his de- 
privation. Her husband, in alluding to her small 
stature, would say of her, " mens magna in corpore 
parvo." As long as she lived, said he, I was not sen- 
sible of my misfortune. 
We have known the blind to surmount obstacles in 
the pursuit of knowledge, that made them the wonder 
of their age; but it was reserved for Huber to give a 
luster to his class, in the sciences of observation, and 
upon objects so minute that the most clear-sighted 
investigator can scarcely observe them. The read- 
ing of the works of Reaumer and Bonnet, and the 
conversation of the latter, directed his curiosity to 
the history of bees. His habitual residence in the 
country inspired him with the desire, first, of verifying 
some facts, then of filling some blanks in their his- 
tory ; but this kind of observation required not only 
the finest optical instruments, but an intelligent as- 
sistant. For this latter purpose he instructed his ser- 
vant, named Francis Burnens, (remarkable for his 
sagacity and devotion to his master,) whom he di- 
rected in his researches, and by questions adroitly 
combined, aided by his wife and friends, he rectified 
the assertions of his assistant, and became enabled to 
form, in his own mind, a perfect image of the minu- 
test facts. " I am much more certain of what I de- 
clare to the world than you are," said he to his friend 
one day smiling; "for you publish what your own HUBER. 
89 
eyes omy have seen, while I take the mean among 
many witnesses." 
The publication of his first observations appeared 
in 1792, in the form of letters to Ch. Bonnet, under 
the title of " Nouvelles Observation sue les Abeilles." 
This work made a strong impression upon many nat- 
uralists, not only from the novelty of its facts, but 
from their rigorous exactness, and the amazing dif- 
ficulty which the author overcame with so much abil- 
ity. But his investigations were neither relaxed by 
the flattering reception of his first publication, (which 
might have been sufficient to gratify his self-love,) 
nor even by his separation from his faithful Burnens. 
The origin of the wax was, at that time, a point in 
the history of bees much disputed by naturalists. 
By some it was asserted, though without sufficient 
proof, that it was fabricated by the bee from the 
honey. Huber, who had already happily cleared up 
the origin of the propolis, confirmed this opinion with 
respect to the wax, by numerous observations ; and 
showed very particularly (what baffled the skill of 
all naturalists before him) how it escaped in a lami- 
nated form from between the rings of the abdomen. 
During the course of his observations with Bur- 
nens, his wife and son for assistants, he instituted la- 
borious researches to discover how the bees prepare 
it for their edifices. He followed step by step the 
whole construction of those wonderful hives, whien 
seem, by their perfection, to resolve the most delicate 
roblems of geometry; he assigned to each class of 90 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
bees the part it takes in this construction, and traced 
their labors from the rudiments of the first cell to the 
completed perfection of the comb. He made known 
the ravages which the sphinx atropos produces in the 
hives; he made ingenious inquiries respecting the 
locality and history of the bee's senses; he discov- 
ered that they consume oxygen gas like other ani- 
mals, and how by a particular motion of their wings, 
they renovate the atmosphere in the hive. 
Since the days and brilliant achievements of Hu- 
ber, naturalists have not been able to add any consid- 
erable discovery to the history of bees. The second 
volume of his observations was published in 1814, 
and was edited in part by his son. Huber was con- 
sidered by his cotemporaries worthy of a place in the 
class of special observers. Most of the academies of 
Europe (and especially those of Paris) admitted Hu- 
ber, from time to time, among their associates. 
But his valuable contributions to science were not 
the only tributaries to his fame. As a writer, he pos- 
sessed more than ordinary merit. The elegance of 
his style, the height of imagination, and correctness 
of his imagery, lead us to infer that he might have 
been a poet as well as naturalist. In the various re- 
lations of life, he displayed such sweetness of temper 
as made him beloved by all his large circle of friends. 
He spent the evening of his life at Lausanne, under 
the care of his daughter, Madame de Molin. 
Huber retained his faculties- to the last. At the 
age of eighty-one, in a letter to one of his friends, he HUBER. 
91 
writes thus : "There is a time when it is impossible 
to remain neglectful; it is 'when separating gradually 
from each other, we may reveal to those we love all 
that esteem, tenderness, and gratitude have inspired 
us with towards them." He farther adds : " Resig- 
nation and serenity are blessings which have not been 
refused." He w'rote these lines on the 20th of De- 
cember, 1831, and on the 22d he was no more. His 
life became extinct, without pain or agony, while in 
the arms of his daughter. 
None of his writings previous to this have been 
published in the United States. We favor our read- 
ers with several extracts, from a copy of his work on 
bees, imported by ourselves for this purpose. A few 
ingenious experiments, elucidating portions in their 
hlctory, dark to naturalists prior to his researches, 
must, however, suffice. 
EXPERIMENTS RELATI ?E TO THE FORMATION OF SWARMS 
I now proceed to experiments proving that an old 
queen always conducts the first swarm : 
One of my glass hives consisted of three parallel 
combs, placed in frames opening like the leaves of a 
book. It was well peopled, and abundantly provided 
with honey and wax, and with brood of every differ 
ent age. On the 5th of May, 1787, I removed its 
queen, and, on the 6th, transferred all the bees from 
another hive into it, with a fertile queen at least a 92 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
year old. They entered easily and without fighting, 
and were in general well received. The old inhabi- 
tants of the hive, which, since privation of tlieir 
queen, had begun twelve royal cells, also gave the 
fertile queen a good reception ; they presented her 
with honey, and surrounded her in regular circles. 
However, there was a little agitation in the evening, 
though confined to the surface of the comb where we 
had put the queen, and which she had not quitted, 
for all was perfectly quiet on the other side. 
On the morning of the 7th, the bees had destroyed 
the twelve royal cells; but, independent of that, or- 
der continued prevalent in the hive ; the queen laid 
the eggs of males in the large cells, and those of 
workers in the small ones respectively. 
Towards the 12th, we found the bees occupied in 
constructing twenty-two royal cells, of the same spe- 
cies described by M. de Reaumur ; that is, the bases 
not in the plane of the comb, but appended perpen- 
dicularly by pedicles or stalks of different length, 
like stalactites, on the edge of the passage made by 
the bees through their combs. They bore considera- 
ble resemblance to the cup of an acorn, the longest 
being only about two lines and a half in depth from 
the bottom to the orifice. 
On the 13th, the queen seemed already more slen- 
der than when introduced into the hive ; however, 
she still laid some eggs, both in common cells and 
those of males. 
We also surprised her this day laying in a roya IIUB12R. 
93 
cel]*; she first dislodged the worker there employed, 
by pushing it away with her head, and then supported 
herself by the adjoining cells while depositing the 
egg- 
On the 15th, the size of the queen was yet farther 
reduced ; the bees continued their attention to the 
royal cells, which were all unequally advanced, some 
to the height of three or four lines, while others were 
already an inch long ; thus proving that the queen 
had not laid in the whole at the same time. At the 
moment when least expected, the hive swarmed on 
the 19th ; we were warned of it by the noise in the 
air, and hastened to collect and put the bees into a 
hive purposely prepared. Though we had overlooked 
the facts attending the departure of this swarm, the 
object of the experiment was fulfilled ; for, on exam- 
ination of all the bees, we were convinced they had 
been conducted by the old queen, by her that we in- 
troduced on the 6th of the month, and which had 
been deprived of one of the antense. Observe, there 
was no other queen in this colony. In the hive she 
had left we found seven royal cells close at the top, 
but open at the side, and quite empty. Eleven more 
were sealed, and some others newly begun ; no queen 
remained in the hive. The new swarm next became 
the object of our attention ; we observed it during 
the rest of the year, in winter and the subsequent 
spring ; and, in April, we had the satisfaction of see- 
ing another depart with the same queen at its head 94 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLINI 
that had conducted the former one in May of the 
preceding year. 
You will remark, sir, that this experiment is posi- 
tive. We put an old queen in a glass hive while 
laying the eggs of males; the bees received her well, 
and at that- time began to construct royal cells; next 
she laid in one of them before us ; and in the last 
place she led forth the swarm. 
We have repeated the same experiment several 
times with equal success. Thus it appears incontest- 
ible, that the old queen always conducts the first 
swarm, but never quits the hive before depositing 
eggs in the royal cells, from which other queens will 
proceed after her departure. These cells are pre- 
pared by the bees only while the queen lays male 
eggs, which is attended by a remarkable fact, namely, 
that after this laying terminates, her belly being con- 
siderably diminished, she can easily fly, whereas it 
is previously so heavy that she can hardly drag it 
along. Therefore, it is necessary she should lay, in 
order to be in a state for undertaking her journey, 
which sometimes may be very long. 
But this single condition is not enough. It is also 
requisite that the bees be very numerous-they should 
be even superabundant, and it may be said that they 
are aware of it, for, if the hive is thin, no royal cells 
are constructed when the male eggs are laid, which 
is done solely at the period that the queen is able to 
conduct a colony. This fact was proved by the fol 
.owing experiment on a large scale : HUBER. 
95 
On the 3d of May, 1788, we divided each of eight- 
een hives, whose queens were about a year old, into 
two portions. Thus each portion of the hives had 
but half the bees that were originally there. Eighteen 
halves wanted queens, but the other eighteen had 
very fertile ones. They soon began to lay the eggs 
of males ; but the bees being few, they did not con- 
struct royal cells, and none of the hives threw a 
swarm. 
Therefore, if the hive containing the old queen is 
not very populous, she remains in it until the subse- 
quent spring, and, if the population is then sufficient, 
royal cells will then be constructed ; she will begin 
to lay male eggs, and, after depositing them, will 
issue forth at the head of a colony, before the young 
queens are produced. 
ON THE RESPIRATION OF BEES. 
The respiration of insects accumulated together in 
a confined space, where the air can be renewed with 
difficulty, offers a new problem to the naturalist. 
Such is the case with regard to bees. Their hive, 
whose dimensions does not exceed one or two cubic 
feet, contains a multitude of individuals, all anima- 
ted, active, and laborious. Its entrance, which is 
constantly very restricted, and often obstructed, by 
crowds of bees departing and arriving during the 
neats of summer, is the only opening admitting the 96 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND 
air, yet it suffices for their exigencies. The hive, be 
sides being internally plastered over with wax and 
propolis by its inhabitants themselves, and closed up 
with lime from without by the cultivator, has none 
of the conditions necessary for preserving a current 
of natural air. 
If a lighted taper be placed in a vessel of equal ca 
pacify as a hive, with an aperture larger in propor- 
tion than its entrance, the flame grows pale in a few 
minutes, then burns bluish, and is extinguished 
Animals in the same situation would soon expire, yet 
how do the bees survive in their dwelling ? 
ARTICLE I. PROOFS OF RESPIRATION. 
Experiment 1. Bees in the receiver of an air 
pump were not affected by the first strokes of the 
piston ; but when the mercury sunk to a quarter of 
an inch above the level of the cistern, they fell down 
motionless. Exposure to the open air revived them. 
2. I took three empty flagons, each capable of 
holding sixteen ounces of water, and introduced two 
hundred and fifty workers into the first, the same 
number into the second, and one hundred and fifty 
males into the third. The first and last were shut 
close, the second only restrained the escape of the 
bees, that they might serve for comparison. In a 
a quarter of an hour the workers in the close vessel 
began to testify signs of uneasiness; their rings con 
tracted and dilated with greater rapidity ; they per- HUBER. 
97 
spired copiously and seemed strongly affected, be- 
cause they licked the humid sides of their vessel. 
In another quarter of an hour a cluster, which had 
formed around a bit of straw, suddenly separated, and 
each of the bees fell to the bottom of the vessel, inca- 
pable of rising. All became asphyxiated in three 
quarters of an hour ; nevertheless, when removed and 
exposed to the air, they recovered. The males were 
affected more fatally, for none survived ; but the bees 
in the vessel admitting the air did not suffer. We 
found the air of the others greatly altered ; the oxy- 
gen gas was almost totally consumed, and bees now 
introduced into it perished. 
3-4. Experiment demonstrated, that a new supply 
of oxygen gas restored the asphyxiated bees. When 
this gas was pure, some of them put among it lived 
eight times as long as in common air, but all were 
suffocated by its conversion into carbonic acid gas. 
ARTICLE HI. RESEARCHES ON THE MODE OF RENEWING 
THE AIR IN HIVES. 
While investigating all the faculties of bees them- 
selves, which might affect renewal of the internal air, 
we were struck with the vibration of the wings. We 
suspected that, having sufficient action to produce the 
continual buzzing heard within, it might be for the 
purpose of displacing the air vitiated by respiration. 
During line weather, a certain number of bees al- 
ways appear before the entrance of the hive occupied 98 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
in this manner, but still more are found to be engaged 
in the interior. The ordinary place of ventilation is on 
the board-those outside of the entrance have their 
heads turned in towards it; those within have them 
turned in an opposite direction. We may affirm, that 
they arrange themselves regularly, to ventilate more 
at ease. Thus they form files, terminating at the en- 
trance of the hive, and sometimes disposed like so 
many diverging rays. But this order is not uniform, 
probably it is owing to the necessity for the ventila- 
ting bees giving way to those going and coming, 
whose rapid course compels them to range themselves 
in a file, to avoid being hurt or thrown over every 
instant. Sometimes about twenty bees ventilate at 
the bottom of a hive ; at other times their number is 
more circumscribed, and their employment of various 
duration. We have seen them engaged in it during 
twenty-five minutes, only taking breath, as it were, 
by the shortest interruption of the vibration. On 
ceasing, they are succeeded by others,' so that there 
never is any intermission of the buzzing in a populous 
hive. 
EXPERIMENTS DEMONSTRATING THE ORIGIN OF WAX 
The existence of the organs above described, and 
the scales seen under different gradations, induce us 
to believe them appropriated for the secretion of wax. 
But, in common witn other animal and vegetable se- HUBER, 
99 
cretions, the means by which this is accomplished ap- 
pears to be carefully vailed by nature. 
Our researches by simple observation thus being 
obstructed, we felt it essential to adopt other methodr 
for ascertaining whether wax actually is a secretion 
or the collection of a particular substance. 
Providing it were the former, we had first to ver- 
ify the opinion of Reaumur, who conjectured that it 
came from an elaboration of pollen in the stomach, 
though we did not coincide with him that bees then 
disgorged it by the mouth. Neither were we dis- 
posed to adopt his sentiments regarding i ts origin; for, 
like Hunter, it had struck us that swarms newly set- 
tled in empty hives do not bring home pollen, not- 
withstanding they construct combs, while the bees of 
old hives, having no cells to build, gather it abun- 
dantly. We had, therefore, to learn whether bees, 
deprived of pollen for a series of time, would make 
wax, and all that this required was confinement. 
On the 24th May, we lodged a swarm which had 
just left the parent stock, in a straw hive, with as 
much honey and water as necessary for the consump- 
tion of the bees, and closed the entrances so as to pre- 
vent all possibility of escape, leaving access for the 
renewal of the air. 
At first the bees were greatly agitated; but we 
succeeded in calming them by carrying the hive to a 
cool, dark place, where their captivity lasted five 
days. They were then allowed to take flight in an 
apartment, the windows of which were carefully shut, 100 
BEAUTIES 01? THE BLIND. 
and where the hive could be examined conveniently 
The bees had consumed their whole provision of 
honey ; but their dwelling, which did not contain an 
atom of wax when we established them in it, had now 
acquired five combs of the most beautiful wax, sus- 
pended from its arch, of a pure white, and very brit- 
tle. We did not expect so speedy a solution of the 
problem; but before concluding that the bees had 
derived the faculty of producing wax from the honey 
on which they fed, a second experiment, susceptible 
of no other explanation, was necessary. 
The workers, though in captivity, had been able to 
collect farina; while they were at liberty they might 
have obtained provisions on the eve or on the day 
itself of their imprisonment, and enough might have 
been in the stomach, or on the limbs, to enable them 
to extract the wax from it that we had found in the 
hive. 
But if it actually came from the farina previously col- 
lected, this source was not inexhaustible; and the bees 
being unable to obtain more, would cease to construct 
combs, and would fall into absolute inaction. Before 
proceeding to the second experiment, which was to 
consist in prolonging their captivity, we took care to 
remove all the combs they had formed in that prece- 
ding. Burnens made them return to the hive, and 
confined them again with a new portion of honey. 
The experiment was not tedious. From the evening 
of the subsequent day, we observed them working in 
wax anew ; and on examining the hive on the third HUBER. 
101 
day, we actually found five combs as regular as those 
they had made during their first imprisonment. 
The combs were removed five times successively, 
but always under precaution of the escape of the bees 
from the apartment being prevented, and during this 
long interval, the same insects were preserved and 
fed with honey exclusively. Undoubtedly the exper- 
iment, had we deemed it necessary, might have been 
prolonged with equal success. 
On each occasion that we supplied them with 
honey, they produced new combs, which puts it be- 
yond dispute that this substance affected the secretion 
of wax in their bodies, without the aid of pollen. As 
the reverse of the preceding experiment would prove 
whether the pollen itself had the same property, in- 
stead of supplying our bees with honey, we fed them 
on nothing except fruit and farina. They were kept 
eight days in captivity, under a glass bell with a 
comb, having only farina in the cells ; jet they nei- 
ther made wax, nor were scales seen under the rings. 
Could any doubt exist as to the real origin of wax? 
We entertained none. BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JAMES HOLMAN, 
A CELEBRATED BLIND TRAVELER. 
The history and writings of this wonderful man 
cannot fail, we think, to especially interest those of 
our readers who are wholly unacquainted with the 
progress which the blind of all ageshave made in the 
intellectual pursuits, and with the various methods 
adopted by them for the acquisition of knowledge. 
By those wdio know but little of the ardent wishes 
cherished by this class of persons, to make themselves 
active and useful members of society, the first in- 
quiry will very naturally be-What pleasure will one 
derive from traveling who cannot look out upon this 
beautiful world, with all its gay and varied scenery ; 
its green earth ; its starry skies ; its gay flowers, with 
their endless variety of sweet faces waving in the 
clear sunlight; the sloping lawns and rich meadows; 
the mountains, the woods, and, in short, all that is 
truly grand and beautiful in nature? This inquiry 
deserves a kind consideration ; and we cannot better 
meet it than by copying Mr. Holman's own answer 
to like interrogations: 
" I am constantly asked, and I may as well answer JAMES HOLMAN. 
103 
the question here once for all, what is the use of trav- 
eling to one who cannot see? I answer, Does every 
traveler sSe all he describes ? and is not every trav- 
eler obliged to depend upon others for a great portion 
of the information he collects? Even Humboldt 
himself was not exempt from this necessity. The 
picturesque in nature, it is true, is shut out from me, 
and works of art are to me mere outlines of beauty, 
accessible only to one sense; bi t perhaps this very 
circumstance affords a stronger zest to curiosity, 
which is thus impelled to a more close and searching 
examination of detail, than would be considered ne- 
cessary to a traveler who might satisfy himself by the 
superficial view, and rest content with the first im- 
pressions conveyed through the eye. Deprived of 
that organ of information, I am compelled to adopt 
a more rigid and less suspicious course of inquiry, 
and to investigate analytically, by a train of patient 
examination, suggestions and deductions, which other 
travelers dismiss at first sight; so that, freed from the 
hazard of being misled by appearances, I am the less 
likely to adopt hasty and erroneous conclusions. I 
believe that, notwithstanding my want of vision, I 
do not fail to visit as many interesting points, in the 
course of my travels as the majority of my contem 
poraries ; and by having things described to me on 
the spot, I think it is possible for me to form as cor 
rect a judgment as my own sight would enable me 
to do; and to confirm my accuracy,-1 could bring 
many living witnesses to bear testimony to my end 104 
less inquiries and insatiable thirst for collecting in- 
formation. 
" Indeed, this is the secret of the delighf I derive 
from traveling, affording me, as it* does, a constant 
source of mental occupation, and stimulating me so 
powerfully to physical exertion, that I can bear a 
greater degree of bodily fatigue than any one could 
suppose my frame to be capable of supporting. I 
am frequently askec how I take my notes. It is sim- 
ply thus: I keep a sort of rough diary, which I fill 
up from time to time as opportunities offer, but not 
from day to day, for I am frequently many days in 
arrear, sometimes, indeed, a fortnight together ; but 
I always vividly remember the daily occurrences 
which I wish to retain, so that it is not possible that 
any circumstances can escape my attention. I also 
collect distinct notes on various subjects, as well as 
particular descriptions of interesting objects, and 
when I cannot meet with a friend to act as my aman- 
uensis, I have still a resource in my own writing-ap- 
paratus, of which, however, I but seldom avail my- 
self, as the process is much more tedious to me than 
that of dictation. But these are merely rough notes 
of the heads of subjects, which I reserve to expatiate 
upon at leisure, on my return to old England." 
It is thought by many that the lack of sight al- 
ways presupposes both mental and physical debility, 
dull perceptions, feeble imagination, and, as a natu- 
ral sequence, sluggish energies, a tasteless and mel- 
ancholy existence. But these false conclusions have 
BEAUTIES OK THE BLIND. JAMES HOLMAN. 
105 
been drawn from instances of restlessness and inac- 
tivity among the blind, which were not the result of 
their peculiar situation, and should not be attributed 
to their blindness. 
It was evidently not a roving disposition, which 
some have thought a characteristic of the blind, that 
prompted our worthy author to go abroad, blit rather 
a wish to place himself among eminent travelers, and 
to increase his sphere of usefulness, by presenting to 
the world facts that always escape the more superfi- 
cial observer. " I have been conscious," says he, 
" from my earliest youth, of the existence of this de- 
sire to explore distant regions, to trace the varieties 
exhibited by mankind under the different influ 
ences of different climates, customs, and laws, and to 
investigate, with unwearied solicitude, the moral and 
physical distinctions that separate and diversify the 
various nations of the earth. I am bound to believe 
that this direction of my faculties and energies has 
been ordained by a wise and benevolent Providence, 
as a source of consolation under an affliction which 
closes upon me all the delights and charms of the 
visible world." 
Mr. James Holman, R. N., (a sketch of whose life 
we have the honor of publishing for the first time in 
this country, together with some extracts from his 
writings,) was born at Exeter, in the year 1786. He 
lost his sight at the age of twenty-five years, while 
on service on the coast of Africa, as a lieutenant in 
the royal naw. In 1820, strange as it may appear, 106 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
he traveled through France and Italy, and, in 1822, 
favored the public with an account of his interesting 
travels, which work was favorably received. In the 
same year, he undertook an arduous journey through 
Russia, Siberia, Poland, Austria, Saxony, Prussia, 
and Hanover. These travels he published in 1825, 
in two vols. 8vo. The object which Mr. Holman had 
in making this tour is developed by himself in the 
following words : " On the 19th of July, 1822,1 em- 
barked in the Saunders Hill schooner, commanded by 
Captain Courtney, then lying in the London docks, 
and bound for St. Petersburg!!, with the ostensible 
motive of visiting the Russian empire ; but my real 
intention, should circumstances prove propitious, was 
to make a circuit of the whole world." He was, how- 
ever, unfortunately prevented from carrying his plans 
into execution, for after having traveled thousands of 
miles, and spending some months in the midst of Si- 
beria, he was apprehended as a spy, and was con 
ducted from thence, a state-prisoner, to the frontiers of 
Austria. In Russia, Mr. Holman was called the 
" blind spy," an appellation wholly unworthy of our 
hero, and still more ludicrous in view of his peculiar 
situation. He gives a most interesting account of the 
manners and customs of the Russians, their buildings, 
shipping, commerce, &c. 
Being obliged to leave Moscow, his mind was se- 
riously occupied with various reflections. "My situ- 
ation," says he, " was now one of extreme novelty, 
and my feelings corresponded with its peculiarity. I JAMI'S HOLMAN. 
107 
was engaged, under circumstances of unusual occur- 
rence, in a solitary journey of a thousand miles, 
through a country, perhaps the wildest on the face 
of the earth, and whose inhabitants were scarcely yet 
accounted within the pale of civilization, with no other 
attendant, than a rude Tartar postillion, to whose lan- 
guage my ear was wholly unaccustomed ; and yet, I 
was supported by a feeling of happy confidence, with 
a calm resignation to all the inconveniences and risks 
of my arduous undertaking; nay, I even derived a 
real inward gratification in the prospect of retirement 
from the eternal round of pleasure and social enjoy- 
ments, in which I had been participating, to a degree 
of satiety that began to be oppressive. Again and 
again I interested myself, by contrasting voluntary 
exile with the constrained banishment of the numer- 
ous unfortunate wretches who have been known to 
languish away in the inhospitable wilds I was about 
to traverse, the remnant of a protracted existence, 
aggravated by an eternal separation from all the bless- 
ings that they have deemed most dear to them in 
life." 
After an absence of two years and one day from 
his native country, our author ultimately landed at 
Hull, on the 24th of June, 1824. 
" Sweet is the hour that brings us home, 
Where all will spring to meet us; 
Where hands are striving, as we come, 
To be the first to greet us. 
When the world has spent its frowns and wrath, 
An 3 care been sorely pressing, 108 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND 
'Tis sweet to turn from our roving path. 
And find a fireside blessing. 
Ah, joyfully dear is the homeward track, 
If we are but sure of a welcome back! " 
No one, we think, can fail to discover in Mr. Hol- 
man the elements of a noble and active mind, a force 
of character, and strength of purpose that would 
have done honor to a Csesar. Yet some may urge 
(while at the same time they laud his perseverance,) 
that, had our author lost his sight in infancy, his pas- 
sion for traveling would never have developed itself. 
Such an inference would scarcely be just, for now 
that Locke's philosophy is exploded, no one dare 
deny the existence of ruling desires, in germ, even at 
birth. It will be seen that the loss of oifr highest ex- 
ternal sense, (viz, sight,) does not necessitate any fac- 
ulty of the mind to remain dormant, when we take 
into consideration the superior culture which the re- 
maining senses receive, and more especially if the 
physical organism be strong and vigorous. True, 
happy circumstances aid greatly in nourishing genius, 
and exercise alone gives health and vigor to the 
mental, as well as to the physical constitution. The 
eye may embrace, at one glance, (though superficial- 
ly,) what would occupy weeks to examine by the sense 
of touch ; yet we do not know that this is so great 
an advantage, nor do we believe that the loss of sight 
precludes the possibility of scientific investigation, 
deep and profound thought, and even a high appre- 
ciation of the bearfiful. Nor does external blindness JAMES HOLMAN. 
109 
shut out from inner vision the glad face of Nature. 
Objects which inspire the seeing with emotions of 
grandeur and sublimity, excite in us the same feel- 
ings, and frequently more intense. 
We may, at some future time, favor the reading 
public in this country, with Mr. Holman's entire 
work ; but at present, we shall be obliged to make a 
few brief extracts suffice. 
Mr. Holman, in commenting upon the characters 
and customs of the French inhabitants of Fernando 
Po, says, " I shall indulge my own particular feelings 
and partialities in entering upon that part of my ob- 
servations which relates more exclusively to the fairer 
and softer portion of this aboriginal people. The in- 
finite modifications of person, mind, and manners, 
exhibited by the sex in the different grades of society 
throughout the world, whether formed by the influ- 
ences of climate, government or education, presents 
a most interesting subject to the speculative observer 
of human nature ; and to one who, from early life, 
both by profession and inclination a traveler, has 
wandered under every temperature of our eastern 
hemisphere, who has studied and admired the sex 
under every variety of character, no wonder that 
the contemplation of woman, as nature left her, inar- 
tificial, unsophisticated, simple, barbarous, and una- 
dorned, should seem fraught with peculiar interest. 
Are there any who imagine that my loss of eye-sight 
must necessarily deny me the enjoyments of such con- 
templations ? How much more do I pity the mental 110 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
darkness which could give rise to such an error, than 
they can pity my personal calamity ! The feelings 
and sympathies which pervade my heart, when in the 
presence of an amiable and interesting female, are 
such as never could be suggested by viewing a mere 
surface of colored clay, however shaped into beauty, 
or however animated by feeling and expression. The 
intelligence still allowed me by a beneficent Provi- 
dence, is amply sufficient to apprise me of the exist- 
ence of the more real-the diviner beauties of the 
soul; and herein are enjoyments in which I am proud 
to indulge. A soft and sweet voice, for instance, 
affords me a two-fold gratification ;-it is a vehicle 
of delight, as operating on the appropriate nerves, 
and, at the same time, it suggests ideas of visible 
beauty, which, I admit, may, by force of imagina- 
tion, be carried beyond reality * But, supposing I 
am deceived, are my feelings the less intense ?-and, 
in what consists my existence, but in those feelings? 
* What Mr. Holman avers to be true of himself, in relation to 
ideas of visible beauty, suggested by pleasant voices, the present 
writers of this volume most cheerfully endorse. It is corroborated 
by the experience of almost every blind person with whom we are 
acquainted, and those are not a few. As nature speaks of tranquil- 
lity in the low whisper of the winds, or of might and contention in 
the roar of the ocean, so the soul has a voice, blended with the nat- 
ural utterance of speech, or the sound of the human voice. To us, 
the voice as clearly indicates moral worth, intelligence, and personal 
beauty, as does the expression of countenance to the seeing. The 
voice is as truly an index of the mind, as the face; nor can the 
mind be highly cultivated, without perceptibly changing the tone 
of voice. JAMES HOLMAN. 
111 
Is it otherwise with those who see ? If it be, I envv 
them not. But are those who think themselves hap- 
pier, in this respect, than I am, sure that the posses- 
sion of a more exquisite sense than any they enjoy, 
does not, sometimes at least, compensate the curtail- 
ments to which the ordinary senses, and particularly 
the one of eye-sight, is liable ? and if they should 
think so, let them not, at least, deny me the resources 
I possess. I shall not, however, persist further in a 
description of that situation, those circumstances and 
those consolations, which the all-feeling comprehen- 
sion of the poet hath so justly caught in one of its 
diviner moods of inspiration : 
* And yet he neither drooped nor pined, 
Nor had a melancholy mind; 
For God took pity on the boy. 
And was his friend, and gave him joy, 
Of which we nothing know.' 
" The personal appearance of the females of Fernan- 
do Po, is by no means attractive, unless (degustibus 
non est dis pretandum) a very ordinary face, with 
much of the contour of the baboon be deemed so. 
"Add to this the ornaments of scarification and tat- 
tooing, adopted by the sex to a greater extent than 
by the men, and the imagination will at once be sen 
sible how much divinity attaches to Fernandian 
beauty. Like the men, the women plaster the body 
all over with clay and palm-oil, and also, in a similar 
manner, wear the hair long, and in curls or ringlets, 
well stiffened with the above composition. The chil- 112 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND 
dren of both sexes, or those who have not attained 
the age of puberty, have the hair cut short, and are 
not permitted to use any artificial covering to the 
body. One trait is, perhaps, peculiar to the women 
of this country, and may be regarded by some as an 
indication of their good sense-that they have no 
taste for baubles, or, at all events, do not appear to 
desire them more than the men. With respect to 
articles of clothing, they are equally exempt from 
such incumbrances as the other sex. 
Happy the climate where the beau 
Wears the same suit for use and show, 
And at a small expense, your wife, 
If once well pink'd, is clothed for life. 
" Their lords and masters contrive to keep them in 
great subjection, and accustom them to carry their 
burdens ; they evince also a considerable degree of 
jealousy, and show evident marks of displeasure, 
whenever strangers pay attentions to them. As, 
however, this is equally the case whether the lady 
be young or old, it is not improbable that it may, 
in some measure, arise from their considering it too 
great a condescension on their parts, to notice pen- 
sons whom they deem so inferior." 
Mr. Holman's view from Adam's Peak, in Ceylon, 
will give the reader a faint idea of the pleasure he 
derived from traveling, and the exquisite delight, with 
which his inner vision drank in scenes of beauty. 
"We reached the summit," says he, "just before JAMES HOLMAN. 
113 
the sun began to break, and a splendid scene opened 
upon us. The insulated mountain, rising up into a 
peak of 7,420 feet above the level of the sea, flanked 
on one side by lofty ranges, and on the other by a 
champagne country, stretching to the shore, that 
formed the margin of one immense expanse of ocean. 
I could not see this glorious sight with the visual 
orbs, but I turned toward it with indescribable en- 
thusiasm. I stood upon the summit of the Peak, and 
felt all its beauties rushing into my heart of hearts." 
It is to be regretted that Mr. Holman did not give 
to the world, more of his own observations and re- 
flections. As a writer, he might have been useful to 
the world in a two-fold sense. Having possessed 
perfect sight during the early part of his life, his 
vivid recollections of light and shade, nature's smiles 
.and frowns, and the various combinations of color, 
enabled him to draw, with an imaginative pencil, 
every scene that could be described to him. The 
knowledge which he gained of new and interesting 
objects, by adroitly managing the eyes of others, was 
as correct, no doubt, as though they had been painted 
upon his own mind. He, therefore, found no diffi- 
culty in describing all that other travelers describe, 
or in gathering as much useful information as other 
travelers collect. To him, phases of the human 
character were presented, which are commonly hid- 
den from the seeing. We allude to those higher feel- 
ings of wild and savage nature, that only the mis- 
fortunes of others can sometimes bring out. Wild, 114 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
sweet flowers are sometimes found among brambles, 
and the crudest nature has in it something refined. 
Most blind persons find the study of character a 
source of unbounded satisfaction. Our author's pe- 
culiar situation, and comparative helplessness, might 
have opened up to him, among the numerous tribes 
he visited, an endless field of useful labor. We are, 
however, not disposed to find much fault with the 
course Mr. Holman pursued. His writings have 
amused and interested the public, and have gained 
for their author a high character in the literary world. LIFE OF JAMES WILSON, THE BLIND BIOGRAPHER. 
" I go, I go ! And must mine image fade 
From the green spots wherein my childhood played 
By my own streams ? 
Must my life part from each familiar place, 
As a bird's song that leaves the woods no trace 
Of its lone themes ? " 
Jamfs Wilson was born May 24th, 1779, in Rich- 
mond, Virginia. His father, John Wilson, was a 
native of Scotland, who emigrated to this country 
when eighteen years of age, to manage the estate of 
his uncle, which he afterward inherited. After the 
death of his uncle, he married Elizabeth Johnson, of 
Baltimore. But, unfortunately for him, at the com- 
mencement of the revolutionary war, he found his 
predilections for monarchy too strong to relish the 
doctrines of liberty or death, and joined the royal 
cause. In consequence of this, a band of enraged in- 
cendiaries attacked and burned his dwelling, and laid 
waste his plantation. He served during five cam- 
paigns, in a detachment under the command of Lord 
Cornwallis, and was taken prisoner at Yorktown, 
where General Washington gave the finishing stroke 
to the war. 
On being released*, he found his health much im- 
paired, and being perhaps much grieved to see the 116 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
star spangled banner, which he strove so hard to 
humble in the dust, now wave in proud triumph over 
the Colonies, he decided to take his family and re 
turn to England. Bound for Liverpool, the vessel set 
sail under the guidance of Captain Smith. But they 
had scarcely lost sight of land, when Mr. Wilson was 
attacked with severe illness, and twenty days after 
the ship had left New York harbor, he died. 
Mrs. Wilson, being at this time in delicate health, 
was so shocked by this sad event, that she expired in 
twenty minutes after. They were both wrapped in 
one hammock, and committed to a watery grave ! 
And James Wilson, their only surviving offspring, at 
the tender age of four years, was left a poor, friend- 
less, fortuneless orphan. Nor was this the end- of his 
misfortune ; seized by the small pox, and for want of 
a mother's care and proper medical aid, this most 
loathsome disease deprived him of his sight. After 
a long and tedious voyage, the captain was compelled 
to put into Belfast harbor for repairs. Young Wil- 
son, having not yet recovered from his illness, was 
immediately sent to the city and placed in charge of 
the church warden ; and to prevent him from becom- 
ing a charge to the parish, the benevolent Captain 
Smith put in the warden's hands a sum of money suf- 
ficient to defray his expenses for five years. 
When about seven years of age, his right eye was 
couched by Surgeon Wilson, and restored to partial 
sight. But shortly after, on crossing the street 
one day, he was attacked and badly bruised by AMES WILSON. 
117 
an ill-natured cow, which nearly cost him his life, 
and deprived him of the sight he had recovered. 
He early manifested great mental as well as physical 
activity, and was held in high esteem by his youthful 
associates, for daring exploits and inventive genius. 
So perfect a knowledge did he acquire of every street, 
nook, and principal building in Belfast, that he was 
not unfrequently a guide to strangers, with perfect 
sight, who groped about in midnight darkness, unable' 
again to find their lodgings. 
. His first effort for self-maintenance, when about 
twelve years of age, was in carrying letters to and 
from the different offices of merchants and profes- 
sional gentlemen, and was afterward employed by 
Mr. Gordon, editor of the Belfast News Letter, to 
deliver the papers to subscribers on the days of pub- 
lication. While in this employment, he was often 
compelled to call at the residences of gentlemen four 
or five miles out of the city. But having a perfect 
knowledge of the surrounding country, he was ena- 
bled to execute his business with correctness and dis- 
patch. His indigent circumstances and friendless con- 
dition, rendered his opportunities for acquiring knowl- 
edge exceedingly limited. But his native genius 
soon suggested plans to overcome these embarrass- 
ments, which his ind perseverance at length 
carried into full effect. 
It seems to be indispensably necessary, that a mind 
destined to be truly great should be first disciplined 
in the school of rigid self-denial, and its progress 118 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
hedged up with the most formidable obstacles. Fc: 
proof of this, we have but to turn over the annals of 
ancient and modern record, where we find mention 
of but few personages whose deeds brighten the pa- 
ges of man's history, or who have been considered il- 
lustrious benefactors of their race, that have not risen 
from humble and embarrassing situations in life. 
The path leading to true intellectual greatness is 
fraught with such incessant toil, that there are few 
surrounded with wealth and affluence, who do not 
prefer their ease to walking therein. Hence the de- 
velopment of science and the fine arts, in every age 
has been left to men of low estate, and often those 
seeming to labor under the greatest disadvantages. 
A vigorous and aspiring intellect cannot be sup 
pressed by mere physical circumstances; but like old 
Ocean's tide, it gathers strength from impediments, 
pressing forward with irresistible force, and scales in 
triumph the loftiest summits of opposition. To the 
truth of this remark, the trials and triumphs of Mr. 
Wilson during his long and eventful life bear testi- 
mony. When we behold him a poor, sightless, and 
friendless boy, groping his way through the populous 
city of Belfast, delivering letters and papers from 
door to door, while the winter storms howled dis- 
mally through the narrow alleys, and the sleety rains 
fell upon his thin-clad form, a feeling of surprise un- 
consciously steals over us, that his young and tender 
heart did not give way under the mountain of afflic 
tion that seemed to rest upon it. But He, without JAMES WILSON. 
119 
whose notice not a sparrow falls to the ground, " who 
feedeth the young ravens when they cry," has- also 
made the never-failing promise to be a Father to the 
fatherless. 
When Wilson was about fifteen years of age, being 
destitute of the means requisite for his attending 
school, he appropriated a part of his scanty earnings 
each week for educational purposes. With this he 
purchased such publications as are usually attractive 
to boys of that age, and employed his young asso- 
ciates to read to him during their leisure hours. A 
few years subsequent to this time, desiring a more lu- 
crative employment, he chose that of an itinerant 
dealer; but he found this occupation ill adapted to 
his circumstances. 
" The want of sight," says he in his memoir, " made 
it difficult for me to steer my course aright, and I 
was often exposed both to hardships and danger. 
Many a time have I heard the thunder roll over my 
head, and felt the teeming rain drench me from head 
to foot, while I have unknowingly passed by a place 
of shelter, or stood like a statue, not knowing which 
way to turn, though within a few paces of a house. 
Still, however, while reflecting on all these circum- 
stances, and on the sympathy which I was sure to 
meet with after my sufferings, I have been often led 
to conclude that the balance was in my favor, when 
compared with many who enjoyed the use of every 
sense. There is no rose without its thorn, neither is 
here any state without its comforts." 120 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
During his peregrinations through the country, he 
was frequently exposed to the most imminent dangers, 
from which he sometimes narrowly escaped with his 
life; for example, we give the following as related 
by himself. " From Ballymena I was one day going 
out to the Rev. Robert Stewart's. At the end of the 
town the road divides ; one branch leads to Bally- 
mena, and the other to Broughshane. In the forks 
an old well was opened for the purpose of sinking a 
pump. It being two o'clock in the day, the workmen 
were all at dinner, and I was groping about with my 
staff to ascertain the turn in the road, when a man 
called out to me to stand still and not move a single 
step. I did so, when he came forward and told me, 
that two steps more would have hurried me into a well 
eighty feet deep, and half full of water. He held me 
by the arm, and made me put forth my staff to fee] 
and be convinced of my danger, when I found that I 
was actually not more than one yard from the edge I 
The blood ran cold in my veins; I was scarcely able 
to stand erect, 
' And every limb, unstrung with terror, shook.' " 
In the year 1800, a temporary Institution was 
established at Belfast, for the instruction of those des- 
titute of sight, in such mechanical pursuits as were 
best adapted to their peculiar situation. Of this, 
James Wilson became an inmate, and soon acquired 
a knowledge of the upholstery business; a trade, by 
the pursuit of which, under the patronage of his JAMES WILSON. 
121 
friends, he rendered his circumstances more easy. 
In 1803, a number of young men formed a reading 
society in Belfast, and, although they were all me- 
chanics, some of them were also men of taste, and 
possessed considerable talent. Into this association 
Wilson was admitted a member, which was the dawn 
ing of a brighter day in his literary pursuits. One 
of its members, to whom he was warmly attached, 
kindly offered to read to him such books as he could, 
procure. Their stated time for this employment was 
from nine o'clock in the evening until one in the 
morning, in the winter season, and from seven until 
eleven in the summer. In this way he committed to 
memory a vast collection of pieces, both in prose and 
verse. "So ardent," says he, "was my desire for 
knowledge at that time, that I could never bear to 
be absent a single night from my friend ; and often, 
when walking in the country, where I could have 
been comfortably accommodated, I have traveled 
three or four miles, in a severe winter night, to be at 
my post in time. Pinched with cold and drenched 
with rain, I have many a time sat down and listened 
for several hours together, to the writings of Plutarch, 
Rollin, or Clarendon." This course of reading he 
continued for seven or eight years, during which time 
he was made acquainted with almost every work in 
the English language. 
Aided by a retentive power cultivated to a surpri 
sing degree, it may well be supposed that Mr. Wil- 
son had by this time accumulated a large store of use- 122 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLEND. 
ful knowledge. So tenacious was his memory, that, 
during the French revolution, being somewhat inter- 
ested in politics, he served as an army and navy list 
to the illiterate who had relations in either of these 
departments. To illustrate how fully, we give the 
following anecdote as related by himself: • " Being 
invited by a friend to spend an evening at his house, 
I had scarcely sat down when three gentlemen en- 
tered, and the conversation turning on the news of 
the day, I was requested by my friend to repeat the 
names of as many of the ships of the British navy as 
1 could recollect, telling me, at the same time, that 
he had a particular reason for making the request. 1 
commenced, and my friend marked them down as I 
went along, until I had repeated six hundred and 
twenty, when he stopped me, saying I had gone far 
enough. The cause of the request was then explained. 
One of the gentlemen had wagered a supper that I 
could not mention five hundred ; he expressed him- 
self much pleased, however, at the loss, having been, 
as he acknowledged, highly entertained by the ex- 
periment." In another place, in adverting to his 
memory, he says : " In relation to geography, I be- 
came acquainted with every place of note on the 
habitable globe, so that on being examined by some 
who were either curious or doubtful of my knowledge, 
my descriptions have been found to coincide with 
the best constructed maps. Respecting history, the 
reader will best judge of the power of my memory, by 
the following relation : To a few select friends who JAMES WILSON. 
123 
wished to prove my knowledge of English history, I 
■peated, to their entire satisfaction, an epitome of 
•die history of England, from the Norman conquest 
till the peace in 1783, invasions, conspiracies, insur- 
rections, and revolutions; the names of all the kings 
and queens ; the years of their accessions ; the length 
of their reigns, and the affinity each had to his prede- 
cessors ; together with the names and characters of 
all the great statesmen, heroes, philosophers, and 
poets, who flourished in the different reigns. In con- 
sequence of this and similar rehearsals, I was termed 
'the Living Book,' and a 'Walking Encyclopedia.'" 
We hear it sometimes remarked, that those de- 
prived of sight, are naturally endowed with extraor- 
dinary retentive powers. But we claim, that memo 
ry, like all other faculties of the mind, is only strength 
ened by continued exercise. The surprising and al- 
most unparalleled degree of perfection which Mr. Wil- 
son attained in this respect, he ascribes mainly to this 
cause. The power of retaining facts and impressions, 
of recorded events, and linking together by associa- 
tion a chain of occurrences, is strikingly analogous to 
the magnet, which, if allowed to lie inactive and to 
corrode, soon loses its mysterious affinity for the ob- 
jects that have clustered about it, and they drop one 
by one like lost remembrances. But if strengthened 
by daily accession, its power may be cultivated to an 
almost illimitable degree. 
Wilson was married in the 23d year of his age, to 124 
a respectable young lady with whom he had been 
acquainted for some time. Her unassuming manners, 
amiable disposition, industrious habits, and assiduous 
devotion to his interests, made her not only an agreea- 
ble companion of his youth, but a solace in declining 
age. They had eleven children, only four of whom 
were living when he published his memoirs, in 1838. 
His merits as an author, and fine literary attainments, 
recommended him to the notice of many distinguished 
cotemporary writers, among whom were Dr. Percy, 
bishop of Dromore, last of that illustrious school of 
which Johnson, Goldsmith, and Burke were mem- 
bers ; and the Rev. H. Boyd, well known in the lit- 
erary world as translator of Dante. 
Quite early in life, at the solicitation of his friends, 
our author published a small work in verse. Though 
this production would not, perhaps, commend itself 
to the mercy of literary cudgelers, we think it quite 
creditable, and shall favor our readers with a few 
selections. 
He afterward formed the design of publishing a 
History of the blind, which he accomplished, though 
attended with immense labor, in 1820. To this work 
we are greatly indebted for many valuable statistics. 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. JAMES WILSON. 
125 
TO MEMORY. 
Come, Memory, and paint those scenes 
I knew when I was young, 
When meadows bloomed, and vernal greens, 
By nature's band were sung. 
I mean those hours which I have known, 
Ere light from me withdrew- 
When blossoms seemed just newly blown. 
And wet with sparkling dew. 
Yet, ah ! forbear, kind Memory, cease 
The picture thus to scan ! 
Let all my feelings rest in peace, 
'Tis prudence' better plan; 
For why should I on other days 
With such reflections turn, 
Since I'm deprived of vision's rays, 
Which sadly makes me mourn 1 
And when I backward turn my mind, 
I feel of sorrow's pain, 
And weep for joys I left behind, 
On childhood's flowery plain ; 
Yet now, through intellectual eyes, 
Upon a happier shore, 
And circled with eternal skies, 
Youth sweetly smiles once more 
Futurity displays the scene, 
Religion lends her aid; 
And decks with flowers forever green,. 
And blooms that ne'er can fade, 
Oh, happy time I when will it come, 
That I shall quit this sphere, 
And find an everlasting home, 
With peace and friendship there? 126 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Throughout this chequer'd life 'tis mine 
To feel affliction's rod; 
But soon I'll overstep the line 
That keeps me from my God. 
A DREAM. 
Night o'e rthe sky her sable mantle spread, 
And all around was hushed in sweet repose, 
Nor silence suffered from intrusive noise ; 
Save now and then the owl's unpleasant scream 
From yon old pile of ancient grandeur sent, 
Broke in, obtrusive on the tranquil hours. 
Reflection took my mind, and o'er my thoughts 
Unnumbered visions flit with rapid speed. 
I thought on man, and all his childless joys, 
From rosy infancy to palsied age- 
And yet the sigh of recollection stole, 
Then heaved my breast with sorrow's poignant throb; 
For ah I I feel what some have never felt, 
That is, to be in one continued night, 
From January's sun till dark December's eve; 
And strange it is, when sleep commands to rest, 
While gloomy darkness spreads her lurid vail, 
That then by being blind I suffer most! 
O sight I what art thou? were my final words 
When sleep with leaden fingers seal'd my eyes. 
Now free from care and tumult's torturing din, 
Young fancy led me from my humble cot; 
And far through space, where suns unnumbered burn, 
I with ner took a grand excursive flight, 
Then hack again to Erin's hill of green, 
I with her wandered; nor did night, nor gloom. 
One step intrude to shade the prospects round. 
I saw sweet Scarvagh, in her loveliest garb, 
And ab her trees ip summer's dress were clad • JAMES WILSON. 
127 
Tier honored mansion, seat of peace and love, 
Gave rapture to my breast, for there I've found 
True hospitality, which once did grace 
The hall's of Erin's chiefs of old ; 
But soon, alas! the hum of nightly bands 
And vagrants, strolling on in quest of sin. 
Bore fancy irem me with her golden train, 
And once more left me in the folds of night BEAUTIES FROM "A BLIND MAN'S OFFERING," 
TOGETHER WITH A SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR'S LIFE. 
" Offerings there are, of moral worth and talents, 
Sacrificed to lust and love of gain, 
To envy, hatred, loves inordinate, 
And all the baser passions of the soul. 
But thine are offerings sacred to the shrine 
Of reason, truth and sentiment, replete 
With beauties rare, and treasures of the mind." 
Man's nature, like veneering, may be warped to 
almost every condition in life. It may be bent to 
angular circumstances, or shaped to infirmities ; it 
may be marred and chafed by care and want; and 
still present a surface susceptible of the highest pol- 
ish. Misfortunes which may seem at first almost in- 
supportable, may grow in favor, like Crusoe's pet 
spider, and at length come to be regarded as old and 
tried friends, if not positive blessings. Afflictions are 
but the seasonings of life's dish, and without them it 
would be tasteless and insipid. Without the ills of 
life, we should be illy prepared to enjoy its blessings. 
By opposites, alone, we judge of the nature of things. 
Contrast is the betrayer of every object in nature. 
Were it not for darkness, or the absence of light, we 
should remain forever ignorant of the existence of BLIND MAN'S OFFERING. 
129 
light itself. Wrong is the only rule by which we can 
measure right action; and wrere there no pain there 
would be no pleasure. Sorrows are but ill-timed 
joys-w'rong, right inverted-error, reason's blunders 
- disappointment, only the broken links in life's 
chain of pleasant associations, and often, from the 
common ills of life sprang our choicest blessings. It 
is folly to pine at misfortune, while the world is full 
of time, and effort is fruitful of success. The mind 
that is truly great, will rise above the petty annoy- 
ances of this world, and though the visible universe 
be shrouded in midnight darkness, knowledge will 
enter, if only at the finger's ends. True, thoughts, 
like plants, reach up for the light, but it is the light 
of truth ; and he who is blind to this light, is blind 
indeed. 
Mr. Bowen, author of the wTork above alluded to, 
m his reflections on cheerfulness, says : " The smile 
that wreathes the lip with gladness comes not from 
the sunshine without, but from within. The physical 
world is not beautiful until the soul has breathed upon 
it. The highest happiness of which we are capable 
can proceed only from the heart that has been sanc- 
tified by sorrow." In the same connection he adds : 
" We can never be too grateful to God for so arrang- 
ing the allotments of his providence that there is al- 
ways something in the situation of every one, which 
exerts an alleviating influence." 
The truth of the Roman adage, that all things are 
not possible to all men, has been verified, we doubt 130 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
not, in the experience of most persons. And tha 
the same amount of knowledge, or degree of happi- 
ness is not within the reach of every man, is equally 
true. Yet there is something we are convinced in the 
condition of everyone, in a measure, compensatory 
for all his privations and afflictions. But how far the 
loss of sight, or the loss of either of the other senses, 
is made up to us by the superior development of the 
remaining faculties, from the degree of culture which 
they must necessarily receive, or by creating new in- 
centives to efforts, by awakening new desires, direct- 
ing the thoughts and affections in new channels, and 
opening up new fields of enterprise, is difficult to de- 
termine. Every station in life, however humble or 
exalted, has its advantages, and with them its own 
sources of joy and grief. The highest privilege may 
be abused, and the purest and noblest affections of the 
soul may be perverted. The rich man may be happy 
in the possession of great wealth, or he may be in- 
deed more wretched than the poor man, who labors 
to earn a scanty subsistence; or even the miserable beg- 
gar by the wayside. The blind man may see more in 
the world that is truly worthy of his admiration, than 
the man wdio is blessed with perfect sight. Much, 
we are persuaded, depends upon the medium through 
which we view our allotments. A false glass gives 
not only a false coloring to objects, but may greatly 
magnify or distort them. Habitual cheerfulness 
tends rather to diminish than increase the burden of 
afflictions, while despondency is sure to cast a gloom BLIND MAN'S OFFERING 
131 
over all that is bright and beautiful in nature. A 
cheerful submission to whatever is manifestly irrem- 
ediable, can never fail to be productive of the most 
happy results. 
It is not wonderful that ancient philosophers were 
forced to acknowledge the necessity of a more perfect 
revelation from God, in order to understand his ar 
rangements. In the light of divine revelation, he has 
not only exhibited the beauty and perfection of his 
own character, but the intrinsic excellence of all cre- 
ated objects, the end for which they were designed, 
and the true relation of the creature to its Creator. 
Through this medium alone, do we behold nature in 
her true aspect. And it is by this light alone that 
we are enabled to discover the justice of each divine 
dispensation. Before it every shadow of doubt and 
despondency, gloom and fear, must vanish like the 
shades of night before the king of day. 
It is to us a source of no small satisfaction, to find 
in the writings of all blind persons whose works have 
fallen into our hands, this spirit of Christian resigna- 
tion and implicit trust in Him who doeth all things 
well ; but in none is it more beautifully exemplified 
than in the life and writings of Mr. Bowen, our gifted 
American author. 
Mr. B. B. Bowen, author of the "Blind Man's 
Offering," was born in the town of Marblehead, Mas- 
sachusetts, in the year 1819. At the early age of six 
weeks he was deprived of sight, and when but six 
years old he lost his mother. He early manifested 132 
BEAU'L ife or THE BLIND. 
gret . physical activity, and owing t3 bis father's in- 
digent circumstances, lie was forced to rely upon his 
own efforts for maintenance. When but ten years 
of age, he was employed in carrying fresh fish, as they 
were daily caught, to the different houses in the place, 
receiving for his services twenty per cent. 
His destitute circumstances, and the great incon- 
venience under which he labored, secured to him, as 
might naturally be supposed, the patronage of the 
wealthy. Although the few pennies earned in this 
way were barely sufficient to supply his immediate 
wants, his reliance upon this humble occupation foi 
means of support not only fostered a spirit of inde- 
pendence, but early developed those firm principles 
which always form the basis of a great and noble 
character. With Burns, we like the glorious privi- 
lege of being independent. Self-dependence we re- 
gard as the main prop of manliness. As freedom of 
will forms the basis of present and eternal happiness, 
so self-dependence is the pillar of every ennobling 
virtue. 
At the age of fourteen, he was selected by Dr. 
Howe as one of the six blind children, with whom 
the first experiments in the instruction of this class 
were made in the United States. His first two years 
at this institution were spent mainly at manual labor, 
but subsequent to this more of his attention was given 
to study; and at the expiration of his term he main- 
tained a respectable standing in all the principal 
studies of the first class, except higher mathematics. BLIND MAN'S OFFERING. 
133 
In music he had also made considerable proficiency, 
and after an honorable discharge from the institution, 
in 1838, he returned to his native town, where he 
employed his time in teaching music, and those han- 
dicrafts which he had learned at the institute. Be- 
ing desirous that all laboring under similar privations 
should share the benefit which these institutions af- 
ford, he at length embarked as an itinerant lecturer, 
endeavoring to awaken public interest in behalf of 
the blind. 
Feeling deeply impressed with the idea expressed 
in the Garden of Eden, namely, " that it is not good 
for man to be alone," he sought and obtained the 
hand of one who has thus far strewn the rugged path- 
way of his life with flowers. In alluding to this 
event, he thus beautifully remarks : " I could tell 
you of one who, free from the intense selfishness in 
which so many hearts seem shrouded, with graces of 
person made more attractive by a brilliant intellect, 
and a heart of untainted purity, left her father's halls, 
and the society of her early asociates, to share the 
humble lot of one who could never see her face, or 
return her glance of deep affection. It was not that 
she was actuated by a morbid sensibility, nor with 
the thought that she was making any greater sacri- 
fice than if she had shared the destiny of one less 
unfortunate. / It was because she honored him 
whom she loved; because her education had made her 
superior to vulgar prejudices, that she was willing to 
adorn the humble home of a blind man." 134 
In 1847, he published a work in 12mo, comprising 
over four hundred pages of prose and verse, entitled 
" A Blind Man's Offering," of which he has person 
ally sold about eighteen thousand copies. This pro 
duction has been favorably reviewed, and everywhere 
received and read with interest. We cannot better 
recommend it to our readers, than by giving the fol 
lowing, which is, we think, a just example of the el 
egant style in which it is written : 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
MUSIC. 
" The man that hath not music in his soul, 
And is not moved by the concord of sweet sounds, 
Is fit for treasons, stratagems and spoils." 
There is but one universal language, one idiom, by 
which we can express those feelings, sentiments and 
ideas common to all. This language, this idiom, is 
music. It pervades all nature. And it is this which 
seems to connect us, by a thousand mystic ties, to 
every created thing, and makes us feel, in our silent, 
contemplative moments, a sympathetic relationship 
with every object by which we are surrounded, or 
with which we have been associated. The tree, be- 
neath whose shade we played in our childhood, why 
is it that we yet remember it? And why do we yet 
feel that between it and us there once existed a 
strange but undefinable companionship ? Never, 
amid the din and noise of the world, the selfishness BLIND MAN'S OFEFRING. 
135 
and activity of life, can we entirely forget the music 
of its rustling leaves, or the thoughts it awakened, as 
it echoed, at quiet evening, the vesper hymn of the 
flowers, or answered, at noonday, to the song of the 
rills. Why is it that we yet retain recollection of 
those we love, when their image no longer dwells in 
our mind ? It is the music of the voice divine, that 
can never die. For the tones of love survive the 
glance of affection. 
O Music I divinest of all the arts! deepest of ah 
mysteries! In thee is embalmed the fnemory of the 
past, and from thee comes the hope of the future. 
Thou only revealest the coming blessedness of the 
race; thou only prophesiest of universal harmony. 
The phenomena of light, like that of sound, is the re- 
sult of innumerable vibrations. Everything in na- 
ture seems to be in perpetual agitation, and each, in 
its own way, is ever chanting a gladsome strain, that 
blendeth in a common chorus, to the Maker of all. 
From the low song of the flowers, so sweet and plaint- 
ive, to the chorus of the spheres, so grand and majes 
tic, there is perpetually ascending to the Fountain of 
all, a hymn of gratitude and praise. In this univer- 
sal harmony, there is but one exception, one discord. 
Of all created things, man alone mars this paean of 
nature. Yes, " the harp of a thousand strings," made 
capable of such high music, formed for such divine 
strains, withholds its tribute to the universal harmony, 
or mars with its broken cadence. 
The heart of humanity, from which once issued 136 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
such holy melodies, where is now its primeval min 
strelsy ? Over its broken strings sweeps no more the 
spirit of love. The fiend of selfishness has broken the 
instrument, made by the hand of God for the holiest 
purposes; and where erst an angel caroled, there 
shrieks a demon. Sad and mournful comes the dirge 
from him who should have foremost sung the glad- 
some song in nature's universal orchestra. O man ! 
must it ever be thus ? Must thou forever sing, in 
broken strains, the requiem of thy departed joys-of 
thy lost glory ? Shall there gush no more from out 
thy heart that deep delight that made thy early Eden 
vocal with thy praises ? Shall thy wondrous voice, 
formed for such lofty eloquence, be tuned no more 
in unison with nature? Must thy bitter wailing 
never cease ? and all thy life seem but a mockery ? 
No ! it shall not always be thus with thee, 
Thou greatest of all earth's mystery ; 
Thy noblest song is not yet sung, 
Thy highest work is not yet done. 
What the world most needs is a benefactor; one 
who shall expound to our race the laws of harmony, 
the observance of which shall place men in true rela- 
tionship to each other and to nature. A poet or a 
prophet, whose burning words shall awaken, in the 
mighty heart of humanity, a deeper consciousness of 
its unity and its harmonies, that shall kindle once 
more in the bosom of man the flame of seraphic min- 
strelsy, and revive again T,bose beautiful affinities that BLIND MAN'S OFFERING. 
137 
once united him to all intelligences. Then will music, 
the divinest of all the arts, become what it once was 
-the medium of all true thought and expression. 
There are times, when oppressed by the concep- 
tions and aspirations of the soul, we strive in vain for 
utterance. There are no words that can convey our 
ideas. Then it is that we have recourse to music, 
for it is then only that we can truly understand its 
significance and power. We strive to make ourselves 
heard and understood, but our yearnings and our 
struggles meet with no response. The dark world is 
too much engrossed in its selfishness and sensuality. 
We commune only with the voices of the past, with 
the spirits of the departed. Are we sad and sorrow- 
ful, we crave the deep sympathy of Beethoven. If 
we would raise ourselves above this poor life, and 
catch a glimpse of a higher destiny, we listen with 
gratitude and admiration to Mozart and Hayden. 
There are a host of others, who come at our bidding, 
and with their deep, impassioned strains assuage our 
griefs and elevate our joys. It is at such times that 
we cease to be conscious of that dark pall that, from 
our infancy, hath vailed from us the beautiful in 
earth and sky. 
From my earliest days I have felt within me a 
striving to be free, that music can only adecpiatelj 
express : a longing for a deeper sympathy, a closer 
communion with the good, the true, the beautiful. 
In childhood, those blessed and balmy days, when 
the fragrance of the flowers and the music of the 138 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
oirds thrilled my heart with deep delight, I felt within 
-I knew not what-a spirit, whose plaintive, earnest 
voice wept and smiled, and ever yearned for a fuller, 
Brighter manifestation. 'T was all in vain I strove to 
express its meaning. To each dear, cherished thing, 
around which affection twined, the voice within re- 
plied, "It will not do." The spirit cried aloud for 
something more. But once, but only once, it gave 
me rest. O, that happiest hour of all my life, that 
deepest joy I ever knew ! The sun's last rays had 
Kissed the verdant hill-top and trailed in beauty along 
the evening sky. The soft zephyr, laden with the 
perfume of a thousand flowers, distilled its grateful 
xxicense upon all around. The birds had caroled their 
last sweet lay and gone to rest. A deep, delicious 
languor overspread all nature. At that holy hour, 
when solemn thoughts, that, like the stars, come forth 
at night to shine within the soul's serener sky, when 
nature everywhere seems wrapped in meditation 
leep, profound,-I wandered forth alone, for unto me 
outh day and night are one. Yet, dearest of all time 
is summer eve, for it was at such an hour, that I first 
felt the mystery of that voice divine, that awoke 
within me such unutterable delight, that called forth 
from my heart such deep response, as music only hath 
power to awaken. O ! if I had but fitting words to 
tell how' all-absorbing, how uncontrollable, was the 
love awakened by those dulcet tones, that softly 
trembled on the evening air. At that blessed hour, 
most blessed of all my life, when she, my Isadora, BLIND MAN'S OFFERING. 
139 
accompanied by her guitar, breathed forth this im 
passioned lay : 
" Give me the night, the calm, beautiful night, 
When the green earth reposes in heaven's own light; 
When the moon and the stars keep their vigils above, 
And nought is awake save the spirit of love. 
" When visions of memory visit the heart, 
Like the dreams of the past, which too soon must depart 
And the soul fondly dwells on the scenes of delight, 
Give me the night, the calm, beautiful night. 
"Spirit of love, in yon isles of the blest, 
Where the bright and the beautiful ever have rest, 
Spread thy wings o'er the earth, now so smiling and fair 
And breathe all thy tenderness, loveliness- there. 
" Though the tear will escape as the heart heaves a sigh, 
And thoughts, all too deep for emotion, reply, 
Yet the soul lingers still o'er the scene of delight,- 
Give me the night, the calm, beautiful night." 
She ceased ; but in my soul, that, until then, ha I 
uot known aught of companionship, there was crea- 
ted a sense of fullness and deep joy, an all-pervading 
consciousness that I was blessed, supremely blessed 
Years have passed away, but memory of that horn 
shall live forever. 
My Isadora, but for thee, 
E'en doubly dark this world would be. 
He who may never hope to gaze upon earth or sky, 
who can never behold the light of the sun, nor look 
upon the face of a friend, can only adequately appre- 
ciate the music of the human voice. To him nnlv 140 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
can music impart its highest delight, and change his 
midnight darkness to a noonday splendor. Who can 
estimate fully the influence of music upon the heart 
and the life ? What can do more to soften and refine 
the feelings ? to purify and elevate the whole nature ? 
And why should it not exert as great a power now, 
as in the earlier ages of society? Why not have 
as much influence upon the civilized, as the savage 
man ? Those who have been the most constantly af- 
fected by it, who are best capable of appreciating 
its effects, tell us that there is nothing that can so 
exalt and ennoble the moral and religious element. 
Who can calculate the influence it exerts in our 
churches ? What is so well designed to lift the mind 
from earth to the contemplation of heaven ? And 
then, too, consider the influence of music upon our 
social feelings. There is nothing like the concord of 
sweet sounds that can so move the heart to noble 
deeds and lofty daring, and that, at the same time, 
can prompt to that spirit of kindness and disinterest- 
edness that softens and beautifies our social inter 
course. However, the power to appreciate music is 
the gift of God. Shall I not say it is one of the no- 
blest vouchsafed to man ? Blessed is he who pos- 
sesses it, and can appreciate it. For amidst all the 
vicissitudes of this strange life, he has within him that 
which can sustain and cheer him. It is a pleasant 
thing to see the smiling faces of those around you, tc 
look upon the speaking countenances of your friends, 
to read the burning thoughts that come forth in each BLIND MAN'S OFFERING. 
141 
glance of the eye. But the beautiful face soon be- 
comes pale and emaciated ; the eye soon loses it® 
brilliancy and luster, the form its grace, and the step 
its elasticity; but the music of the voice can neve" 
die. Like the soul, it is divine and immortal. Great 
is his privilege for whom nature, with its myriad ob- 
jects of beauty, has power to delight-who can look 
upon the green, beautiful earth-who can gaze upon 
the heavens, adorned with its innumerable lights. But 
there is yet a greater boon, there is a depth in music 
which transcends all else. 
"0, say, is there a star above, 
Like the low, voice of one you love ? " 
Inere is no faculty L possess with which I would 
not part, rather than relinquish the high satisfaction 
which music affords. Gladly would I open these 
sealed orbs, and lo,ok out upon the vast, magnificent 
universe ; but I would not accept so great a boon, if 
it must be obtained at the sacrifice of the deep de- 
light, of the inexpressible joy, of the unutterable hap- 
piness, which music alone can impart. MRS. S. H DE KROYFT. 
"The darksome pines that o'er your roeks reclin-'d, 
Wave high, and murmur to the hollow wind, 
The wandering streams, that shine between the hills, 
The grots that echo to the tinkling rills, 
The dying gales that pant upon the trees, 
The lakes that quiver to the curling breeze; 
No more these scenes my meditation aid, 
Or lull to rest the visionary maid: 
But o'er the twilight groves and dusky eaves, 
Long-sounding aisles, and intermingled graves, 
Black melancholy sit's, and round her throws, 
A death-like silence, and a dread repose; 
Her gloomy presence saddens all the scene, 
Shades every flower, darkens every green, 
Deepens the murmur of the falling floods, 
And breathes a browner horror on the woods." 
Im the preceding biographical sketches, it has been 
uar uniform purpose to collect all the authentic sta- 
tistics, relative to the lives of our authors, we could 
find in either European or American literature, and 
form a chain of events, interspersed with such origi- 
nal remarks as the occasion and our own experience 
under similar circumstances, seemed to suggest. 
But in noticing our present authoress, having been 
unable to procure any accounts of her strangel} 
eventful and interesting history, save those she has 
given to the public in her beautiful and universally MRS. S. H. DE KROYFT. 
143 
admired volume, entitled, "A Place in Thy Memory," 
we deem it proper to digress from our former rule, 
and give them principally in her own language and 
connection. 
The beautiful metaphoric drapery thrown around 
these references to her life and misfortunes, and the 
simple, natural, and deeply feeling manner in which 
she tells her tale of woe, form paragraphs so sacred 
that it seems like ruthless sacrilege to divest them of 
their original attire. 
The following tender and pathetic lines, that must 
move every reader to tears, susceptible in the slight- 
est degree to feel for others' woes, serve us as a par- 
tial introduction to her history : 
Rochester, October, 1846. 
" Dear Clara :-'Tis autumn, and to-day the winds 
howl mournfully among the trees. Four long weeks 
I have been pillowed on a sick couch, and though 
with much of its drapery around me, I can to-day 
sit in an easy chair. Fever still burns on my cheeks, 
and my brow is pressed with .throbbing pain. Last 
night they fed me opium, and Islept a pleasant sleep 
I dreamed of other days. I thought that we again, 
arm in arm, paced the halls of the old seminary, and 
talked confidingly of bright realities in the future. 
The chime of the welcome school-bell again rang in 
my ears, and I heard the halls echo with the familiar 
tread •'>f many feet, and mingling voices, all buoyant 
with hope and love. This morning, I engaged a 144 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
friend to write for me, while I fancy myself whisper- 
ing in your ear the story of all that grieves me, and 
wrings every joy from my heart. 'Truth is often 
stranger than fiction,' and the tale I shall tell you, 
needs no coloring. Clara, I am blind ! forever shroud- 
ed in the thick darkness of an endless night. And 
now, when I look down the current of coming years, 
a heavy gloom settles on me, almost to suffocation. 
" Is there any sympathy in your heart ? Oh, then 
weep with me, for now, like an obstinate prisoner, I 
feel my spirit struggling to be free. But oh, 'tis all 
in vain, 'tis all over, misery's self seems stopping my 
breath, hope is dead, and my heart sinks within me. 
Clara, I am in a land of strangers, too. Stranger 
voices sound in my ears, and stranger hands smooth 
ray I row, and administer to my wants. I see them 
not, but I know they have learned the laws of kind- 
ness. I love them, and pray Heaven to hold them 
in remembrance. But let me change the subject. 
The first year after we parted at school, my love of 
knowledge increased every day. I continued Italian 
with a success that pleased me. I read various French 
authors, besides translating most of the Old Testa- 
ment Scriptures, reviewed Rollin, &c. 
" In June last, Dr. DeKroyft was seized with hem- 
orrhage of the lungs. .He sent for me and I came to 
him. Every day his lips grew whiter, and the deep 
paleness on his brow alarmed me. Now, in a half- 
coughing tone, I hear him say, ' Helen, I fear the MRS. S. H. DEKROYFI. 
145 
hand of consumption is settling on me, and my days 
will soon be numbered ! 
" On the afternoon of the Fourth he visited me, 
went out, and returned no more. Our wedding-day 
came. It was his wish, and by his bedside our mar- 
riage was confirmed. Soon after, I saw him die. 
They laid him in the ground, and I heard the fresh 
dirt rattle on his narrow home, and felt as if my hold 
on life had left me. I lingered in R. a few weeks 
longer. How I got through the days I do not know. 
William's room, his books, and the garden wdiere I 
wept, are all I remember, until I awoke one morning 
and my eyes were swollen tight together. I could 
no more move them, or lift up the lids, than roll the 
mountains from their places. They wTere swollen 
with an inflammation that, three days after, made me 
forever blind-oh, the word ! Like the thunders of 
Niagara, it was more than I could bear. 
" Thus, dear Clara, in simplicity, I have told you 
all. No, not the half. Words can never reach the 
feelings that swell my heart, imagination can never 
paint them. They are known only to me. Sorrow, 
melancholy, blighted hopes, wounded love, grief and 
despair, clad in hues of darkness, all brood upon my 
silent heart, and bitter fear is in all my thoughts. 
Oh, what will become of me ? Is there benevolence 
in this world ? Must charity supply my wants ? Will 
there be always some hand to lead me ? Have the 
blind ever a home in any heart? Does anything 
ever cheer them ? Are their lives always useless ? 146 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Is there any thing they can do ? So I question, and 
wonder, until with morphine they quiet my distracted 
thoughts. When my eyes were swelling as if they 
would quit their sockets, and my entire being was 
racked with pain, forgive me, Clara, I did question 
if there be a God in heaven who is always merciful. 
But to-day, in the calmness of better feelings, my 
confidence is unmoved, and, 'though he slay me, 
yet will I trust in him.' Though I do not feel all the 
self-abnegation of Fenelon, yet I am certain my heav- 
enly Father loves me, and will grant me ever his pro- 
tecting care and sustaining grace. Adieu, but think 
of me, and pray for me sometimes." 
Tears, and.such deep anguish of soul as we find 
portrayed in the above, stoics have attributed to 
weakness and imbecility of mind ; but, instead of co- 
inciding with such philosophy, we are persuaded that 
precisely the opposite is true. The sluggish stream 
that moves torpidly in its encumbered course, can 
be suddenly stopped without agitating its smooth and 
languid surface ; but the crystal torrent, cheered by 
misty clouds and rainbow tints, that rushes down the 
mountain side in power and majesty, if impeded, 
foams in fury, and impetuous 'waves in desperation 
wild, dash to and fro, till freed again to move forward 
in its resistless course. The dull and selfish being 
who plods along without comprehending either his 
design or destiny, or cheered with no higher Lope 
than mere physical gratification, is ever secure against MRS. S. H. DE KROYFT. 
147 
overwhelming spiritual depression. The loftiest 
minds that have ever gemmed the canopy of fame, 
wept most over suffering humanity and blighted 
hopes. A distinguished editor, adverting to her mis- 
fortune, says : " Humanity must view the change with 
weeping surprise and wonder at the ways of Provi- 
dence. Surely angels of pity must hover around her, 
and the blessed in heaven drop a tear of sympathy at 
the necessity of a sacrifice so deplorable for the ad- 
monition of the world." 
But her ever active mind, richly stored with the 
choicest treasures of science, could not long thus re- 
coil upon itself, and pine over irretrievable misfor- 
tunes. Soon after her melancholy privation, through 
the influence of kind and official friends, she obtained 
permission to spend a term of one year at the New 
York Institution for the Blind, hoping there to dis- 
sipate, in the pursuit of knowledge, the bitter sor- 
rows that oppressed her heart. But her former op- 
portunities having advanced her far beyond the 
literary pale of this Institute, it could but serve as 
an altar or tower of retreat from the cold world, 
until she could collect her scattered powers and con- 
centrate them upon some object, in the pursuit of 
which she could provide for herself the necessaries 
of life. The chaste, elegant, and magic eloquence 
of her literary composition, was not long in recom- 
mending her to public favor, and she soon hit upon 
the happy expedient of publishing a book, and enga- 
ging personally in its sale. 148 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Her modest and highly intelligent appearance, and 
the landable object for which she toiled, secured 
friends and public patronage beyond her most san- 
guine hopes. We cannot better do her justice, in 
this connection, than by copying the following sum- 
mary editorial: 
" How few who may read this paragraph, would 
think it possible for them, entirely without means, to 
get up a book, transact all the business contracts and 
operations necessary, and then, without a single ray 
of light to guide their steps, go out personally -to sell 
it, day after day, patiently ferreting out dark, lonely 
streets; and climbing winding stairs; thereby to se- 
cure food and raiment. Such enterprise is worthy of 
praise, and deserves the encouragement of every pa- 
tron of honest industry. This looks to us like the am- 
bition of Napoleon crossing the Alps, or gathering his 
scattered army after his discomfiture at Moscow. 
The purpose of this blind lady is, to secure for her- 
self " a little cottage and a little plat," which she 
may call her home. Her cottage iliust be built. 
Every book sold, piles one stone on its walls, and all 
who enjoy a good home, and who can look upon its 
dear and loved inmates, cannot better add to the zest 
of its enjoyments than by mingling with them the 
consciousness of having contributed to provide the 
same for one who is eminently qualified to enjoy and 
ornament domestic life, and upon whom has fallen 
this unparalleled succession of bereavements, thus 4u- MRS. S. U. DEKR0Y1T. 
149 
scribed in her own words : " I was in one short month 
a bride, a widow, and blind." 
Such men as our late President Taylor, Mr. Clay, 
General Waddy Thompson, Senator Dawson, Mr. 
Burt, General Greene, Kev. Dr. Nott, and Dr Turner 
of New York, and his excellency, Governor Floyd of 
Virginia, and many other distinguished individuals, 
both of the clergy and laity, together with the prin 
cipal editors of New York, Washington, Charleston, 
S. C., Boston, Salem, Portland, and other places, have 
lent their influence to this work ; and, moreover, Mrs 
DeKroyft brings with her letters from many of the 
most gifted ladies of our land, one of whom, from 
Washington, says: "That Mrs. DeKroyft is a lady 
,of more than ordinary interest, we need say only to 
those who have not had the pleasure of listening to 
her graceful conversation, or reading one of her 
charming letters in 'A Place in Thy Memory,'which 
we are happy to say, ornaments almost every draw- 
ing-room in Washington City. It is a book which 
may be read with profit by the most talented, as well 
as the most common reader. It occurs to us that this 
book is really one of the most, interesting and useful 
Gift Books for the season. It is no fiction from ' this 
flood ' of literature that is now upon us, but a true, 
an interesting, and a peculiar phase of real life, that 
will do good wherever it is read and pondered. The 
book is embellished with an engraving of the author, 
and the New York Institution for the Blind." 
We will not anticipate with, further detail, the me- 150 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
moirs of her life, with which we hope she will at some 
time favor the public. A true history of her trials 
and triumphs, in her own magic style, would stimu- 
late forcibly those under similar privation?, to shake 
off the fetters of dependence, and grapple success- 
fully with the difficulties of their situation. 
The following is an example of her composition, 
which, in point of majesty and sublimity of thought, 
we think, is seldom excelled in the English lan- 
guage : 
PRAYER TO LIGHT. 
Oh, holy light! thou art old as the look of God, 
and eternal as his breath. The angels were rocked 
in thy lap, and their infant smiles were brightened 
by thee. Creation is in thy memory ; by thy torch 
the throne of Jehovah was set, and thy hand bur- 
nished the myriad stars that glitter in his crown. 
Worlds, new from His omnipotent hand, were sprin- 
kled with beams from thy baptismal font. At thy 
golden urn, pale Luna comes to fill her silver horn, 
and Saturn bathes his sky-girt rings; Jupiter lights 
his waning moons, and Venus dips her queenly robes 
anew. Thy fountains are shoreless as the ocean of 
heavenly love ; thy center is everywhere, and thy 
boundary no power has marked. Thy beams gild the 
Illimitable fields of space, and gladden the farthest 
verge of the universe. The glories of the seventh 
heaven are open to thy gaze, and thy glare is felt in MRS. S. H. DEKROYFT. 
151 
the woes of lowest Erebus. The sealed books of 
heaven by thee are read, and thine eye, like the In- 
finite, can pierce the dark vail of the future, and 
glance backward through the mystic cycles of the 
past. Thy touch gives the lily its whiteness, the rose 
its tint, and thy kindling ray makes the diamond's 
light; thy beams are mighty as the power that binds 
the spheres; thou canst change the sleety winds to 
soothing zephyrs, and thou canst melt the icy moun- 
tains of the poles to gentle rains and dewy vapors. 
The granite rocks of the hills are upturned by thee, 
volcanoes burst, islands sink and rise, rivers roll, and 
oceans swell at thy look of command. And oh, thou 
monarch of the skies, bend now thy bow of millioned 
arrows, and pierce, if thou canst, this darkness that 
thrice twelve moons has bound me. Burst now thine 
emerald gates, O morn, and let thy dawning come. 
My eyes roll in vain to find thee, and my soul is 
weary of this interminable gloom. My heart is but 
the tomb of blighted hopes, and all the misery of 
feelings unemployed, has settled on me. I am mis- 
fortune's child, and sorrow long since marked me for 
her owm. MISS FRANCES BROWN. 
Though this fair world so radiant with light, 
To thee, lay shrouded in perpetual night; 
Creaitve Genius, conscious of her power, 
Framed thee a world with mountain, tree and flower, 
And glassy lake, reflecting from its breast 
The mirrored forms that there in beauty rest • 
And e'en the muse, obedient to thy call, 
Kindled thy fancy, and inspired thy soul 
To rapturous song, of love and story old, 
Of memories faded, and of hearts grown cold 
For the particulars of the life of Miss Brown, we 
are chiefly indebted to the celebrated Dr. Kitto, au- 
thor of "The Lost Senses." She was born,it appears, 
in 1816, at Stranolar, in the county of Donegal. 
There is little known of her parents, except that he) 
father was postmaster of the village. When but 
eighteen months old, she lost her sight by the small- 
pox. And in consequence of this misfortune, her 
early education, like that of most blind children, was 
neglected. It is commonly supposed, that blind per- 
sons can derive no benefit from the ordinary methods 
of instruction used at common schools. This we think 
is a mistaken notion. It is true, a blind child cannot 
perform an example in arithmetic on a common slate, 
or demonstrate a geometrical figure drawn upon the FRANCES BROWN. 
153 
black-board, but he may recite in the classes or men- 
tal arithmetic, and receive oral lessons from the 
teacher in geography, grammar, and, in short, all the 
branches usually taught at common schools. 
Our young author not only gained a knowledge of 
the rudiments of grammar, but added a considerable 
stock of words to her vocabulary, by hearing her 
brothers and sisters con aloud their lessons. From 
her earliest years, Frances Brown evinced a love for 
poetry. At seven years of age she made her first at- 
tempt at writing verse, by throwing into rhyme the 
Lord's Prayer. Up to this time a few psalms, of the 
Scotch version, Watts' Divine Songs, and some old 
country songs, formed the extent of her poetical 
knowledge. As she grew older, her memory was 
strengthened by committing pieces of poetry from the 
provincial newspapers. These furnished rich food 
for the mind, and were no doubt well digested, as 
she was in the habit of frequently repeating them for 
her own amusement. As books were at this time 
scarce in her remote neighborhood, Susan Gray, The 
Gentle Shepherd, Mungo Park's Travels, Robinson 
Crusoe, were among the first of her book acquain- 
tances. " I have often heard them read by my rela- 
tives," says she, " and remember to have taken a 
strange delight in them, when, I am sure, they were 
not half understood." These soon created in her a 
passion for fiction and romance ; a taste by no means 
commendable, but much preferable, we think, to that 
distaste for all reading' which dry history is likely to 154 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
cultivate, if placed too soon in the hands of young 
persons. By this we would not be understood to en- 
courage novel reading, yet rather such than none at 
all. Furnish the mind with food of some kind, or it 
will devour its own puny offspring, and at last feed 
upon its own vitality. One who has been blind from 
infancy, will be likely to suffer most from such 
neglect. 
When the mind cannot look out upon God's perfect 
work, or be permitted to catch one glance at the book 
of nature thrown open to the view, of kindred minds, 
yet feels an inward consciousness of powers it cannot 
put forth, of inspirations and desires it can never grat- 
ify, when it has tried in vain to break its prison house 
and roam at large over the broad field of nature, its 
gaze is turned inward upon itself; but only sees, by 
the faint light of its expiring energies, its own moral 
deformity. Our authoress, however, did not thus pine 
under her afflictions. Through the sunshine of her 
young heart floated many a bright vision. Relating 
in part her early history, she says : " It was a gfeat 
day for me when the first of Sir Walter Scott's works 
fell into my hands. It was the ' Heart of Mid Lothi- 
an,' and was lent me by a friend, whose family were 
rather better provided with books than most in our 
neighborhood. My delight in the work was very 
great, even then ; and I contrived by means of bor- 
rowing, to get acquainted in a very short time with 
the greater part of the works of its illustrious author, 
for works of fiction, about this time, occupied all my FRANCES BROWN 
155 
thoughts. I had a curious mode of impressing on 
my memory what had been read, namely, lying awake, 
in the silence of the night, and repeating it all over 
to myself. To that habit I probably owe the extreme 
tenacity of memory which I now possess ; but, like 
all other good things, it had its attendant evil, for I 
have often thought it curious that, whilst I never for- 
got any scrap of knowledge collected, however small, 
yet the common events of daily life slip from my 
memory so quickly, that I can scarcely find anything 
again which I have once laid aside." 
Miss Brown had now reached a period in life, when 
dreams of love and romance lose much of their inter- 
est, and fancies gradually give place to facts. His- 
torical novels were laid aside, and the more wonderful 
romance of history itself now attracted her attention. 
Baine's History of the French War, and Hume's His- 
twy of England, were read by her with avidity. 
About this time, a friend presented her with that vo- 
luminous work,'the "Universal History," in twenty- 
two volumes, which made her acquainted with the 
histories of Greece and Rome, and other ancient na- 
tions. The fund of information thus acquired was 
afterwards increased from many other sources. These 
historical studies making a knowledge of geography 
necessary, she began, to acquire this in the mode al- 
ready indicated, viz. by learning the lessons of her 
brothers and sisters. In order to obtain a more per- 
fect knowledge of the relative situation of distant 
places, she sometimes requested a friend who could 156 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
trace maps, to place her finger upon some well known 
spot, the situation of which was already known to her, 
and then conduct the fingers of the other hand to any 
place in the map, the situation of which she desired 
to ascertain. By this plan, having previously known 
how the cardinal points were placed, she was enabled 
to form a tolerably correct idea, not only of the 
boundaries and magnitude of various countries, but 
also of the courses of rivers and mountain chains. 
In her eagerness to gain a knowledge of geography, 
it seems rather surprising that the present plan of 
constructing maps for the blind, did not suggest it- 
self to her mind. Had some friend glued upon her 
map tangible lines, marking the boundaries of the 
different divisions, and by other elevations indicating 
the course of rivers, mountain chains, and the locali- 
ties of principal towns, it would have enabled her t- , 
pursue the study of geography with little or no in 
convenience. 
It may be well to remark here, in Ihis connection 
(and perhaps be better understood,) that blind per 
sons find no difficulty in retaining images, or ideas of 
the form of bodies, if their true shape has been once 
positively ascertained by the sense of touch. Hence, 
it will be seen that ideal maps and diagrams may be 
drawn by them, and impressed upon the memory with 
all their lines and angles distinctly marked. Though 
these images present no differences in color, there 
are marked differences in the smoothness, or asperity, 
of their surfaces. Those who can only retain the im- FRANCES BROWN. 
157 
pression of objects they have once seen, by their pe- 
culiar color, or, in other words, by the contrast of 
light and shade, will hardly understand how it is that 
one who has never seen color, and consequently can 
have no conceptions of the outlines of objects as they 
appear to the eye, can picture to himself the relative 
distance of bodies, their magnitude and different pro 
portions, and more particularly, bodies in motion. 
At a casual glance at the subject, it no doubt appears 
wonderful that a person entirely depending upon the 
sense of touch, should be able to form any idea of ex- 
tent beyond the space he occupies. But it should be 
remembered that all knowledge was first gained by 
repeated experiment. Some writers on optics claim 
that the infant first sees every object inverted; but 
that the delusion vanishes when he has once ascer- 
tained by the sense of touch their true position. 
Whether this be true or not, it is certain that the 
most experienced observer cannot always determine 
the true distances of-objects from the eye by their 
apparent magnitude. Hence, in order to gain a 
knowledge of extent, figure, and the real magnitude 
of bodies, a series of experiments seem requisite for 
the seeing, as well as for the blind. 
By a few of Miss Brown's poems, which we pro- 
pose to subjoin presently, the reader will be able to 
judge whether their learned authoress was ignorant 
of the scenes she so vividly describes. Although she 
could have retained no recollection of visible objects, 
her imagery is perfect, and her descriptions by no 158 
BBA'ITTES OF THE '■'.IND 
means deficient in warmth and color. Her first po- 
etical efforts were but feeble imitations of everything 
she knew-from the Psalms to Gray's Elegy. De- 
pending upon the eyes of others for much of her in- 
formation, Miss Brown had, up to this time, been 
able only' to manage the lighter kinds of reading, by 
the aid of her young relatives, who took great pleas- 
ure in reading to her such publications as most amused 
and interested themselves. As this kind of reading 
did not greatly elevate her standard of taste, her pow- 
ers of invention, for a time, kept pace with her im- 
perfect ideas of poetry. 
In a few years her compositions had accumulated 
into a considerable manuscript. But having read 
the poems of Burns, and Pope's translation of Ho- 
mer's Iliad, she became so disgusted with her own 
feeble attempts at versification, that in a fit of sover- 
eign contempt she committed her whole manuscript 
to the flames, and resolved never again to insult the 
muses. In this resolution she persevered for several 
years: Byron's Childe Harold next made a deep im- 
pression on her mind, and served greatly to strengthen 
her resolution. Iler strong inclinations, however, for 
writing verse, together with the influence of her 
friends, at length induced her to break the rash prom- 
ise she had made, and become a contributor to the 
" Irish Penny Journal." In 1841 she sent a few 
small poems to the editor of the London Atheneum 
with the offer of further contributions, and solicit? . 
that a copy of the journal might be sent to her n FRANCES BROWN. 
159 
return. After waiting in anxious suspense some ac- 
knowledgment of her voluntary contributions, she had 
nearly given up as lost her long cherished object, 
when to her great delight, several numbers of the 
journal arrived. This encouragement gave a new 
impulse to her efforts ; and with it dawned a brighter 
day in her life than had hitherto cheered her solitary 
way, lighting up a fairer prospect in thg future than 
she had yet'anticipated. 
From that time Miss Brown's writings have been 
more before the public, and never failed to attract 
favorable notice. She is at present well known in 
the literary world as an authoress of some very cred- 
itable verse. Her long poem, " The Star of Attigher," 
is thought by some less meritorious than many of her 
smaller productions. Her style is brilliant, and her 
poems abound in metaphor. If they have a fault, it 
is the sudden transition from one simile to another, 
illustrating the same idea, somewhat analagous to a 
rapid modulation in musical composition : a new key 
is introduced, before the ear is prepared for a new 
succession of sounds. Her themes, however, are hap- 
pily chosen, and the construction of her verse is flu- 
ent and musical. 
To those who see, like herself, by the light which 
fancy kindles in the imagination, creating for the 
blind an artificial day, her poems cannot fail to be 
peculiarly attractive. It is most remarkable that, in 
her whole collection of poems, there is not a word 
about blindness. The most probable reason that we 160 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
can assign for this is, Miss Brown did not wish the 
sympathy which her supposed unhappy condition 
might awaken, either to enhance or diminish the in- 
trinsic value of her productions. Sympathy is like 
an image reflected from a mirror, it only remains 
while the object is present. It is but an echo of suf- 
fering, and seldom more than a faint response from 
light hearts but imperfectly tuned, to the deep, sad 
tones of a lonely and desolate heart. Another indu- 
cing motive was, we doubt not, her sad experience 
of the fact, that any allusion to her misfortune would 
carry with it, to the minds of some, an idea of moral, 
physical, and intellectual deterioration. Although 
many think in the dark with their eyes open, their 
thoughts are not supposed to gather darkness ; or if 
they wish to shut out intruding objects by closing 
their eyes in the day time, the torch of reason and 
the fire of genius are supposed to give luster to their 
imaginings. But when one is compelled to gather 
his thoughts in the dark, there is great danger, it is 
thought, that the shades of night will even gather 
around his mid-day scenes. " Blindness from in- 
fancy," says Dr. Kitto, " however deeply to be la 
raented by those who enjoy sight and know the sources 
of pleasure and usefulness which it opens, can afford 
few materials of sorrow to one who knows not this, 
and can scarcely be practically aware that there is 
any happier physical condition than her own." 
There are few perhaps better able to estimate the 
loss of sight and the many inconveniences to which FRANCES BROWN. 
161 
such a loss exposes one, than the learned author we 
have quoted, having himself been deaf from a very 
early period of life. But our own experience leads 
us to a conclusion very different from his. It is not 
strictly true that .persons born'blind are so blissfully 
ignorant of their own misfortune. It is quite as rea- 
sonable to suppose, that one who has never enjoyed 
the use of his legs, yet observes how others value 
them, should be ignorant of the inconvenience to 
which he is exposed, in pushing himself from place 
to place by the mere strength of his arms. Though 
on the principle of the lever, what he loses in velo- 
city he gains in power, (since in the absence of legs 
his arms are made to subserve a double purpose, 
thereby acquiring great strength and dexterity,) yet 
to him this fact is not so consoling after all. The il- 
lustration we have used, however, is too strong for 
the reality; for of the two physical defects, were it 
left to our own choice, we would gladly choose the 
former. The dull soul that looks coldly out on the 
bright aspect of things, upon all the beauties of the 
visible universe, and feels no chord vibrate with the 
harmony of nature, no generous response to her 
theme of universal praise, no deep and fervent emo- 
tions of love, nor even rises above the mean and sordid 
things of earth, can have no sympathy with a spirit 
fettered and immured in its dark prison-house, ever 
wishing to pierce the impenetrable vail of darkness, 
if only to admit one ray of heaven's pure light. There 
are some who never look up; whose admiration nevei 162 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND 
soars above the pile of glittering dust before them ; 
who imagine they read by its false light God's wL.»le 
revelation to man, and by its duration they compute 
their own immortality. True, the gold does not rust, 
but their reasons will it will still shine, though the 
light of intelligence has faded from their eyes. To 
such, the fair face of nature soon grows wan and fa- 
miliar ; and to such only does her book present a 
universal blank. 
From Frances Brown's volume of collected poems, 
we have made the following selections as specimens 
of her style: 
THE PAINTER'S LOVE. 
The summer day had reach'd its calm decline, 
When the young painter's chosen task was done- 
At a low lattice, wreathed with rose and vine, 
And open to the bright descending sun, 
And ancient Alps, whose everlasting snows 
And forests round that lonely valley rose ; 
Yet lovely was the brow, and bright the hair 
His pencil pictured-for an Alpine maid, 
In blooming beauty, sat before him there , 
And well had the young artist's hand portray'd 
The daughter of the south, whose youthful prime 
Was bright as noontide in her native clime. 
Perchance the maiden di aamt not that amid 
The changeful fortune of his after days, 
That early-treasured image should abide- 
The only landmark left for memory's gaze. 
Perchance the wanderer deemed his path too dim 
Ind cold for such bright eves to shine on him ; FRANCES BROWN. 
163 
For silently he went his lonely way- 
And like the currents of far parted streams, 
Their years flow'd on ; but many a night and day 
The same green valley rose upon their dreams- 
To him with her young smile and presence bright- 
To her with the old home-fire's love and light; 
For she, too, wander'd from its pleasant bowers, 
To share a prouder home and nobler name 
In a far land. And on his after hours 
The golden glow of Art's bright honors came ; 
And time.roll'd on, but found him still alone, 
And true to the first love his heart had known 
At length, within a proud and pictured hall 
He stood, amid a noble throng, and gazed . 
Upon one lovely form-which seem'd of all 
Most loved of sages, and by poets praised 
In many a song-but to the painter's view 
It had a spell of power they never knew; 
For many an eye of light and form of grace 
Had claim'd his magic pencil since its skill 
To canvas gave the beauty of that face: 
But in his memory it was brighter still; 
And he had given life's wealth to meet again 
The sunny smile that shone upon him then. 
There came a noble matron to his side, 
With mourning robes and darkly-flowing vail, 
Yet much of the world's splendor and its pride, 
Around long-silver'd hair and visage pale; 
But at one glance-though changed and dim, that eye 
Lit up the deserts of his memory. 
It brought before his sight the vale of vines, 
The rose-wreath'd lattice, and the sunset sky, 
Far gleaming through the old majestic pines 
That clothed the Alpine steeps so gloriously 
And, oh I was this the face his art portray'd, 
Long, long ago beneath their peaceful shade I 
The star his soul had worship'd through the past, 
With all the fervor of untutor'd truth- 
His early loved and longed for-who at last 164 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Gazed on that glorious shadow of her youth! 
And youth had perish'd from her-but there stay'd 
With it a changeless bloom that could not fade ; 
The winters had not breath'd upon its prime- 
For life's first roses hung around it now, 
Unblanch'd by all the waves and storms of time 
That swept such beauty from the living brow- 
And withering age, and deeply-cankering care, 
Had left no traces of their footsteps there. 
The loved one and the lover both were changed, 
Far changed in fortune, and perchance in soul; 
And they whose footsteps fate so far estranged, 
At length were guided to the same bright goal 
Of early hopes : but, oh, to be once more 
As they had been in that sweet vale of yore I 
They cast upon each other one long look ; 
And hers was sad-it might be with regret 
For all the true love lost; but his partook 
Of woe, whose worldless depth was darker yet, 
For life had lost its beacon, and that brow 
Could be no more his star of promise now. 
And once again the artist silently 
Pass'd from her presence. But, from that sad hour, 
As though he feared its fading heart and eye, 
Forsook all mortal beauty for the power 
Of deathless art. By far and fabled streams 
He sought the sculptured forms of classic dreams 
And pictured glories of Italian lore, 
But looked on living beauty never more. 
" Miss Brown," says the learned Dr. Kitt', " uses 
shade and shadow as synonymous. Of sb?de she 
could have an idea, from having herself, when under 
a tree, realized the consciousness of being screened 
from the warmth of the sun; but of shadow, 05 di?, 
tinct from shade, she does not appear to have had a 
idea, for whenever she does use it, bhade is meant.' FRANCES BROWN. 
165 
One of the present writers, who has been blind fron 
birth, adds, "I have always had a notion of some 
difference between shade and shadow. Shade ap- 
pears to me much darker, and more confused than 
shadow. Shade has no particular form, while shadow 
takes the shape of the object by which it is cast." 
We see no reason why Miss Brown should have had 
a less distinct idea of the difference between shade 
and shadow than of the difference in the two primary 
colors, yellow and orange. We are not willing to 
believe that she was totally ignorant of the import 
of the words shade and shadow. We give, however, 
a brief extract from her " Lessons of the Louvre," 
and leave the reader to judge for himself: 
"So spake the sun of Gallic fame, 
When, on his conquering noon, 
No dimly distant shadow came 
Of clouds to burst too soon- 
But o'er the crown'd and laurel'd brow 
There passed a shade the while, 
That dimm'd the dark eye's haughty glow 
And quench'd the scornful smile." 
THE LAND OF LIBERTY 
Where may that glorious land be found 
Which countless bards have sung- 
The chosen of the nations, crown'd 
With fame, forever young ? 166 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
A. fame that fill'd the Grecian sea. 
And rang through Roman skies ; 
0! ever bright that land must be- 
But tell us where it dies I 
The rose-crown'd summer ceaseless shine* 
On orient realms of gold, 
The holy place of early shrines, 
The fair, the famed of old ; 
But ages on their flood have borne 
Away the loftiest fane, 
Yet left upon the lands of Morn 
A still unbroken chain. 
The West-0 ! wide its forests wave, 
But long the setting sun 
Hath blush'd to see the toiling slave 
On fields for freedom won ; 
Still mighty in their seaward path 
Roll on the ancient floods, 
That miss the brethren of their youth, 
The dwellers of the woods. 
The North with misty mantle lowers 
On nations wise and brave, 
Who gather from a thousand shores 
The wealth of land and wave ; 
But stains are on their boasted store- 
Though Freedom's shrine be fair, 
'Tis empty-or they bow before 
A gilded idol there 1 
The South-the cloudless South-expands 
Her deserts to the day, 
Where rove those yet unconquer'd bands, 
Who own no scepter's sway ; 
But wherefore is the iron with 
Our golden image blent ? 
For, see, the harem-bars reach forth 
Into the Arab's tent. FRANCES BROWN. 
167 
O! Earth hath many a region bright, 
And Ocean many an isle- 
But where on mortals shines the light 
Of Freedom's cloudless smile ? 
The search is vain ! From human skies 
The angel early fled- 
Our only land of freedom i? 
The country of the dead I MISS FRANCES JANE CROSBY, 
AN AMERICAN AUTHORESS. 
"Tis bright where'er the heart is; 
Nor chain nor dungeon dim, 
May check the mind's aspirings, 
The ipjrit's pealing hymn. 
The heart gives life its beauty 
Its glory and its power,- 
'Tis sunlight to its rippling stream, 
And soft dew to its flower." 
The poems of this blind lady have been so much 
and so justly admired by all who have read them, 
and have so frequently drawn from the pen of re- 
viewers acknowledgments of their superior excellence, 
almost amounting to adulation, that a few glimpses 
of her early history will be received no doubt by our 
readers with interest. To her assiduous efforts as a 
teacher, the Institution for the Blind at New York, 
with which she has long been connected, owes much 
of its present prosperity ; and to her aid in many 
other respects it is, no doubt, indebted for its world- 
wide reputation. 
No one can read her poems and not be struck with 
the simple beauty and elegance of her style, the cor- 
rectness of her imagery, and her giddy flights of FRANCES JANE CROSBY. 
169 
fancy, as may be seen in the poem entitled, "Visit 
to a Fixed Star." And more particularly is she happy 
in the choice of euphonic words, and in the construe 
tion of musical and well rounded sentences, which is 
said to be a characteristic of the blind. In the pre- 
face of her first work, the writer of it observes: " That 
one who, from the earliest period of infancy, has been 
deprived of sight, and whose entire knowledge of ex- 
ternal objects, from which to paint with the imagina- 
tive pencil, has been derived from ora] description, 
should be able thus faithfully to present scenes from 
nature, and in colors so vivid and true as to render 
the reader incredulous as to the originality of the 
production, is a subject of surprise, as well as ad- 
miration. 
As an evidence that Miss Crosby is in some degree 
a reasoner, as well as poetess, we copy the following 
lines from her last work, entitled, "Monterey and 
other Poems: " 
TIME CHRONICLED IN A SKULL. 
W ny should I fear it ? Once the pulse of life 
Throbbed in these temples, pale and bloodless now ? 
Here reason sat enthroned, its empire held 
O'er infant thought and thought to action grown: 
A flashing eye in varying glances told 
The secret workings of immortal mind. 
The vital spark hath fled, and hope, and love. 
♦ Thoughts suggested to our authoress on placing her watch in a human skull 
rhich was one day put into her hands. 170 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
And hatred-all are buried m the dust: 
orgotten, like th$ cold and senseless clay 
hat lies before me: such is human life, 
lortals, behold and read your destiny I 
'aithful chronometer, which now I place 
Vithin this cavity, with faltering hand, 
fell me how swift the passing moments fly I 
hear thy voice, and tremble as I hear; 
?or time and death are blended-awful thought 
)eath claims his victim. Time that once was his, 
bearing him onward with resistless power, 
dust in a vast eternity be lost. 
Eternity I duration infinite ! 
Ages and ages roll unnumbered there ; 
From star to star the soul enraptured flies, 
Drinking new beauties, transports ever new. 
Casting its crown of glory at His feet, 
Whose word from chaos to existence called 
A universe; whose hand omnipotent 
Controls the storms that wake the boundless deep, 
"And guides the planet in its wild career." 
The novel circumstance which formed the subject 
of this poem, though trivial in itself, was well calcu- 
lated to inspire our authoress with deep and sublime 
emotions, and at once suggest to her a train of me! 
ahcholy reflections. 
''Why should I fear it? Once the pulse of life 
Throbbed in these temples, pale and bloodless now.'" 
What terror must she have felt, on placing her 
hands on the dry, hard bones, which once formed the 
prison-house of an immortal mind ! How reluctantly 
must she have placed her watch in the dark cavity 
vhere once sat enthroned a reason, an ever-active in- FRANCES JANE CROSBY. 
171 
telligence, that thinks, that wills, that knows, and yet 
knows not itself, or its own destiny ! 
" I hear thy voice, and tremble as I hear; 
For time and death are blended-awful thought-! " 
Among her many creditable performances, this 
poem unquestionably excels in point of what we 
conceive to be true merit. It certainly stands unri- 
valed by any modern production of the blind we 
have yet seen. It not only possesses many intrinsic 
beauties, but discovers in the writer a depth of 
thought, and an appreciation of the sublime truly 
surprising. 
Miss Frances Jane Crosby, an eleve of the New 
York Institution for the Blind, was born in 1820. 
At the early age of six weeks she lost her sight, by a 
fit of severe illness. Nor was this her only misfor- 
tune. Losing her father about this time, and her 
mother being left in indigent circumstances, scarcely 
able to provide for her own maintenance, the early 
education of her sightless daughter was entirely 
neglected. 
Her unhappy condition at this period we cannot 
better describe than she herself has done in the 
oilowing: 
"She sat beside her cottage door, 
Her brow a pensive sadness wore ; 
And while she listened to the song 
That issued from that youthful throng, 
The tears, warm gushing on her cheek, 
Told what no language e'er could speak; 172 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
While their young hearts were light and gay, 
The hours passed heavily away. 
A mental night was o'er her thrown, 
She sat dejected and alone. 
Yet, no; a mother's accents dear, 
Came softly on that blind girl's ear. 
While all were lock'd in dreamy sleep, 
That mother o'er her couch would weep, 
And as she knelt in silence there, 
Would breath to God her fervent prayer: 
■ That he all merciful and mild, 
Would bless her sightless, only child.'" 
This is a sad but no doubt true picture of her 
childhood. Possessing from her infancy a poetical 
temperament, quick perceptions, and a sensitive na- 
ture, she perhaps felt more deeply her privation. 
This is not the case, however, with all blind children; 
their inventive genius soon suggests methods for 
joining other children in their sports. Parents should 
be careful to encourage their little sightless charges, 
who seem to them so helpless, in healthful and play- 
ful exercises ; allow them to run at will about the 
yards where they are not exposed to danger, and de- 
vote at least a small portion of their time each day 
to their mental training. In this way they would 
soon become as active and vigorous, both physically 
and mentally, as seeing children, and be guilty of 
quite as many mischievous pranks. 
Strange notions have been entertained, by writers 
of all ages, in relation to blindness. Some suppose 
it to be not only the greatest calamity that can befal 
one, but to preclude the possibility of a strong and FRANCES JANE CROSBY. 
173 
vigorous constitution. As an instance, we offer the 
following from the Encyclopedia Britanica : " The 
sedentary life to which they are doomed, relaxes the 
frame, and subjects them to all the disagreeable sen- 
sations which arise from dejection of spirits; hence 
the most feeble exertions create lassitude and uneasi- 
ness, and the natural tone of the nervous system, de- 
stroyed by inactivity, exasperates and embitters every 
disagreeable impression." This, so far from being 
true, is strikingly at variance with our own experi- 
ence and numerous observations. The educated 
blind are commonly as cheerful as the seeing, and 
apparently much happiei than the deaf mute, who 
has all his powers of locomotion, aided by perfect 
sight. He is annoyed by a thousand loathsome and 
disgusting objects, which, from us, are excluded. 
Possessing the sense of hearing, cultivated to an as- 
tonishing degree, and a delicacy of touch known only 
by those who look out from the ends of their fingers, 
we hear beauties in pleasant voices, sweet sounds, 
and even what may seem to others harsh discord, en- 
tirely hidden to the more obtuse senses of those who 
see. We derive great satisfaction from feeling over 
glossy surfaces, equivalent, perhaps, to the pleasura- 
ble emotions experienced by the seeing from the per- 
ception of brilliant colors. Indeed, this charge can- 
not be true, (though a hypothesis commonly assumed 
at the present day,) from the fact that the blind, in 
order to examine objects by their sense of touch, are 
necessarily compelled to travel over a space of ground 174 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
which the eye might embrace at a single glance. In 
short, all blind persons with whom we have ever been 
acquainted, are more or less addicted to habits .of in- 
cessant motion, either in walking or oscillating, a 
motion which Blacklock so good-naturedly describes 
in his picture of himself. 
An opinion is prevalent, even at the present day, 
that when the grand avenue to the mind is closed 
from birth, nature most miraculously provides for the 
deficiency, by digging deep the other channels; or, 
in other words, rectifying her mistake by endowing 
her imperfect piece of mechanism with supernatural 
abilities. Hence, Rochester's idea: " If one sense 
should be suppressed, it but retires into the rest." 
Some suppose that when the mind cannot peep out 
through its natural windows, at the fair face of na- 
ture, it listens more intently at what is going on with- 
out, and even reaches out through the fingers' ends, 
to gain a knowledge, not only of the texture of ob- 
jects, but, mirabile dictu, even their very colors, 
though tinseled with a thousand lights and shades. 
It is rather surprising that those who entertain such 
vague notions, are not fearful that some elfish blind 
person, in groping about among nature's fixings, 
might tarnish the brilliant colors of the rainbow. 
These remarks are not meant to be unkind, nor would 
we be understood as holding in contempt the infer- 
ences drawn by the friends of the blind, from the 
many astonishing exhibitions of their delicacy of 
touch. Nor do we think these mistaken impressions FRANCES JANE CROSBY. 
175 
unworthy of a candid consideration. But, having 
adverted to them in another place, let us turn from 
this digression, patient reader, to go in quest of the 
little desponding creature whom we left pining over 
her misfortunes. 
Her seat beside her cottage door is desolate. We 
now see her in the midst of a gay group of merry 
school girls, quite as cheerful and happy as her com- 
panions. She has now reached her fifteenth year, 
and become a regular inmate of the New York Insti 
tution for the Blind. At this period, it is said, com- 
menced the dawn of her mental existence, from 
which time her intellectual powers have expanded, 
until her imaginative mind has been enabled to 
clothe its thoughts in language at once chaste and 
poetic. No longer under the tender care and ever- 
vigilant eye of a fond mother, whose anxious solici- 
tude and commiseration for her sightless daughter 
tended only to render her delicate nature the more 
sensitive, she was now thrown in the society of those 
whose latent powers had already begun to unfold to 
the genial rays of an intellectual day. Soon her 
slumbering energies were aroused to vigorous activ- 
ity. Her fondness for poetry soon manifested itself. 
Some of her first eifusions may still be seen in the 
early reports of the institution. Her first book of 
poems was published in 1844. For this she realized 
for herself and mother considerable pecuniary aid. 
Her last work, entitled " Monterey and other Poems," 176 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
appeared in 1851. From this we have made the fol 
lowing selections: 
VISIT TO A FIXED STAR. 
[Suggested on attending a course of lectures delivered at the 
Broadway Tabernacle, by Professor Mitchell, the celebrated Amer- 
ican astronomer.] 
'T was night, and by a fountain side, 
I stood and mused alone ; 
Strange objects rose upon my sight, 
That were to me unknown. 
Mysterious forms fantastic moved, 
With slow and measured tread, 
Like shadows floating in the air, 
Or spectres from the dead. 
A goblet from that fountain filled, 
How quickly did I drain 1 
For those who taste its cooling draught 
May live the past again. 
Then suddenly a meteor glare 
Flash'd from the midnight sky; 
'Twas gone,-and on immensity 
Was riveted mine eye. 
Borne upward by a power unseen, 
In air I seemed to glide; 
Onward-still onward-was my course 
A spirit was my guide. 
We passed on never-tiring wings 
Through boundless realms of space. 
Till lost amid those clustering stars 
That here we scarce can trace- FRANCES JANE CROSBY. 
177 
Vast suns, with burning satellites, 
Burst on my wondering eyes: 
Bewildered by their dazzling light, 
I gazed in mute surprise. 
"Tell me, celestial one," I said, 
"If thou mayst be addressed, 
Are not the brilliant orbs I see 
The dwellings of the blest ? 
" Can we the utmost limits search ?- 
The heights of space attain ? " 
" When ends eternity," he cried, 
"And Heaven shall cease to reign." 
He spoke, then pointed to a star, 
That far beyond us lay; 
And swifter than on lightning's wing 
We thither bent our way. 
In robes of passing loveliness 
Was Nature' there arrayed, 
The air was fragrant with the breath 
Of flowers that never fade. 
"Spirit," I asked, "can aught of grief 
These regions fair molest ? 
My pinions gladly would I fold, 
In this bright land to rest." 
' Mortal," he answered, " thou must pass 
The portals of the dead; 
For sacred are these verdant fields, 
Where only spirits tread." 
He ceased; then waved me back to earth 
I saw, I heard no more ; 
I woke as from a pleasing dream ; 
The mystic spell was o'er. 178 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
VOICE OF THE TWILIGHT IIOCR. 
Voice of the twilight hour ! 
I list to thy heaven-breathed tone, 
In the tender sigh of the closing flower. 
Or the soft wind's dying moan: 
Thou speak'st of the hopes that smil'd 
On the bright spring-time of youth, 
When a mother knelt, and in language mild, 
A lesson, though simple, she taught her child- 
'Twas a lesson of artless truth. 
Voice of the twilight hour, 
How sweet is thy sound to me I 
For my soul is entranced by thy soothing power 
And its sorrows are lost in thee : 
Thou art heard in the trembling strings 
Of the harp which the breezes wake ; 
In the bird, as her farewell note she sings 
To the golden hues which the sunset flings 
O'er the breast of the silver lake. 
Thou speak'st of a brighter land- 
Of a far-off region fair, 
And thy whispers are soft of a shadowy band, 
And I know that the loved are there. 
Voice of the twilight hour! 
Ere thy heaven-breathed tones depart, 
Oh, speak in the sigh of the closing flower, 
Or the winds that die in the green-wood bower 
Once more to my anxious heart. 
Do those we have cherished here 
In that land their love forget ? 
Though their home is a holier, happier sphere 
Oh I say, do they guard us yet ? FRANCES JANE CROSBY. 
179 
But the twilight answer'(I not; 
And a voice from the distant hills 
Replied as I stood on that lonely spot: 
The friends thou hast cherished forget thee not, 
And they love and they guard thee still. 
'Twas the voice of the silent night- 
And the earth and the ocean slept, 
And the silent stars with their mellow light 
O'er nature their vigils kept. 
And I thought it were bliss to die, 
To fade with the tints of even, 
For gladly then would the spirit fly 
On its angel wings io the realms on high, 
And meet with the lost in HeAven. MISS CYNTHIA BULLOCK. 
AN AMERICAN AUTHORESS. 
' Lo 1 heaven's bright bow is glad I 
Lo I trees and flowers all clad 1 
In glory bloom! 
And shall the immortal sons of God, 
Be senseless as the trodden flo.i, 
And darker than the tomb ? 
No I says God, our sire i 
Let souls have holy light within, 
Let every form of grief and sin 
Now feel its fire I 
Truth-truth alone, 
Is light, and hope, and life, and power; 
Earth's deepest night from this blest hou?, 
The night of mind be gone I " 
Far inadequate is human wisdom, aside from di 
vine revelation, to foster the sacred ties that should 
bind our race in gentleness together. The arts, sci- 
ences, and multifarious schools of philosophy, in 
which the sages of antiquity won for themselves im- 
mortal fame, tended but to magnify the distinction 
between the lowly and privileged classes, and dry up 
the vein of sympathy between the opulent and de- 
fected. On Bethlehem's plains, by angelic hosts, was 
first announced on earth, the advent of humanity's CYNTHIA BULLOCK. 
181 
great Benefactor. When 'neath Eden's bowers, our 
primitive representatives invoked consuming wrath, 
His potent hand turned aside the stroke of death, and 
now came to raise the fallen, bind np the broken- 
hearted, and wipe the tear from the cheek of the dis- 
consolate. His words imparted activity to the 
maimed, life to the dead, and sight to the blind. 
The injunctions that fell from his holy lips, attended 
by grace divine, have gently distilled upon the sterile 
heart of humanity, like the dews of heaven on the 
tender grass, and caused it to germ, and bring forth 
fruit to bless the afflicted. The many brilliant benev- 
olent institutions that gem our land, like stars the 
ethereal blue, are but emanations from that glorious 
gospel that shall eventually restore primitive paradise 
to man. 
Though the votaries of learning of every nation, 
from a high antiquity, held in enthusiastic admiration 
the inimitable songs of sightless Homer, no institu- 
tion for the benefit of this class, adorned the plains 
of Egypt, or crowned the sunny hills of Greece, or 
reflected the brightness of an Italian sky. It is from 
the fountain of Christianity alone, that flow those be- 
nign principles that lead men, at the present day, to 
supply the want of sight, by means devised by mercy. 
One of the recipients of such public munificence, in 
whose soul was poured the light of gladness,is our pres- 
ent authoress. And, like Israel's poet, her lines 
glow with fervent thanks to God, the bountiful dis- 
penser of temporal as well as spiritual blessings. 182 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
It is with pleasure that we ornament the pages of 
this work, with the name and a few select poems of 
this distinguished and highly gifted authoress. And 
we only regret that its design confines us to so small 
a space, in which to give a sketch of her biography; 
but hope that ere long she will favor the public with 
a fuller history of her experience and perigrinations 
in her world of physical darkness. 
For the public munificence and educational oppor- 
tunities which the blind of this country at present 
enjoy, we are largely indebted to the efforts of this 
lady. She was among the small group of sightless 
children collected at New York, by the benevolent 
Dr. Akerly, for the purpose of making experiments 
in the instruction of this class. Her quick percep- 
tion and readiness in acquiring a knowledge of all 
the branches of science in which she was trained, 
and her interesting appearance at the several exam- 
inations and exhibitions given before the legistature 
of our state, greatly aided in moving that body to 
make provisions for the education of this class, on a 
more extensive plan ; whose example nearly all the 
sister states of this great republic have nobly imita- 
ted. Who can estimate the vast good which her 
indomitable perseverance has done, in self-culture, and 
to dispel the mental gloom that so long shrouded all 
under similar circumstances. Like resistless ocean's 
tide, it commenced with a small riplet, but will con- 
tinue to flow on, extend, and rise, until it breaks on 
the boundless shores of eternity. CYNTHIA BULLOCK. 
183 
Miss Bullock was born at Lyons, Wayne county, 
New York, March 7th, 1821. There are, perhaps, 
_ew deprivations to which our physical organizatioc 
is subject, that tend, in a greater degree, to weaken 
c ar predominant and all-absorbing passion for life, 
han that under which this infant launched her frail 
ark on life's tempestuous sea. The earth robed ii 
richest loveliness, tinged with beauty's fairest dyes 
must ever be to her but a mocking unreality; the 
luminous worlds that gem the sable curtains of night 
could have no voice to allure her thoughts heaven- 
ward ; and the rosy tints of morn, nor the gorgeous 
drapery of the setting sun, could ever thrill one chord 
of gladness in her heart; for her captive soul must 
be barred in a living tomb, until her passage through 
the icy portals of death. 
But the sunshine of parental love and tenderness 
in which her gentle spirit basked through the early 
years of childhood, dissipated all the dark gloom that 
often hovers over such misfortunes, and fostered a 
spirit of cheerfulness in her heart that has seldom 
since forsaken her. The current of her days was, 
however, not long thus gently to glide on. To the 
kind voice, gentle hand, and well known footsteps of 
her protecting parent, who supplied, so far as possi- 
ble, her want of sight, and filled her heart with joy 
and gratitude, together with the wealth and ease in 
which her home abounded, she must soon bid adieu 
forever. While her father was engaged in extensive 
business, he suddenly died, and his affairs being un- 184 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
settled, " unprincipled persons took advantage of 
these unfortunate circumstances, and the mother and 
her children were left almost destitute ; and she was 
obliged to exert herself to the utmost of her abilities 
to sustain her little family." 
Little Cynthia early manifested great activity of 
mind, " and when her brothers began to go to school, 
a loneliness crept over her spirit, to which it had be- 
fore been a stranger. She felt herself isolated with- 
out knowing why, yet took great pleasure in commit- 
ting to memory the words which fell from the lips 
of her brothers, as they conned their lessons in the 
evening. Frequently, after they had ceased reading, 
would she take the book, and for some time feel its 
smooth pages. Then might you see a burning tear 
rolling silently down her young cheeks, as if started 
by the thought: 'Oh, how delightful thus to learn so 
much that is beautiful and interesting I ' But these 
thoughts did not long cast their shadow over her 
childish spirit." The rosy morning tints of a brighter 
day dawned on her pathway, and a brilliant star of 
nope arose to adorn the horizon of her soul. The 
glorious hand of philanthropy, that, in the forenoon 
of the nineteenth century, commenced strewing her 
choicest flowers along the pathway of the blind, and 
ushered into the world of humanity a new era, sought 
her out, and endowed her with that liberal instruction 
which her dawning intellect so much craved. 
Accordingly, in 1833, when in the thirteenth year 
of her age, she joined the small,-sightless class ad- CYNTHIA BULLOCK. 
185 
verted to in the foregoing. From this diminutive 
germ, has grown the now proud institution that is an 
ornament to the city of New York, and that has dis- 
pensed such innumerable blessings to the blind. All 
along its steadily progressive course, Miss Bullock has 
been a shining light, and when charity convened her 
noblest sons, to lay the foundation of its present beau- 
tiful building, her silvery voice joined in swelling 
high the anthem of praise to Him who sits enthroned 
in resplendent glory, and yet has made the poor and 
afflicted the object of his especial care. 
In every age prior to the present, parents looked 
upon their sightless offspring with scarcely any feel- 
ings but of pity and sorrow ; their life was viewed 
as one of dark privation and sadness, and death as a 
release from misery. Without the means of acquiring 
knowledge, and not promising to.be useful, they were 
generally kept out of society, and away from the best 
sources of information. This institution opens a nev 
world to them : they can now enjoy the morning sur 
and evening shade ; they can welcome the return of 
day as a scene of busy variety, and the repose of eve 
rung as a happy rest from labor ; the monotony of 
silent grief is here dispelled, the heaving boson 
calmed, and the soul once more enters on a blissful 
career. They were without hope of participating in 
the common felicities of life, but they now enter upon 
their actual possession and enjoyment. Rescued from 
degradation and mourning, and brought from darkness 
to light; they begin at once to think correctly, to act 186 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
consistently, to feel that they are an important, and 
may be a useful portion of our race. The hea'th, 
cheerfulness and independence that wait upon honest 
industry, are secured to them : and even the sweets 
jf happy home to be their own possession, are placed 
within their reach. 
As a teacher in both the literary and musical de- 
partment of this Institute, Miss Bullock has rendered 
efficient service. And many are its present friends 
and patrons, whom her ever ready and highly poetic 
eloquence on all public occasions has won. 
In 1852, she presented herself before the public as 
an authoress, with a collection of her choicest poems, 
characterized by a poetic genius, elegance of style, 
and a knowledge of nature truly surprising in one so 
young " She is endowed with the feeling and fancy 
■of a poet, and so answers the classic maxim-a poet 
is born, not manufactured." As an example of her 
chaste and happy style, we quote the following lines, 
addressed to her bird : 
Thou call'st me from ambition's dream, 
From thoughts that wear the taint of earth, 
From fancy's bright and airy beam, 
To list thy song of artless mirth. 
Thy song of mirth, O joyous bird! 
Breaks with Aurora's gushing light, 
Is with the sigh of evening heard, 
Whex vails the sun his radiance bright CYNTHIA BULLOCK. 
187 
I sometimes deem that thou hast flown 
With birds in amaranthine bowers, 
And caught their melody of tone 
To cheer this lonely world of ours. 
Love dwells for thee in every flower, 
In fertile vale and gurgling rill; 
On zephyr's breath in sorrow's hour, 
It sheds a perfume round thee stilb 
Then call me from ambition's dream, 
From thoughts that wear the taint of earth, 
From fancy's bright and airy beam- 
I love thy song of artless mirth. 
Though she loves most to contemplate subjects full 
of the grand and sublime, she also possesses a lively 
appreciation of the humorous, as the following lines 
may serve to show : 
FALLING OF THE DINNER-POT. 
To all who have an hour to spend, 
I'll syig a little song ; 
Please promise me you will not smile 
When told it can't be long. 
Of death, of loss of property, 
Of blighted hope and love ; 
Of friends that coil around the heart, 
And then deceptive prove 1 
Ah I there are hues of darker shade, 
Reserved for each poor sinner; 
But none their withering blast can kno 
Who has not lost his dinner. 188 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND 
Seated in social converse sweet, 
The hours sped quickly past: 
We talked of 0. D.'s perjured oath, 
His motives first and last. 
And as the kitchen door would ope, 
Was the olfactory nerve, 
Aye, greeted by a savory smell, 
Which would as whetstone serve 
Of appetite. Tables and chairs, 
All in their places stood, 
And needed but their occupants, 
To make all very good. 
What means that loud, tremendous crash 
Why startle with affright? 
Why stands aghast yon trembling girl, 
With lips so ashy wnite ? 
Ah, me! my dear, said Mrs. P., 
Ours is a woful lot; 
An accident-our careful girl 
Upset the dinner-pot 1 
Yes, there a most delicious stew 
Lies strewn along the floor I 
I'm sure those boards have never knowi 
Such feasting times before. 
Each to the other comfort spoke, 
For, from a bounteous store, 
An humbler meal the table graced: 
We ate and laughed once more. 
And all agreed with one accord, 
That we'd forget it not, 
The day on which our hopes fell dcwn 
With that said dinner-pot CYNTHIA HILLOCK. 
189 
A few other choice selections may not be without 
interest to the reader: 
HOPE.* 
I've floated o'er earth on a beam of light, 
As the fire-fly shines in the darkest night; 
I've kissed the flowers bespangled with dew, 
Then soared aloft to my home of blue. 
On a golden beam through a fairy bower 
I have sought in vain for a fadeless flower; 
Its hue must be bright as a seraph's wings, 
When he basks in the smile of the King cf kings 
Its fragrance pure as the light above 
That beams from the brow of the God of love. 
I sought on that lovely sea-girt shore, 
Where science and wisdom were blent of yore, 
Where, sportive as birds in their leafy bowers, 
Young children were twining the earliest flowers 
Yet their sires were groaning with anguish keen, 
On each manly cheek was the tear-drop seen, 
And lone by that shore, where the Grecian wave 
Was dashing its spray, stood a chieftain brave. 
His people were slaves, and their galling chain 
Was rending his soul. Shall it suffer in vain ? 
I sought to solace his anguish deep, 
And encourage his heart that he should not weep ■ 
And he said, as I whispered: My arm is strong 
Unconscious of might, I have wept too long; 
My land shall be free as the mountain air, 
And the tyrant be crushed in his hideous lair 
But his generous soul with revenge grew dark, 
And I wept, though I quenched not its kindling spark. 
Where the happy were wrapped in their visions of love, 
And the sky-lamps were gemming the azure above, 
• W ritUn for the anniversary of 1S53. 190 
BEAUTIES CE THE BLIND. 
On the downy breath of the sportive breeze, 
That murmured all night 'mid the leaf-clad trees, 
I was gently borne to a chamber lone, 
Where the midnight lamp o'er a scholar shone, 
The offspring of genius, whose every thought 
With fancy and feeling was richly fraught. 
But a dream of ambition was lurking there, 
And I turned with a sigh to a scene more fair, 
Where the perfume sweet o'er my senses stole: 
'Twas the balm of peace to the anguished soul; 
It breathed from a flower, a lovely thing 
That bloomed in the heart's most sacred spring. 
Then the trophy-clad seraphs around me came ; 
Their harps of glory were sounding its name. 
'Twas blessed beneficence, spotless and mild, 
And I hailed it immortal with joys undefiled. 
In an amaranth wreath, for the brow of the kind, 
It is twined by the orphan, the mute, and the blind, 
And it blooms ever fair, as the star of even, 
Though drooping and sad with the tear-drops of heaver 
THE RETURN.* 
All-hallowing memory, holy, blest, 
Comes like the wind-harp's note at even, 
Soothing the spirit's sad unrest 
With glimpses of its promised heaven. 
Fond moment of terrestrial bliss I 
In fancy's magic mirror bright, 
I feel a mother's fervent kiss, 
And hear a father's sweet good night. 
• Emotions of a friend, who, after long absence from home, drank the Croton 
'fater a few moo err' before landing at New York. CYNTHIA BULLOCK. 
191 
I've wandered from my boyhood's home. 
And stood beneath Italia's skies ; 
I've trod thy streets, imperial Rome, 
And learned how earth-born splendor dies. 
In sunny France, 'mid England's bowers, 
And Scotland, with its varied view 
Of rocky glens and lovely flowers- 
Each fairy haunt how well I knew I 
And mused o'er Erin's shamrock green. 
So precious to each Irish heart, 
Till in the faded past were seen 
Its glories from the dust to start. 
I'm turning from these scenes away 
To thee, my boyhood's happy home; 
To the fond friends of early day, 
Like the lone, wandering dove, I come- 
And while I quaff the waters bright, 
Dear Croton, of thy crystal stream, 
Unnumbered airy dreams of light, 
Around my truant fancy beam. 
Light of my life art thou to me, 
Sweet home, my first and latest star; 
I never knew how dear thou'dst be, 
Till I had wandered thus afar. 
So, sacred Nile, thy sons for thee 
Would weep in Cashmere's lovely vale, 
Look wildly on Marmora's sea, 
Nor heed Arabia's spicy gale. 
But sigh for Egypt's pleasant stream, 
That washed their sunny land the while 
Day's star of hope, night's dearest dream, 
Were the sweet waters of the Nile MISS DAPHNE S. GEES. 
"With affections warm, intense, refined, 
She mingled such calm and holy strength of mind, 
That, like heaven's image in the smiling brook, 
Celestial peace was pictured in her look." 
There is perhaps no manifestation of the human 
intellect that more conclusively proves its immor- 
tality, than our constant discontent with the present, 
and insatiate reaching forward after objects of desire 
shrouded in the vista of futurity. Before the bud- 
ding mind is sufficiently developed to comprehend 
its responsibility or learn its destiny, the heart is 
moved forward by an innate impulse, and the pure 
fancy is impressed with alluring images, natives of a 
brighter sphere. When in the sunny hours of child- 
hood we sport upon the flowery lawn, sit by the mur- 
muring rill, as it gently meanders along its willowed 
banks, or chase with fantastic tread the gay butterfly 
over the rich green meadows, plucking from our path 
the lily and the wild rose, life seems to us but one 
scene of charming beauty, unsullied by the snares 
of sin. 
Yet oft from those innocent sports we turn away, 
our hearts panting for maturer years ; and, while 
glancing to tlie future, we paint in our youthful ardor DAPHNE S. GILES. 
193 
all that is delightful and gay. But, alas ! as we gen- 
tly glide along the current of time and emerge into 
the busy scenes of life, how oft are our fondest hopes 
blighted, and mountains of sorrow and disappoint- 
ment appear in view, rearing their summits to the 
sky, yet glittering with the tears of earthly pilgrims 
that have passed over before us. Yet who dares 
murmur at his lot ? He who holds in his hands the 
destiny of individuals as wTell as nations, has purposes 
to accomplish. Whatever he decrees in his right- 
eousness, though it at first seems our loss of all, will 
ultimately prove our highest good. " For my thoughts 
are not your thoughts, neither are my ways your 
ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher 
than the earth, so are my ways higher than your 
ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts." 
No theme or philosophy devised by ancient or 
modern sages can administer so sovereign a solace to 
the afflicted or sorrow-stricken soul as an unshaken 
confidence in a wise, overruling Providence, and an 
enlightened faith in the doctrines of the everlasting 
gospel. On the •precious promises beaming from 
that volume our present authoress has securely rested 
under all her trying afflictions. 
Miss Giles was born at New Haven, Vermont, Oc- 
tober 2d, 1812. Of her parentage we can gather no 
information from either her writings or allusions to 
her life by other authors. It appears that her former 
biographers, like ourselves, placed no high estimate 
on hereditary celebrity, or, feared to commit treason 194 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLEND. 
against'this age of progression by dragging their 
readers back over the ruins and rubbish of feudalism 
and chivalry, to detail the wonderful achievements 
of her ancestors; but in harmony with the true re- 
publican spirit of her own themes, we are content to 
rest her fame upon the literary and poetic merit of 
her own productions. 
As the years of her youth afford no incidents de- 
serving notice in this connection, we will pass them 
over to the fourteenth year of her age. At this pe- 
riod, when the mind is just beginning to unfold to 
the beauties of nature and science, and elating hopes 
of the future inspire the heart, the blighting hand of 
disease laid hold upon her, and bowed her tender 
heart to the sad destiny of having looked upon the 
variegated colors of creation, the fleecy clouds, the 
silvery moon, the burnished stars, and the radiant 
king of day in his meridian splendor, for the last time. 
The deep sorrow and gloom that must have shrouded 
her spirits at the time of this melancholy privation, 
we can justly appreciate, but have no terms to give 
them utterance. And were all the force of each lan- 
guage, ever spoken by human tongue, concentrated 
into one short sentence, it would be far inadequate. 
Her native energies and brilliant intellect were, how- 
ever, not crushed by this appalling event, nor long 
suffered to slumber undeveloped. The glorious spirit 
of the gospel, that in the morning of the nineteenth 
century has raised up friends to bless every class of 
sneering humanity, also moved the hearts of philan- DAPHNE S. GILES. 
195 
thropists, (though last of all,) to ameliorate the condi- 
tion of the blind. In the twenty-second year of her 
age, while residing at Dexter, Michigan, being in- 
formed that books with embossed letters were printed 
for the blind, she would not rest content until in pos- 
session of such (to her) priceless volumes. She has 
since been enabled to read the sacred oracles, together 
with other works prepared in this manner, and highly 
esteems the privilege, though it is by the slow process 
of feeling out the letters. 
In 1839, the refulgent star of the New York Insti- 
tution for the Blind, that has shed its intellectual 
light upon so many noble youths, and who in return 
have become lights of the first magnitude in the lit- 
erary world, beckoned her to come, and soon her 
cheerful voice echoed within its spacious halls. Her 
legitimate residence being in Michigan, and she there- 
fore unable to claim the patronage of our state prof- 
fered to all New York pupils, the Baptist society (of 
which she was a member and ornament) and the di- 
rectors of the institute, generously offered to defray 
her expenses while here passing through a course of 
scientific studies. 
There have been episodes in the annals of litera- 
ture, whose greatest and controlling intellects were 
the spontaneous productions of nature, and their own 
unaided efforts. But in an age like the present, when 
everything in the scope of human reason is so thor- 
oughly theorized and systematized, the world is slow 
to acknowledge merit, unless tipped by a diploma 196 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
and honorary medals of some renowned university. 
But aside from the honors generally awarded to su 
perior knowledge, to secure a literary education and 
connection with the mighty battery of science that 
electrifies and binds together the entire enlightened 
portion of mankind, and thereby keep pace with the 
spirit of the nineteenth century, is an object claiming 
the most assiduous attention of every social being. 
There is perhaps no institution in our country more 
eminently calculated to develop all the essential pow- 
ers of our nature, than the one of which Miss Giles 
became a happy inmate, and no effort did she spare 
to avail herself of all the advantages afforded in its 
several departments. The student's time is here di 
vided into three parts, and his instruction arranged 
into three separate classes, intellectual, mechanical, 
and musical. By means of the first, regular instruc- 
tion is given in reading, writing, grammar, geogra- 
phy, arithmetic, history, and all other English branches 
taught at the best schools, together with the Latin 
and French languages. 
The number of books printed in raised characters 
being as yet very limited, the instruction in this de- 
partment is principally conducted orally ; a system 
of teaching not inferior to any other, especially where 
the retentive powers of the pupil are as tenacious as 
those of the blind. The mechanical operations con- 
sist of several trades, in the prosecution of which 
sight can be most easily dispensed with. This, while 
it produces something towards the expenses of the in- DAPHNE S. GILES 
197 
stitution, is the means of instructing the laborers and 
learners in branches of industry that will enable them 
to provide for themselves. Music in every age has 
been the chief delight and principal pursuit of the 
blind, and owing to the extreme refinement of their 
auditory powers, it perhaps affords them higher grat- 
ification than any other class of mankind. This sci- 
ence is here taught to great perfection. Almost 
every instrument of modern use has been introduced, 
and great proficiency in performance has been at- 
tained by students, especially on the piano forte 
and organ. The vocal department of music has also 
received efficient attention. In acquiring a knowl- 
edge of this branch, but little inconvenience is real- 
ized by the pupil from his loss of sight. After re- 
ceiving a thorough knowledge of its rudiments, all 
the assistance he requires is the reading of the music 
until committed to memory, which practice greatly 
facilitates. 
In all the varied exercises and duties of this insti- 
tution, and the perplexing incidents invariably at- 
tending a student's life, Miss Giles sustained herself 
with commendable ability. In 1841, she bade adieu 
to the institute, her teachers, and kind benefactors, 
and returned to her friends in Michigan, with a more 
exalted and rational idea of life and happiness. We 
need not the feeling eloquence of a Milton to paint 
out before the public mind the utility of such institu 
tions for this class of community ; we need only ad 
vert to the child as it enters the school, borne down 198 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND 
with a sense of blindness, and witness the changed 
condition of the graduate student in the honorable 
walks of life ; happy as if unmin Iful of the want of 
sight, his soul filled witli the thought that he can al- 
ways find in labor, support, and in reading, amuse 
ment, without painfully depending on the eyesight 
of others, while in writing he has his circle of com- 
munication enlarged until it embraces the world. 
When Miss Giles wrote her first poems, it appears 
to have been far from her intention to present herself 
before the public in the capacity of an authoress. 
They were the result of h.er solitary musings on 
heavenly themes, while in a measure secluded from 
society, and were written down for the gratification 
of those few friends with whom she was daily con- 
versant. Several of these found their -way into the 
public journals, and the favorable notice they at- 
tracted induced her to publish from her portfolio a 
small volume. The approving smile with which an 
indulgent public received this laudable effort for self- 
maintenance, and the essential pecuniary aid realized 
from its sale, induced her more extensively to employ 
her pen. 
Three years subsequent, in 1848, her second work 
made its appearance, entitled " Female Influence ; " 
and her third publication, entitled " Balm of Gilead," 
was issued from the press in 1852. Much might be 
justly said in praise of the chaste, poetic, and highly 
descriptive style of these productions ; but it is not 
our purpose, in the present work, to bias the minds DAPHNE S. GILES 
199 
of our readers in favor of the authors we notice with 
an elaborate review, but prefer to give a few select 
extracts. 
We copy the following essay on intellectual devel- 
opment from her work entitled " Female Influence," 
chapter seventh : 
" What a striking resemblance there is between a 
well cultivated garden and the immortal mind ! 
What a living picture is here of the beneficial effects 
of industry! By industry and cultivation this neat 
spot is an image of Eden. Here is all that can enter- 
tain the eye or regale the smell. Whereas, without 
cultivation, this sweet garden had been a desolate 
wilderness. Vile thistles had made it loathsome, and 
tangling briars inaccessible. Without cultivation, it 
might have been a nest for serpents, and the horrid 
haunt of venomous creatures. But the spade and 
pruning knife, in the hand of industry, have improved 
it into a sort of terrestrial paradise. How nat- 
urally does it lead us to contemplate the advantages 
which flow from a virtuous education, and the mise- 
ries which ensue from the neglect of it! The mind, 
without early instruction, will, in all probability, be- 
come like the ' vineyard of the sluggard,' if left to 
the propensities of its own depraved will; what can 
we expect but the luxuriant growth of unruly appe- 
tites, which, in time, will break forth in all manner 
of irregularities ? What but that anger, like a 
prickly thorn, arms the tempter with an untractable 
moroseness ; peevishness, like a stinging nettle, ren- 200 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
der the conversation irksome and forbidding; avarice, 
like some choking weed, teach the fingers to gripe, 
and the hands to oppress ; revenge, like some poison- 
ous plant, replete with baneful juices, rankle in the 
breast, and meditate mischief to its neighbor; while 
unbridled lusts, like swarms of noisome insects, taint 
each rising thought, and render 'every imagination 
of the heart only evil continually ? ' Such are the 
usual products of savage nature ; such the furniture 
of the uncultivated soul ' 
" Whereas, let the mind be put under the ' nurture 
and admonition of the Lord ; ' let holy discipline 
clear the soil: let sacred instruction sow it with the 
best seed: let skill and vigilance dress the rising 
shoots, direct the young idea how to spread, the way- 
vard passions how to move ; then what a different 
tate of the inner man will take place ! Charity will 
breathe her sweets, and hope expand her blossoms ; 
the personal virtues display their graces, and the so- 
cial ones their fruits ; the sentiments become gener 
ous, the carriage endearing, the life honorable and 
useful. 
" Oh! that governors of families and masters of 
schools would watch, with a conscientious solicitude, 
over the morals of their tender charges. What a pity 
it is, that the advancing generation should lose these 
invaluable endowments, through any supineness in 
their instructors. See, with what assiduity the curi- 
ous florist attends his little nursery I He visits them 
early and late, furnishes them with the properest DAPHNE S. GILES. 
201 
mould; supplies them with seasonable moisture; 
guards them from the ravages of insects; screens 
them from the injuries of the weather; marks their 
springing buds ; observes them attentively through 
their whole progress ; and never intermits his anxiety 
until he beholds them blown into full perfection. 
And shall a range of painted leaves, which flourish 
to-day and to-morrow fall to the ground-shall these 
be tended with more zealous application than the 
exalted faculties of an immortal soul? 
" Yet, trust not in cultivation alone. It is the 
blessing of the Almighty Husbandman which im- 
parts success to such labors of love. If God 1 seal 
up the bottles of heaven,' and command the clouds 
to withhold their fatness, the best manured plat be- 
comes a barren desert. And if he restrain the dew 
of his heavenly benediction, all human endeavors 
miscarry; the rational plantation languishes ; our 
most pregnant hopes, from youths of the most prom- 
ising genius, prove abortive. Their root will be as 
rottenness, and their blossom will go up as dust. 
Therefore, let parents plant; let tutors w'ater; but 
let both look up to the Father of spirits for the de- 
sired increase.' On every side I espy several budding 
flowers. 
" As yet, they are like bales of cloth from the pack- 
er's wrare-house, each is wrapped within a strong en- 
closure, and its contents are tied together by the firm- 
est bandages; so that all their beauties lie concealed. 202 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
and all their sweets locked up. Just such is the nig- 
gardly wretch, whose aims are all turned inward, and 
meanly terminated upon himself; who makes his 
own private interests or personal pleasures the sole 
center of his designs, and the scanty circumference 
of his actions. Ere long the searching beams will 
open the silken folds, and draw them into a graceful 
expansion. Then what a lovely blush will glow on 
their cheeks, and what a balmy odor exhale from 
their bosoms! So when divine grace shines upon 
the mind, even the churl becomes bountiful; the 
heart of stone is taken away, and a heart of flesh, a 
heart susceptible of the softest, most compassionate 
emotions, is introduced in its stead O ! how sweetly 
do the social affections dilate themselves under so 
benign an influence ! just like these disclosing gems 
under the powerful eye of day. The tender regards 
are no longer confided to a single object, but extend 
themselves into a generous concern for mankind, and 
shed liberal refreshments on all within their reach. 
Arise, then, thou sun of righteousness; arise with 
healing on thy wings ; and transfuse thy gentle 
but penetrating ray through all our intellectual pow- 
ers. Enlarge every narrow disposition, and fill us 
with a diffused benevolence. Make room in our 
breasts for the whole human race ; and teach us to 
love all our fellow-creatures, for their amiable Crea- 
tor's sake. May we be pleased with their excellen 
cies, and rejoice in their happiness; but feel thei' DAPHNE S. GILES. 
203 
miseries as our own, and, with a brother's sympathy, 
hasten to relieve them." 
The following we give from her " Balm of Gilead :' 
THE CAUSE OF TEMPERANCE. 
Dear Friend: - As the subject of temperance 
elicits the attention of every philanthropist, and 
causes the heart of every lover of human happiness 
to increase its pulsation, as he views the dark tide of 
desolation as it has flowed through our country, bearing 
upon its accursed waves the hopes of the young, and 
the stay and staff of the aged, the groans and tears of 
the widow, while the disgraced orphan sends up the 
piteous cry, <£ Help I help I save, Lord, or we per- 
ish ! " shall we, who have long advocated the cause 
of temperance, be silent? We will not. Let the 
pulpit and the press, the workshop and the store, the 
ballot-box and the halls of legislation, be the place 
where it shall be boldly advocated and defended. I 
envy not that man-if he is worthy the name of man 
-that is so steeped in stoicism as to be indifferent to 
the millions that are falling annually by this fell de- 
stroyer-the demon intemperance. It would be far 
better for the youth to inhale the deadly poison of 
the upas, than to mingle in the society of one that is 
so degraded as to defend the manufacturing or vend- 
ing, or the moderate use of alcohol, save for medici- 
nal pmrposes. There are even now fathers, in the 204 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
full glare of light that is poured upon this subject, who 
will go to their sideboard and cupboard, and, in the 
presence of four or five young children, take down the 
bottle-morning, noon, and night, if not oftener-and 
pour out their dram, smacking their lips, saying to their 
little ones, It is bad stuff -the most important truth 
they ever told them, yet their practice giving the 
lie to their assertion. Oh, the direful influence of 
such fathers I better deserving the name of monsters. 
Brandies and wines disgrace the fashionable parties 
that are given by those that would be respectable, if 
it did not require too great a sacrifice. In these gath- 
erings the professed follower of Christ is found ; for- 
getful of his covenant vows, he bids God speed to the 
most infamous practices with which the world was 
ever cursed. How long, how long, O Lord God Al- 
mighty, will the chariot wheels of deliverance delay? 
Oh, for a full redemption ; yea, a speedy deliverance 
from this soul-destroying evil! It may be asked by 
some, What is most needed to bring into disuse this 
beverage ? I answer, it is simply decision of charac- 
ter on the part of those that would elevate man in the 
scale of his moral being, and place him in the sphere 
God designed him to move in; we should not then 
see him who had been the center of the fondest hopes, 
and along whose pathway shone the purest light re- 
flected from the combined virtues of loving sisters, 
and sainted mothers' fervent prayers, and the earnest 
entreaties of fathers long since deceased, and that one 
on whom all these fond hopes centered become al DAPHNE S. GILES. 
205 
most a putrefied mass, possessing naught of life but 
the power of endurance, and all of death save the si- 
lence of the grave. The inebriate should not be re- 
garded with indifference. No : rather let us rally to 
the rescue, and from the vortex of intemperance 
snatch the wretched victims who are constantly being 
engulphed, as in a lake of molten fire. There are 
scenes, revolting to humanity, constantly coming un- 
der our observation, consequent on the legal tolera- 
tion extended to the venders of distilled liquors. 
Moral suasion has seized the monster, and the strong 
arm of organized bodies has endeavored to bind him, 
but has only succeeded in part. Now, what shall we 
do? Shall we still refuse to have it become a politi- 
cal question, and keep it from our ballot-box and our 
halls of legislation, where it could at once be shorn 
of its strength ? Let the champions of temperance 
stand undaunted on the stormy battlements of this 
o-reat reform, which is calculated to blot out from the 
world the foulest stain that ever disgraced humanity. 
The most skilled artist has failed in his attempts to 
delineate upon canvas the wretchedness of the inebri- 
ate's family. For such a task his pencil lies broken 
before him ; and the combined eloquence of thou- 
sands, in their most graphic descriptions, have failed 
to portray their woes. Ah, who can describe with 
language, or illustrate with metaphor, the havoc that 
intemperance has made among mankind ? 
In executing a descriptive scene of its abomina 
tions, methinks the acute conceptions of fancy, and 206 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND 
the loftiest flights of the imagination, would be inad- 
equate to the task. Could we change the mighty 
ocean to paint, transform every stick into a brush, 
make every man an artist, every star a scaffold, and 
the outstretched, boundless sky a canvas ; could we 
take the dismal clouds for shade, the frightful light- 
ning's awful element for tinge, the midnight darkness 
for drapery of gloom ; could we use the doleful winds 
for sighs, the countless drops of rain for tears, the bro- 
ken music of the howling storm for wails, and shrieks, 
and cries, the earthquake's violent shock for agonizing 
pains, and the long, loud, rumbling thunder for pit- 
eous, dying groans ; and could we, with pious Joshua, 
command the glowing sun to stand still in the west, 
and the full, blushing moon in the distant east, and 
there wait, while laboring artists dash the amazing hor- 
rors of intemperance on the expanded sheet, to delin- 
eate all its loathsome, horrible, and everlasting effects, 
would quite exhaust the ocean, wear out every in- 
strument, tire every artist, and more than fill heav- 
en's immeasurable blue from pole to pole. MISS ALICE HOLMES, 
AN AMEBIC AN AUTHORESS. 
" Oh ! who would cherish life 
And cling unto this heavy clog of clay, 
Love this rude world of strife, 
Where glooms and tempests cloud the fairest day." 
Alice Holmes was born in the county of Norfolk, 
England, February, 1821. Her father, an enterpri- 
sing mechanic, maintained himself and family by the 
fruits of his industry, in his own country, until, drawn 
into the broad current of emigration that has wafted 
Europe's millions to our shores, he embarked with 
his effects and family to seek a home and fortune in 
the New World. Bound for New York, the vessel set 
sail in April, 1830, and landed off quarantine in the 
harbor of its destination, on the 19th of June follow- 
ing. On their passage, to the terrors of a long voy- 
age, tempestuous winds, rolling billows, and those 
inconveniences usually realized in crowded ships, 
were added the horrors of disease. That most loath- 
some of all maladies, small-pox, made its appearance 
among the passengers, and among its subjects was 
the little Alice, having, just then entered upon her 
ninth summer. When the. passengers disembarked 208 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
the fell disease was still upon her ; but she was per- 
mitted to behold the beauties of the New World, a 
scene, whose anticipation had filled their hearts with 
raptures of delight, raised their drooping spirits on 
the boisterous ocean, and influenced them to leave 
dear friends and country, with no hope of ever com- 
muning with them again. But, alas ! it was the little 
sufferer's last view of the green earth, land of prom- 
ise, clear blue sky, and glorious sunlight, which 
painted upon her memory an abiding image of 
beauty. She was taken to the city hospital, and 
when medical skill had broken the fetters of disease, 
it was found that her sight was irrecoverably lost. 
Iler parents, immediately subsequent to landing, took 
up their residence in Jersey City. Though her young 
and gentle spirit had not yet advanced far enough 
on life's rugged journey, fully to realize the greatness 
of her loss, yet sad and lonely must have been her 
condition at this time. For she was a stranger in a 
strange land, and having not yet learned to substitute 
other senses for that she had lost, in communicating 
with the physical world, and thus beguile her misfor- 
tune, the long monotonous hours and days passed 
heavily away. Oft did her thoughts mount on pin- 
ions of fancy, and wing their way over the star-lit 
Atlantic to her native cot, and hold sweet converse 
with her little schoolmates, and the scenes of her 
childhood, now more bright and loving than ever. 
To these prospects, she adverts in the following 
simple, yet graphic lines : ALICE HOLMES. 
209 
" Farewell to the cottage, the garden and flowers, 
Where oft in my childhood passed frolicsome hours 
Farewell to the meadow, the brook and the trees, 
Where the music of birds is borne on the breeze ; 
Farewell to the lane, the green hillside and glen, 
Whose paths I have trodden again and again ; 
Farewell, dear companions, so joyous and gay; 
For, alas! I must go away, far away." 
In January, 1837, through the generosity of a friend 
of whom she speaks in the most glowing terms of 
gratitude, Alice became a pupil of the New York 
Institution for the Blind. And by virtue of an act 
passed by the New Jersey legislature, in the ensuing 
year, providing for the sightless youths in that state 
who chose to enter the New York Institute, she was 
enabled to prosecute her studies there five years 
longer. By this public munificence, she received a 
thorough knowledge of all the scientific branches, in- 
cluded in an English education. While at this, one 
of the noblest monuments of human benevolence, 
daily acquiring additional rays of intellectual light, 
that dispel the heavy gloom of ignorance, and open 
to the soul pure and inexhaustible fountains of hap- 
piness, and associating with those young hearts whom 
a like affliction rendered tenderly sympathetic and 
kind, her years glided pleasantly away, leaving no 
room for despondency. There is, perhaps, no period 
in life, of which we retain such pleasant recollections, 
or around whose scenes cluster more hallowed associ- 
ations, than that of our school-days. Free from the 
sordid cares and perplexities of life, the ambitious 210 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
student views, in his future field of triumph, rich gar- 
lands of fame awarded him by applauding multitudes, 
and beholds, in imagination, his name high on the 
scroll of fame, as a hero and benefactor of his race. 
Though these hopes often vanish in maturer years, 
like dew-drops before the morning sun, they form an 
oasis on life's dreary desert, around which our thoughts 
love to linger in darker hours. 
Miss Holmes left the Institute at the expiration of 
her term, in 1844, and returned to her friends in 
Jersey City, where she has since resided. Her emo- 
tions, at this time, she has expressed in the following 
lines, written on the occasion : 
"Adieu, adieu, my long-loved home, 
Where genial spirits dwell, 
For I must bid thy hearth and halls, 
This day a sad farewell. 
Thy vesper-bell will peal at eve, 
But not, alas! for me; 
For I shall be alone and sad, 
Far, far away from thee! 
" Adieu, adieu, companions dear, 
My sisters, brothers, friends; 
This day completes my stay with you, 
This day our union ends. 
But oh ! how can I, can I bear 
To hear the death-like knell, 
That bids me tear my heart away 
From those I love so well ? 
"Adieu, adieu to morning walks, 
Along the Hudson's side, 
Where oft among the rocks we heard 
The music of the tide: ALICE HOLMES. 
211 
And wanderings at twilight hour, 
Through grove, by hill and stream, 
That I have ever fondly prized, 
But dearer now they seem." 
By her needle and other handiwork, she has since 
earned for herself a respectable livelihood, and has 
only turned her attention to poetry in her leisure hours, 
to avert the dark shadows of gloom that might other- 
wise have mantled her spirit. After repeated solici- 
tations of friends, she consented to publish a small col- 
lection of her poems, which made its appearance in 
1849. For this work, she claims neither literary nor 
poetic merit; but modestly expresses the hope that a 
good intention may atone for many faults. The lowly 
rank which she claims for her verses, is, no doubt, 
their proper one in the scale of refined literature; we 
could, however, mention a catalogue of rhymers, in 
full possession of sight, who have found less favor with 
the muses than this modest authoress ; 'and yet they 
flourish their rusty pens, and rack their conceited 
brains over subjects of the greatest magnitude, with 
an air of importance, as if by the ancient Britons' 
theory of transmigration, they possessed the soul of 
Byron, Shakspeare, or Milton. Such presumption 
makes faults intolerable ; but true modesty in an au- 
thor, like juvenile inexperience, moves us rather to 
apologize than censure. e will, however, allow our 
readers to judge for themselves, respecting the poetic 
merits of Miss Holmes, from the few following ex- 
tracts : 212 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
FAITHFUL LOVE. 
The clear evening sky was mantled in blue, 
And flow'rets that slept were covered with dew ; 
Laden with perfume, a soft summer breeze 
Came floating along through whispering trees ; 
Enthroned above, the fair queen of night 
Was tinging the sea with silvery light, 
And bright gleaming stars that circled her brow, 
Glanced down amazed on the beauties below. 
'Neath ocean's calm breast, its billowsand waves 
Had sunk to repose in the coral caves: 
Nature seemed praising in silence her Lord, 
Who gave to her birth by power of His word. 
Such was the fair evening, so lonely and still 
When by the side of a clear mountain rill, 
'Neath an old oak's boughs that were waving there 
A maiden breathed for her lover a prayer ; 
For hither had been their chosen retreat, 
At still even-tide, when fond lovers meet. 
Now lonely each night she knelt by that stream, 
Whose murmurings low seemed charmed with her theme 
As softly she spoke, in tones sweet and clear, 
One might have fancied a seraph was near. 
While her hands were clasped on her snow-white breast 
A small golden heart to her own was pressed, 
Which she had received as a parting pledge, 
'Neath the old oak tree at that streamlet's edge. 
Solemn and pure was the prayer of love, 
That rose from her heart to the throne above, 
For his safe return, who was dearer far 
Than the morning sun or evening star. 
His duty was now in a distant land, 
To hazard his life with a noble band, 
In the toils of war he was called to share, 
And a soldier's part for his country bear. 
A tear-drop rolled from her soft blue eye, 
As upward she gazed at the starlit sky, ALICE HOLMES. 
213 
Watching perchance some angel's flight 
That bore on his wings her request each night; 
For her's was the prayer of faith and of love, 
That ever finds grace in that world above. 
Though heaven may please awhile to delaj 
The favor that's sought from day to day, 
Still it hearkens and hears, and will answer give, 
To such as by faith its bounties receive. 
And so did it prove with that maiden fair, 
Whose pure faith banished all gloom and despair. 
So, at the same hour, the next even-tide, 
There knelt by her one that called her his bride, 
Who had hastened from war to fulfill his vow, 
While victory's wreath was fresh on his brow. 
And, hand joined in hand, by that mountain stream 
They sat to rehearse love's long-cherished dream 
And hovering round came angels of light, 
Soft whispering joy, then winging their flight. 
The bliss of that hour was dear to each heart. 
That love had entwined, now never to part. 
A SOLILOQUY. 
My harp is on the willow hung; 
To me the morning brings no light • 
No ray of sun or moon I see, 
But one unchanging night. 
I cannot view those gem-like stars, 
That sparkle in the ethereal skies; 
Nor trace the clouds with golden fringe, 
That o'er the sunset rise. 
Nor gaze upon the blooming flowers, 
That make the face of nature gay ; 
Nor watch the ocean's sparkling waves, 
Where dancing sunbeams play. 214 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
To me the variegated earth, 
Would seem one dark, unbroken plain, 
If, in my heart, I had not hid 
Bright visions that oft come again, 
For I through nine fair summers passed, 
With scarce a cloud to shade my way, 
And loved the face of nature more, 
With each returning day. 
But ere a tenth had fully come, 
My gladsome heart was wrapt in gloom 
Lo! I was banished from the light, 
Condemned to a living tomb,- 
Where even Hope's fair star grows dim, 
With clouds that o'er my spirit rise, 
And hide the gleams of holy light. 
Imparted from the skies. 
But oh! I will with patience bear 
A grief which none can feel or know 
But those for whom it is ordained, 
By him who wills it so. 
And faith, not light shall be my guide 
To Canaan's fair, celestial shore, 
Where faith is lost in perfect sight, 
And darkness is no more. ALICE HOLMES. 
215 
ON MORNING. 
Oh, sweet is the dawning hour, 
When dews like holy incense rise, 
And waft to God, on mystic wings, 
Earth's morning sacrifice. 
And fair Aurora tints 
The azure sky with golden lignt, 
And chases far the sable clouds, 
That vail the world in night. 
And angels bright, that nightly watch, 
While earth reposing lies. 
Spreading their pure celestial wings, 
Mount swiftly to the skies. 
Or rosy twilight fades 
Before the gorgeous king of day, 
Who from the east rejoicing comes 
In glorious array. 
And gentle zephyrg kiss 
Dew-drops from the blushing flowers, 
That waking shed their odors sweet, 
Through fields and summer bowers. 
And on the ocean's wave 
Sunbeams like golden shadows gleam, 
And laughing breezes catch the spray 
That leaps from mountain stream. 
And to the huntsman's horn, 
The echoing rocks and hills reply, 
And beasts of prey that nightly prowl, 
Like falcons swift go by. 
And insect voices greet, 
With songs of praise the waking day 
And feathered songsters warble sweet, 
To God their morning lay. 216 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
And man from sweet repose, 
Joyful again to see the light, 
Goes forth to toil with cheerful heart, 
Till day gives place to night. 
O sweet and hallowed time, 
Let thy peaceful influence rest 
On all the hours that shall sueceeo 
T<5> this that thou hast blessed ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE BLIND IN THE LEARNED 
PROFESSIONS. 
SERIES 1.-SECTION I. 
PROGRESS IN THE SCIENCES. 
Having given in the preceding pages a somewhat 
detailed account of a sufficient number of authors, 
and extracts from their writings, to establish the lit- 
erary character of the blind, we next proceed to no- 
tice in a more summary manner, the success of this 
class in the scientific pursuits. As the hydrographi- 
cal chart points out to the mariner a safe course over 
the trackless ocean, and national history affords to 
the legislator the experience of past ages, so the biog- 
raphies of those who have risen against every tide of 
opposition from a lowly station in life to one of honor 
and distinction, serve in a powerful manner to stimu- 
late others to grapple with similar difficulties. What- 
ever may be the impediments in our course, if we 
have the assurance that others, under like circum- 
stances, have surmounted them, and arrived in tri- 
umph at the mark to which we aspire, the bugbeai 
of impossibility is removed, and the timid heart, gath- 
ering courage, moves forward, cheered by the way- 218 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLINI 
marks of predecessors. But more especially is this 
true of the blind, than any other class of mankind. 
All the higher institutions of learning, with their ex- 
perimenting laboratories, improvements in the arts, and 
an application of natural agents to the multifarious la- 
bor-saving machineries that have transformed the civ- 
ilized world into one spacious bee-hive, these are all 
especially adapted to the seeing. And the blind 
must still depend upon their own experience, and 
that of their predecessors, to force from society and 
nature the means by which to supply their daily 
wants, and to exercise their genius in the arts and 
higher pursuits of knowledge. The examples we 
shall give in these series are so diversified, (we are 
happy to say,) as to furnish every blind youth with a 
pattern or example, into whatever worthy pursuit his 
genius or taste may incline him. 
The first notable character under this head of 
which history informs us, is Diodotus. a stoic philos- 
opher, who lived about one hundred years B. C. He 
was the preceptor of Cicero, the Roman orator, in 
Greek literature and geometry, and for many years 
his intimate friend. He was ever assiduous in the 
study of philosophy, and eminently successful as a 
teacher of geometry ; a thing, says Cicero, which one 
would think scarcely possible for a blind man to do, 
yet would he direct his pupils where every line was 
to be drawn just as exactly as if he had the use of his 
eyes. 
Another Roman, named Aufidius Bassus, who lost THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
219 
his sight in early youth, was famous in his time for 
attainments in philosophy, geometry, and knowledge 
of general literature. lie was also the author of an 
excellent Greek history. 
But antiquity can boast of no greater genius than 
Didymus, of Alexandria, who flourished in the fourth 
century. This distinguished man, who lost his sight 
at four years of age, is known to us principally as a 
theological writer. But we are informed by his pu- 
pil, St. Jerome, that he also distinguished himself at 
the school of Alexandria, in every department of 
science then conceived to constitute the whole field of 
human learning. He was so great a proficient in the- 
ology that he was chosen to, and long filled, the chair 
in the famous divinity school at Alexandria. His 
high reputation secured for him many scholars, some 
of whom are known as among the most distinguished 
writers of that period. He was the author of numer- 
ous works, a catalogue of which is preserved in the 
writings of St. Jerome. His treatise on the Holy 
Spirit (a Latin translation of which only remains) is 
said to be the best ever possessed by the Christian 
world. He died in 398, aged eighty-five years. So 
great was his fame abroad, that St. Anthony (excited 
by the same curiosity that moved the queen of She- 
bah to visit Solomon) came from the desert to satisfy 
himself concerning the wisdom and sanctity of this 
famous philosopher, who being informed by Didymus 
in answer to his questions, that he deplored his de- 
privation, notwithstanding his attainments, the saint 220 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
was much surprised, and marveled that so wise a man 
should lament the loss of a faculty, " which we only 
possess " (as he chose to express it) " in common with 
the gnats and ants." 
James Shegkins, a native of Shrandorf, in Wirtem- 
burg, who lived in the latter part of the sixteenth 
century, seems to have been a character more after 
the taste of Anthony. This learned German, having 
lost his sight in early life, was so little sensible of his 
privation, that he refused to be couched by an oculist 
who assured him that the operation would prove suc- 
cessful, irf order, as he said, not to be obliged to see 
many things that might appear odious and ridiculous 
-a decision not altogether absurd for one whose 
taste and habits of life had been so thoroughly assim- 
ilated to his condition, and who had found such un- 
bounded resources of pleasure in ranging the fields 
of science by methods of his own invention. He 
taught philosophy and medicine with eminent suc- 
cess at Tubengen, for a term of about thirteen years. 
He died in 1587, leaving many treatises on different 
subjects in philosophy, medicine, and controversy. 
To the preceding we may add that of the Count de 
Hagan, who was born in the beginning of the seven- 
teenth century. Having entered the army at tin? 
early age of twelve years, he lost his left eye at sev- 
enteen ; he still, however, pursued his profession with 
unabated ardor, and distinguished himself by many 
acts of brilliant courage. At last, when about to be 
sent into Portugal with the rank of field-marshal, he THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
221 
was seized with an illness which deprived him of 
sight in his remaining eye, in the thirty-pighth year 
of his age. He had always been attached to mathe- 
matics, and his misfortune being no impediment in 
the pursuit of this science, he now earnestly devoted 
himself to the study of geometry, with a view to im- 
prove the system of fortification, on which subject he 
wrote an interesting and important work. During a 
period of twenty years, subsequent to his blindness, 
he gave to the world a variety of publications, among 
the most important of which may be mentioned Ge- 
ometrical Theorems and Astronomical Tables. He 
was also the author of a rare book called " An His- 
torical and Geographical account of the River Ama- 
zon," which is remarkable as containing a chart, as- 
serted to have been made by himself, after he became 
blind. 
The study of mathematics seems in every enlight 
ened age to have occupied the most ingenious and 
master minds, and no science has revealed to the 
world more essential facts, or opened more sublime 
fields of contemplation. In the development of this 
sublime branch of human learning, the blind may 
claim, we think without arrogance, a full share of 
honor. In all the annals of self-educated and inge- 
nious characters, there is none more justly claiming 
our admiration than Dr. Nicholas Saunderson, who 
we shall next briefly notice. 
This great man was born at Thurlston, in York- 
shire, in 1682, and when but twelve months of age he 222 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
was totally deprived of sight by small-pox. Early 
evincing promising abilities, he was sent to the free 
school at Pennistone, where he soon distinguished 
himself by his proficiency in Greek and Latin. This 
enabled him to become acquainted with the works 
of Euclid, Archimedes, and Diophantes, which he af- 
terward diligently studied in their originals. His 
father being unable to afford him the pecuniary 
means requisite for the prosecution of his studies at a 
university, Dr. Nettleton, and Richard West, Esq., 
who were great lovers of mathematics, having noticed 
the uncommon genius of young Saunderson in this 
science, gave him instruction in algebra and geome- 
try. His friends discovering his clear and perspicu- 
ous manner of communicating his ideas, suggested 
the propriety of his attending the University of Cam- 
brige, as a teacher of mathematics, to which his own 
inclination strongly led him. Accordingly, in 1707, 
when in the twenty-fifth year of his age, he made his 
appearance in that university under the protection of 
a friend, one of the fellows of Christ's College. That 
society with great generosity immediately allotted 
him a chamber, admitted him to the use of their li- 
brary, and gave him every other -accommodation in 
their power for the prosecution of his studies. 
Mr. Whiston, successor to Sir Isaac Newton in the 
Lucasian professorship of mathematics in that univer- 
sity, instead of manifesting jealousy of one whom a 
less generous mind might not unnaturally have re- 
garded as a rival, sought in every way to encourage THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
223 
Mr. Saunderson in his undertaking. While thus en- 
gaged in explaining the principles of the Newtonian 
philosophy with astonishing success, he became ac- 
quainted with its illustrious author.* And when Mr 
Whiston was removed from his chair, Sir Isaac New- 
ton exerted his utmost influence to obtain the vacant 
situation for Saunderson. Accordingly the crown is- 
sued a mandate conferring upon him the degree of 
Master of Arts, as a necessary preliminary to his 
election. 
On his inauguration, he delivered a Latin address 
with extraordinary taste and elegance. From this 
time lie applied himself closely to the reading of lec- 
tures, and gave up his whole time to his pupils. He 
shortly afterward married the daughter of Rev. Mr. 
Dickens, by whom he had a son and a daughter. 
When George II. visited the college, in 1728, among 
other tokens of marked respect, Saunderson was, by 
the king's command, created Doctor of Laws, and 
was admitted a member of the Royal Society, in 1736. 
He died on the 19th of April, 1739, aged fifty-seven 
years. Notwithstanding his almost' unparalleled as- 
siduity in the studies of his professorship, he found 
time to prepare several works on algebra, and one on 
fluxions, which, together with the works of Euler, 
* Saunderson commenced his prelections with Newton's optics. 
"The subject itself which he thus chose, independently of the man- 
ner in which he treated it, was well calculated to attract notice, 
few things seeming at first view more extraordinary than that a 
man, who had been blind almost from his birth, should be able to 
explain the phenomena and expound the doctrines of light." 224 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
w .11 ever stand as lasting monuments of the perse 
verance and genius of the blind. 
It may seem unjust to some of our readers to in- 
troduce Euler in this connection, from the fact that 
he acquired his knowledge of the sciences, and much 
of his fame previous to his deprivation. But it must 
be remembered that the principal object of this work 
is to demonstrate that a want of sight alone does nei- 
ther preclude the acquisition of knowledge, nor, af- 
ter acquired, its practical exercise in any of the 
higher branches of science. The unremitting and 
successful labors of this great'man, after his blind- 
ness, tend strikingly to illustrate how little,genius or 
the progress of mind is depending on mere outward 
or physical circumstances. 
Leonard Euler who in the early part 
of the eighteenth century, after numerous brilliant 
achievements in the science of mathematics, lost his 
sight from excessive application, in the fifty-ninth 
year of his age, while professor of mathematics at St. 
Petersburg. While in this condition, he published 
his famous work, " Elements of Algebra," which has 
been translated into every European language. 
Shortly after this he was elected a foreign member 
of the Parisian Academy of Science, and an academ- 
ical prize was adjudged to three of his memoirs, con- 
cerning the inequalities in the motions of the planets. 
The two prize questions proposed by the same acad- 
emy for 1770 and 1772, were designed to obtain from 
the labors of astronomers a more perfect theory of the THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
225 
moon. Euler, assisted by his eldest son, was a com 
petitor for these prizes, and obtained them both. 
His writings are so numerous that a mere catalogue 
of them would fill several of these pages. They are 
preserved by the royal societies of London, Berlin, 
Paris, Vienna, and Stockholm, of all of which he was 
a member. Among the numerous and elaborate pro- 
ductions of his genius, subsequent to loss of sight, 
was his "New Theory of the Moon's Motions," with 
•its accompanying tables, which has been deemed by 
astronomers, in exactness of computation, one of the 
most remarkable achievements of the human intel- 
lect. His brilliant career was terminated by apo- 
plexy while amusing himself at tea with one of his 
grand-children, in 1783, in the seventy-sixth year of 
his age. 
Another illustrious character in the annals of pri- 
vation, with whose name we are happy to ornament 
the pages of this work, is that of John Gough. This 
distinguised philosopher and mathematician was the 
son of a glover, of Kendal, and lost his sight by small- 
pox, in 1752, before he had completed his third year. 
When six years of age, he commenced the study of 
English grammar, at a school in his native town, and 
when about twelve years of age, under the care of a 
proficient teacher, he made rapid progress in the lan- 
guages, natural philosophy, and classic literature. 
The science of zoology was one for which he almost 
from infancy manifested great partiality, and he now 
began to enlarge his knowledge of organic bodies, by 226 
BEAUTIES OF THE BIIND. 
extending his researches from the animal to the vege- 
table kingdom. By devoting to botanical pursuits all 
the time he could spare from the regular studies of 
the school, he soon became enabled to classify, with 
great accuracy, • all the plants which came under 
his notice. 
■ As a substitute for the eye, in discriminating be- 
tween the finer species, he used the tip of his tongue, 
which he applied to their several parts, while he 
readily recognized ordinary plants by the touch of 
his fingers. So perfect a knowledge did he acquire 
of this science, and so tenacious was his memory, that 
at one time, near the close of his life, when a rare plant 
was put into his hands, he immediately called it by 
its proper name, observing that he never met with 
but one specimen of it previously, and that was fifty 
years ago. 
Mr. Gough's attention was first turned to experi- 
mental philosophy, in the year 1772, and by studying 
with characteristic assiduity the works of Mr. Boyle, 
he soon obtained a knowledge of the specific gravity 
of fluids, hydrostatics, and pneumatics. Some time 
subsequent he entered upon the study of mathemat- 
ics, under a celebrated instructor at Mungriodale. 
Here he not only acquired a taste for this science, but 
laid the foundation of those high attainments which 
subsequently entitled him to a place among the most 
distinguished mathematicians of his age. Of his suc- 
cess in after life, as a teacher of philosophy and math- 
ematics, we have the most abundant proof. For T11 ElR AC III f£VEMENTS. 
227 
among the limited number of his pupils, an unusual 
proportion became eminent in those sciences ; among 
which occur the names of Whcwell, afterward tutor 
of Trinity College ; Mr. Dawes, tutor of Downing 
College ; Mr. Gaskin, of Jesus College, and Mr. King, 
tutor of Queen's College, one of the most distinguished 
mathematicians of his age ; and the eminent philoso- 
pher, John Dalton, president of the Manchester Philo- 
sophical Society, was also four or five years under his 
instruction. Mr. Gough was actively engaged as a 
teacher, and in his usual philosophic investigations 
to the close of the year 1823, when declining powers 
began to be visible to his friends. He died July 27tli, 
1825, in the sixty-eighth year of his age. His numer- 
ous essays published in the memoirs of the " Man- 
chester Literary and Philosophical Societies," have 
been highly valued by the most competent judges ; 
and are said to contain decisive evidence of the acute- 
ness of his intellect and accuracy of knowledge in al- 
most every department of science. 
Dr. Henry Moyes, who was the wonder and admi- 
ration of every country he visited, like the subject of 
the foregoing sketch, lost his sight when but three 
years of age. He was the first person of his class 
who ventured to conduct experiments in chemistry 
in connection with lectures upon that science. 
After leaving college, he commenced a series of 
lectures on the "Theory and Practice of Music," at 
Edinburgh ; but not meeting with sufficient encour- 
agement, he next turned his attention to natural and 228 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
experimental philosophy, which presented an exten- 
sive field for the exercise of his talents. His lectures 
were always of the most interesting character, and 
his audiences large and respectable. Being of a rest- 
less disposition, and fond of traveling, he left Scot- 
land in 1779, for England, and from thence sailed for 
the United States, where he took his degree from one 
of her colleges. In the summer of 1785 he made a 
tour of the Union, and was everywhere courteously 
received by the lovers of science. 
The following paragraph respecting him appeared 
in one of our public journals of that day : " The cel- 
ebrated Dr. Moyes, though blind, delivered a lecture 
upon optics, in which he delineated the properties of 
light and shade, and also gave an astonishing illus- 
tration of the power of touch. A highly polished 
plate of steel was presented to him, with the stroke 
of an etching tool so minutely engraved on it, that it 
was invisible to the naked eye, and only discoverable 
by a powerful magnifying glass ; with his fingers, 
he discovered the extent and measured the length of 
the line. Dr. Moyes informed us, that, being over- 
turned in a stage-coach one dark, rainy evening, in 
England, the carriage and four horses thrown into a 
ditch, the passengers and driver, with two eyes 
apiece, were obliged to apply to him who had no 
eyes, for assistance in extricating the horses. £ As 
for me,' said he, ' after I had recovered from the as- 
tonishment of the fall, and discovered that I had es- 
caped unhurt, I was quite at home in the dark ditch. THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
229 
The inversion of the order of things was amusing. I, 
that was obliged to be led about like a child, in the 
glaring sun, was now directing eight persons to pull 
here and haul there, with all the dexterity and ac- 
tivity of a man-of-war's boatswain.' " 
After Dr. Moyes returned to his native land he vis- 
ited Ireland, and was there received with the respect 
due to his great merit. When his desire for travel- 
ing was satiated, he settled at Manchester, with the 
view there to spend the remainder of his days. Here 
he had access to numerous and well selected libra- 
ries, and was elected a member of the Manchester 
Philosophical Society. He enriched its collection by 
several valuable papers on chemistry, and many other 
branches of physical science. 
This extraordinary man, after spending a studious 
life of fifty-seven years, during which he acquired a 
thorough knowledge of the ancient languages, music, 
algebra, geometry, chemistry, mechanics, optics, as- 
tronomy, and other departments of natural science, 
paid the debt of nature August 10th, 1807. 
Alexander Davidson, cotemporary with Dr. Moyes, 
who had lost his sight before the completion of his. 
seventh year, stimulated by the success of the latter, 
entered upon a similar career. The parents of young 
Davidson, not willing to allow the calamity which 
thus early befel their son to crush the fond hopes 
which his precocity had inspired, continued sending 
him to the school in his native village, (Dalkeith, 
Scotland,) where, under the instruction of a kind 230 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
teacher, together with the assistance of a hid, he pro- 
ceeded through the Latin classics, committing to 
memory the text of each author, as well as the ar- 
rangement of syntax and the vernacular translation. 
Laborious and unceasing were the toils he had thus 
to undergo, but his powers seemed to expand in a de- 
gree proportioned to the burden they had to sustain. 
He soon, however, began to experience an ample re- 
ward for all his labors, in the access which they gave 
him to the finest models of literature and taste, to 
examples of the most fascinating creations of the'im- 
agination, to the most delicate application of the 
powers of language, and. to the exhibition of common 
objects, through the splendid medium with which 
genius alone can invest them. 
On leaving this school, he entered the Edinburgh 
University, where he became a favorite pupil of the 
learned Dugald Stewart. His studies during this 
course were conducted with a view to prepare him 
for the ministry ; but having passed through all the 
trials and exercises prerequisite to taking orders, 
warm debates arose among the judges, (perhaps as 
blind morally as Davidson was physically,) whether 
his misfortune did not altogether disqualify him for 
an active charge. Their decision being unfavorable, he 
turned his attention to natural philosophy and chem- 
istry, under the instruction of Dr. Black, a celebrated 
chemist. Mr. Davidson commenced his career as a 
public lecturer, in Edinburgh, where his previous 
high reputation as a college student drew around him THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
231 
many friends. From thence lie made a tour of Scot- 
land, delivering a course of lectures in each village 
and city he visited, with remarkable ability and suc- 
cess. He invented a very important apparatus for 
relieving mining pits of their fire-damp, or carbonic 
acid gas. Dr. Davidson was twice married, and both 
ladies aided him in his experiments, with a neatness 
and grace that excited general admiration. 
Death closed the labors of this amiable and ac- 
complished philosopher in the autumn of 1826. 
To these great names we may add, without descend- 
ing in the scale of merit, that of our own Nelson, 
professor of classics in Rutger's College, New Jer- 
sey. We find a sketch of this eminent and accom- 
plished scholar in the memoirs of Rev. Dr. Griffin, 
and as we possess no additional facts concerning him, 
we give from it the following brief extract: 
" The life of Mr. Nelson was a striking exemplifi- 
cation of that resolution which conquers fortune. 
Total blindness, after a long and gradual advance, 
came upon him about his twentieth year, when termi- 
nating his college course. It found him poor, and 
left him, to all appearance, both penniless and 
wwetched, with two sisters to maintain ; without 
money, without friends, without a profession, and 
without sight. Under such an accumulation of 
griefs, most minds would have sunk, but with him it 
was otherwise ; at all times proud and resolute, his 
spirit rose at once into what might well be termed a 
fierceness, and independence, and he resolved within 232 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
himself to be indebted for support to no exertions but 
his own. His classical education, which, owing to his 
feeble vision, had been necessarily imperfect, he now 
determined to complete, and immediately entered 
upon the apparently hopeless task, with a view to fit 
himself as a teacher of youth. He instructed his sis- 
ters in the pronunciation of Greek and Latin, and em- 
ployed one or the other constantly in the task of read- 
ing aloud to him the classics usually taught in the 
schools. 
" A naturally faithful memory, spurred on by such 
strong excitement, performed its oft-repeated mira 
cles, and in a space of time incredibly short, he be- 
came master of their contents even to the minutest 
points of critical reading. In illustration of this, the 
author remembers on one occasion, that a dispute 
having arisen between Mr. Nelson and the classical 
professor of the college, as to the construction of a 
passage in Virgil, from which his students were reci- 
ting, the professor appealed to the circumstance of 
a comma in the sentence, as conclusive of the ques- 
tion. 'True,' said Mr. Nelson, coloring with strong 
emotion, ' but permit me to observe,' said he, turning 
his sightless eyeballs towards the book he held in his 
hand, ' that, in my Heyne's edition it is a colon, and 
not a comma.' 
" At this period a gentleman, who accidentally be- 
came acquainted with his history, in a feeling some- 
what between pity and confidence, placed his two sons 
under his charge, with a view to enable him to try THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
233 
the experiment of teaching. A few months' trial was 
sufficient; he then fearlessly appeared before the pub- 
lic, and at once challenged a comparison with the 
best established classical schools in the city. The 
novelty and boldness of the attempt attracted general 
attention ; the lofty confidence he displayed in him- 
self excited respect; and soon his untiring assiduity, 
his real knowledge, and a burning zeal, which, know- 
ing no bounds in his own devotion to his scholars, 
awakened somewhat of a corresponding spirit in their 
minds, completed the conquest. His reputation 
spread daily ; scholars flocked to him in crowds; 
competition sunk before him; and in the course of a 
few years he found himself in the. enjoyment of an 
income superior to that of any college patronage in 
the United States, with to him the infinitely higher 
gratification of having risen above the pity of the 
world, and fought his own blind way to honorable in- 
dependence. Nor was this all; he had succeeded in 
placing classical education on higher ground than anj 
of his predecessors or cotemporaries had done, and he 
felt proud to think that he was, in some measure, a 
benefactor to that college which, a few years before, 
he had entered in poverty and quitted in blindness." 
When we reflect upon a list of characters like the 
foregoing, who have elicited light from darkness, and 
become ornaments to their nation and age, we cannot 
but feel more reconciled to our lot, and inspired with 
the glorious thought that, notwithstanding our priva- 
tion, life is yet what we make it. Whatever may be 234 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
the obstacles opposed to our progress, so long as per- 
severance and enterprise can triumph over them, 
none but the timid and pusillanimous should fear or 
sink in despair. Science and religion, the unalloyed 
and inexhaustible fountains of human happiness, lie 
still within our reach, inviting as the fruits of 
Paradise. 
SECTION II. 
DIVINES, LAWYERS AND PHYSICIANS. 
As ministers of the gospel, the blind have in every 
a°re and branch of the Christian church received but 
little encouragement, if they have not always been 
indiscriminately rejected. Davidson, notwithstand- 
ing his tine talents and thorough preparation, could 
not obtain clerical credentials ; and Blacklock was 
driven from his charge by popular prejudice, after a 
regular installment. Yet, with all these discourage- 
ments, love to God, and an ardent desire to see hu- 
manity rescued from the thralldom of sin and misery, 
have constrained many of our order to become able 
and efficient laborers in Christ's moral vineyard. 
We would not, however, urge claims to a sphere to 
which the Lord himself will call those "of whom 
he hath need ; " but should the all-wise Creator 
and controller of the universe call one deprived of 
natural vision, that he might "see and tell of things 
invisible to mortal sight," we cannot comprehend by THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
235 
what authority he is prevented from exercising the 
ministerial functions. 
We are aware, that under the law of Moses, blind- 
ness was a disqualification for the priestly office ; but 
as the wholeness of that order, as well as the unblem- 
ishedness of the victims sacrificed, were only typical 
of the coming Messiah's moral and physical perfec- 
tion, that clause of the law can certainly (we think) 
have no bearing on the ministry under the new dis- 
pensation, from which types and shadows have dis- 
appeared. Jehovah spoke to his people by the mouth 
of Teresias and Phineas, blind prophets of old, and 
we can see no reason why the same privation should 
prevent holy men, at the present day, from preach- 
ing the truths of the everlasting gospel. 
Rev. John Traughton, of the seventeenth century, 
one of the most able and devoted advocates of the 
Puritan faith, was blind from the fourth year of his 
age. This eminent divine received his rudimentary 
instruction at the free school at Coventry, his native 
place, and in 1655 entered a student of St. John's Col- 
lege, Oxford, of which he became a fellow, and there 
took the degree of Bachelor of Arts. But on the res- 
toration of Charles II. he was expelled from fellow- 
ship on account of his Puritan faith. Soon after this, 
he removed to Bicester, where he read academical 
lectures to young men, and occasionally preached in 
private, whereby he obtained a comfortable sub- 
sistence. 
Upon the issuing of his majesty's declaration for 236 
BEAUTIES Gi IHE BLIND 
the toleration of religion, dated March 15th, 1671, 
Rev. Mr. Traughton was one of the four Bachelors of 
Divinity sent by his sect, to establish preaching in 
the city of Oxford. So great was his learning, piety, 
and moderation, that he not only drew large num- 
bers of college students as auditors to his chapel, who 
were fascinated by his eloquence, but maintained an 
amicable correspondence with many of the best con- 
formable clergy until his death, which occurred in 
1681, in the forty-fourth year of his age. His funeral 
discourse was preached by Rev. Mr. James, master 
of the free school at Woodstock, who was also blind. 
Traughton wrote several books; nothing, however, 
but their titles are now extant: " The Protestant 
Doctrine of Justification by Faith only, vindicated;" 
"Popery the Grand Apostacy;" "An Apology for 
the Nonconformists;" and "A Letter to a Friend, 
touching God's Providence." 
William Jamieson, D. D., and professor of his- 
tory at the Glasgow University, also spent the greater 
part of his life in preaching the gospel, with so much 
success that historians have ranked him among the 
first of the Scotch clergy. 
He was educated at the University of Glasgow, 
and, after taking his degree, was there for some time 
employed in reading lectures upon civil and ecclesi- 
astical history. He was also earnestly and ably en- 
gaged in the Episcopal controversy, which, during the 
latter part of the seventeenth century, formed a dis- 
tinguished feature in the church history of Scotland. their achievements. 
237 
Elis numerous works on this subject have been highly 
valued, and are said to bear marks of astonishing 
erudition. From the numerous complimentary no- 
tices which his cotemporary writers have given him, 
we select the following from Crawford's history of 
that country: 
"Near the house of Berochan, and within the ba- 
rony, was born the learned Mr. William Jamieson, 
preacher of the gospel, and also professor of history 
in the University of Glasgow, who was a miracle of 
learning, considering he was deprived of the sense of 
sight from his birth, and his works afford sufficient 
proof of his being a very able scholar." 
The chastening hand of affliction, in every form, 
always tends to curb our selfish natures, subdue the 
heart, and render us more alive to the meek and gen- 
tle spirit of the gospel. We might give numerous 
examples of blind preachers' melting pathos, but only 
insert the following on account of its somewhat ex- 
traordinary character : " Dr. Gctyse, who was sud- 
denly deprived of sight, while in prayer before the 
sermon, preserved sufficient self-command to lay 
aside his notes, and deliver his discourse extempore. 
But after service, while being led through the chapel, 
he was heard to lament the sudden loss of sight, 
when a good old lady accosted him with the follow- 
ing congratulations : " God be praised that your 
sight is gone; I think I never heard you preach so 
powerful a sermon in my life. Now we shall have 
no more notes. I wish, for my own part, that the 238 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Lord had taken away your eye-sight twenty years 
ago,for your ministry would have been more useful 
by twenty degrees." 
From an English writer we copy the following in- 
teresting. account of a blind clergyman, which serves 
forcibly to illustrate the degree of independence that 
one, under this misfortune, may acquire by undaunted 
courage and perseverance: 
" In my rambles last summer," says the writer from 
whom this account is taken, " on the borders of 
Wales, I found myself one morning alone on the 
banks of the beautiful river Wye, without a Servant 
or a guide. I had to ford the river at a place where, 
according to the instructions given me at the nearest 
hamlet, if I diverged ever so little from the marks 
which the rippling of the current made as it passed 
over a ledge of rocks, I should sink twice the depth 
of myself and horse. While I stood hesitating on the 
margin, viewing attentively the course of the ford, a 
person passed me on the canter, and the next instant 
I saw him plunge into the river ; presuming on his 
acquaintance with the passage, I immediately and 
closely followed his steps. As soon as we had gained 
the opposite bank, I accosted him with thanks for the 
benefit of his guidance ; but what was my astonish- 
ment, when, bursting into a hearty laugh, he ob- 
served, that my confidence would have been less had 
I known that I had been following a blind guide! 
The manner of the man, as well as the fact, attracted 
my curiosity. To my expressions of surprise at his THE1K ACHIEVEMENTS. 
239 
venturing to cross the river alone, he answered, that 
he and the horse he rode had done the same thing 
every Sunday morning for the last five years ; but 
that, in reality, this was not the most perilous part 
of his weekly peregrination as I should be convinced, 
'f my way led over the mountain before us. My 
journey had no object but pleasure ; I therefore re- 
solved to attach myself to my extraordinary compan- 
ion, and soon learned, in our chat, as we wound up 
the steep mountain's side, that he was a clergyman ; 
and of that class which is the disgrace of our ecclesi- 
astical establishment; I mean the county curates, who 
exist upon the liberal stipend of thirty, twenty, and 
sometimes fifteen pounds a year! This gentleman, 
aged sixty, had, about thirty years before, been en- 
gaged in the curacy to which he was now traveling, 
and though it was at the distance of eight long Welch 
miles from the place of his residence, such was the 
respect of his flock towards him, that, at the com- 
mencement of his calamity, rather than part with 
him, they sent regularly, every Sunday morning, a 
deputation to guide their old pastor on his way. 
The road, besides crossing the river we had just 
passed, led over a craggy mountain, on whose top 
innumerable and uncertain bogs were constantly 
forming, but which, nevertheless, by the instinct of 
his Welch pony, this blind man has actually crossed 
alone for the last five years, having so long dismissed 
the assistance of guides. 
" While our talk beguiled the way, we insensibly 240 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
arrived within sight of his village church, which was 
seated in a deep and narrow vale. As I looked down 
upon it, the bright verdure of the meadows, which 
were here and there chequered with patches of yel 
low corn ; the moving herd of cattle ; the rich foliage 
of the groves of oak, hanging irregularly over its 
sides; the white houses of the inhabitants, which 
sprinkled every corner of this peaceful retreat; and, 
above al], the inhabitants themselves, assembled in 
their best attire, round their place of worship : all this 
gay scene, rushing at once on the view, struck my 
senses and imagination more forcibly than I can ex- 
press. 
"As we entered the church-yard, the respectful 
'' how do you do ? ' of the young, the hearty shakes 
of the old, and the familiar gambols of the children, 
showed how their old pastor reigned in the hearts of 
all. After some refreshment at the nearest house, 
we went to the church, where my veteran priest read 
the prayers, psalms, and chapters of the day, and then 
preached a sermon, in a manner that could have 
made no one advert to his loss of sight. At dinner, 
which it seems that four of the most substantial far- 
mers of the vale provide in turn, he related the pro- 
gress of his increased powers of memory. For the 
first year, he attempted only the prayers and sermons, 
the best reader of the parish making it a pride to 
officiate for him in the psalms and chapters; he next 
undertook the labor of learning these by heart, and, 
at present, by continual repetition, there is not a psalm THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
241 
>r chapter, of the more than two hundred appointed 
for the Sunday service, that he is not perfect in. 
He told me, also, that, having in his little school two 
sons of his own, intended for the university, he has, 
by hearing them continually, committed the greatest 
part of Homer and Virgil to memory." 
The Rev. Doctors Blacklock and Lucas would also 
properly come under this head ; but they have been 
disposed of more at length in another part of this 
volume. 
Rev. Edward Stokes, who zealously preached the 
gospel for a term of fifty years, was born in 1705, 
and exchanged this for a brighter world, at Blaby, in 
Leicestershire, 1796, at the good old age of ninety- 
three. When in his ninth year, while at school, an 
accidental discharge of a pistol totally destroyed his 
sight. He, however, continued his studies with 
pleasing success, until he took his degree of Master 
of Arts at the university, soon after which he was 
admitted into holy orders, and appointed a parish 
minister in Leicestershire. With the assistance of a 
person to read the lessons, he performed all the ser- 
vice of the church ; and few pastors were ever more 
beloved by their people than this benevolent and de- 
voted man. 
In the legal profession, we have but few names of 
our order to record. Whether the divine denuncia- 
tion, " Woe unto you, lawyers," or conscientious 
scruples have deterred them from this pursuit, we are 
not prepared to decide. It is quite certain, however. 242 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
that it is not the obstacles which a want of sight in 
poses; for, to encounter and overcome difficulties, 
seems to have uniformly afforded the blind a fruitful 
source of pleasure. 
Dr. Nicholas Bacon, a celebrated advocate at the 
council of Brabant, who was deprived of sight in 
childhood, encouraged by the example of one Nica- 
sius de Vourde, born blind, who lived near the close 
of the fifteenth century, and who, after distinguish- 
ing himself in his studies at the University of Lou- 
vain, had taken h '.s degree of D. D. in that of Cologne, 
himself resolved to make the same attempt. " But 
his friends," says Wilson, " treated his intention with 
ridicule, and even the professors themselves wrere not 
far from the same sentiment; for they admitted him 
into their schools, rather under the impression that 
he might amuse them, than that they should be able 
to communicate much information to him. He had 
the good fortune, however, contrary to their expecta- 
tions, to obtain the first place among his fellow-stu- 
dents. They then said, that such rapid advances 
might be made in the preliminary branches of edu- 
cation, but that they would soon be effectually checked 
in studies of a more profound nature. This opinion, 
it seems, was reiterated through the whole range of 
his pursuits, and when, in the course of academical 
learning, it became necessary to study the art of po- 
etry, it was declared by the general voice, that all 
was over, and that at length he had reached his ne 
plus ult/ra; but here, likewise, he disproved their THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
243 
prejudices, and taught them the immense difference 
between blindness of the intellect, and blindness of 
the bodily organs. After continuing his studies in 
classics and philosophy for two years longer, he ap- 
plied himself to law, and took his degree in that sci- 
ence at Brussels." During the long and extensive 
practice of his profession, he had the good fortune, 
almost invariably, to terminate the suits in which he 
engaged, to the entire satisfaction of his clients. 
Sir John Fielding, who became blind in youth, 
acted in the capacity of justice, in Westminster, with 
great energy and sagacity for many years. So prompt 
and assiduous was he in the execution of the law, that 
the name of blind Fielding, it is said, was a ter- 
ror to evil doers. He was also an active and be- 
nevolent promoter of the Marine Society; was 
knighted in 1761, and died at Brompton, in 1780. 
Sir John published various tracts on the penal code, 
and was the author of a miscellaneous publication, 
entitled, "Universal Mentor." 
For one destitute of sight to enter upon the prac- 
tice of medicine, may to some, at first, appear pre- 
posterous ; but when the comparative facilities of the 
blind and seeing in this field of usefulness are rightly 
viewed, this impression may in some degree be re- 
moved. By the eye, it is true, the physician learns 
the attitude of his patient, the expression of the coun- 
tenance, the state of the tongue, and the color of the 
skin ; and these signs often indicate the nature of the 
disorder. How, then, can a blind man be a o-ood 244 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND 
physician? We answer: he may acquire a correct 
knowledge of all these signs, with the exception of 
the color of the skin, by the sense of touch ; and this 
sense being in him more acute and refined, he is per- 
haps able to judge more correctly of the state and 
condition of the skin, which is considered a matter 
of great importance in the practice of this profession. 
External diseases, particularly cutaneous, are seldom 
attended with danger, and are chiefly distinguished 
by the eye ; internal complaints, on the other hand, 
which are very numerous and more dangerous, are 
frequently discovered by the sense of feeling ; and, 
as a blind physician has the advantage of a more 
acute sense of touch, he is able to form a very correct 
opinion of the seat and nature of these complaints. 
Hugh James, M. D., followed his profession foi 
many years with eminent success, after he was totally 
deprived of sight. This distinguished physician was 
born at St. Bee's, in Cumberland, 1771. After hav- 
ing passed through a thorough course of medical 
study, he graduated at Edinburgh, in 1803, and set- 
tled at Carlisle as a practicing physician. Several 
years previous to this, his sight had been much im- 
paired by severe inflammation in the head, and in 
the winter of 1806, he became totally blind. But, 
instead of allowing this misfortune to frustrate all his 
plans of future usefulness, he continued the practice 
of medicine with so much assiduity and skill, that, 
after his death, the people of Carlisle erected to his 
memory a monument, with the following inscription* THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
245 
" To the memory of Hugh James, M. D., who 
practiced physic with eminent skill for many years, 
in this city. Providence largely recompensed the 
loss of sight in early life, with talents which raised 
him to distinguished reputation in his profession, and 
more abundantly blessed him with a disposition ever 
prompt to succor poverty and pain. The study of his 
art, which showed him the weakness and uncertainty 
of life, taught him to meditate deeply on the works 
of God, and animated his faith in a merciful Re- 
deemer. He died the 20th of September, 1817, in 
the forty-fifth year of his age, and was interred in 
the parish church of Arthuret." 
In the summary notices comprised in this series, 
of those eminent blind, wTho must ever be cheering 
as well as guiding stars to their order, we have uni- 
formly omitted a description of the various methods 
and apparatuses employed by them in the study of 
the different sciences ; as they could be of no service 
at present, save to gratify the curious. In the insti- 
tutions for the education of this class, established in 
almost every state of our Union, as well as those of 
Europe, vastly improved and simplified apparatuses 
are introduced, answering as perfect substitutes in 
every department of science, for those commonly 
used in schools for the seeing. But, notwithstanding 
the educational facilities which all the blind at pres- 
ent possess, none have attained to that celebrity which 
our predecessors enjoyed, when no institutions of this 
kind were known. This, we think, cannot be so much 246 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
attributable to comparative talent, as to the limited 
and inadequate course of study, within the pale of 
these establishments. Where these institutions exist, 
the public expects that they shall do the work of ed 
ucating the blind, and consequently the colleges and 
universities, in which our eminent predecessors were 
admitted, and where they received the high intellec- 
tual training that enabled them to rise above their 
misfortune, are, in a great measure, closed against us. 
Until the blind student's course of study is raised to 
a level with those pursued at our best colleges, he is 
unable to move successfully in the sphere whence he 
draws his highest happiness, and in which he can be 
most useful to himself, and society. In the world of 
thought and idea is his most congenial realm. Here 
in the broad field of scientific research, he needs no 
guide ; but walks with unfaltering tread, and with 
the torch of reason explores the darkest vaults of na- 
ture's archives; then climbs on the chain of univer- 
sal laws, to distant worlds, and weighs in the balance 
of calculation vast systems plunged in the depth of 
space. 
We would not be understood, however, to depre- 
ciate the philanthropic hand that has placed within 
our reach, as a class, the common branches of educa- 
tion ; but would only beg leave to remark, that all 
has not been done for the blind that can be accom- 
plished, or that we have reason to expect at the hands 
of our government, and Christian philanthropists. 
We implore those, whose generous hearts have been THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
247 
enlisted in our behalf, to put within our reach a fin- 
ished college education ; such as many who have the 
use of their eyes, and all other natural faculties, en- 
joy at the expense of government. Here is yet a 
field open that will richly repay, in human happiness, 
the labors of public or private munificence ; for it 
imparts sight to the blind. Showers of emotional 
sympathy we have on every side; but stern experi- 
ence has taught us, that these will neither fill an 
empty stomach, nor satisfy the cravings of an immor 
tai mind; but, on the contrary, unless accompanied 
by well-directed Christian benevolence, they serve 
only to awaken in our bosoms smouldering emotions 
of sorrow, which we would fain forever suppress. 
Nothing can be more cruel and inconsistent, than for 
persons who would commiserate our misfortune, to 
point out its darkest phase, and draw before our ima- 
gination a panorama of all the fascinating beauties 
hid from our view, painted in the most extravagant 
colors. Such compassion can but aggravate our 
wounds, and move us to murmur against an irrevoca- 
ble providence. Even under this affliction, life is not 
without .its charms. So multifarious and boundless 
are the resources of human happiness, that by the 
loss of natural sight, new and more glorious scenes 
of contemplation break upon our spiritual vision. 
With a lively hope soon to be disencumbered from 
the imperfections of sense, and forever roam through 
the regions of fadeless beauty, we endure our lot with 
patience, and can say, in the 'language of the poet: 248 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND, 
" He doeth all things well." The great Milton, who 
under a depression of spirits, lamented his loss of 
sight in the most pathetic strains, said, in moments 
of cooler reflection : " It is not, however, miserable 
to be blind : he only is miserable who cannot acqui- 
esce in his blindness with fortitude. And why should 
I repine at a calamity which every man's mind ought 
to be so prepared and disciplined as to be able, on the 
contingency of its happening, to undergo with pa- 
tience a calamity to whi -h man, by the condition of 
his nature, is liable, and which I know to have been 
the lot of some of the greatest and the best of my 
species ? " ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE BLIND IN THE INDUS- 
TRIAL PURSUITS. 
SERIES IL-SECTION I. 
MECHANICS. 
Thebe is, perhaps, no calling in which it may be- 
come necessary for us to act, where sight is so neces- 
sary, as in the manual labor pursuits. In rude stages 
of society, when mechanical operations were all per- 
formed by hand, it may have been more possible for 
a blind person, in some branches, to compete with the 
seeing. But in an age like the present, when steam 
and other natural agents, have usurped the place of 
muscular power, and the manufacture of all articles 
of profit is monopolized by large capitalists, this possi- 
bility seems almost entirely to have vanished. The 
facility with which a seeing person will manufacture 
articles by the aid of machinery, from which those 
without sight have been entirely excluded, appears to 
have left this class of laborers utterly without a hope 
of gaining even a livelihood. But it seems to us that 
with a little kindly aid, this inequality might, in a 
great measure, be remedied. That the blind have 
sufficient ingenuity, and can also acquire the requi- 
site knowledge of any mechanical pursuit, necessary 250 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
to success, will not be questioned by any one, in the 
least acquainted with their history. 
But, in any branch requiring the use of numerous 
tools, change of position, and bringing together manj 
parts into one whole, they must necessarily lose more 
time, in feeling over their work, selecting, using and 
replacing their implements, than one who has his eyes. 
Here, then, arises their only inability to compete with 
other laborers. Facility is w*hat they have lost, and 
not skill. It seems to us that, in those manufacturing 
establishments where labor is so divided among the 
operatives, that each person has but one distinct part 
of the whole to perform, and where no change of po- 
sition is requisite, the blind might perform some por- 
tions of the process with but little or no inconve- 
nience. Should manufacturing establishments of this 
kind be erected, in connection with our Institutions, 
where machinery would facilitate labor, we think, 
with the aid of a few seeing persons to perform the 
most difficult parts, a more profitable and honorable 
operation might be conducted, than in the few simple 
trades at present selected for, and taught to, the blind. 
Complex mechanism seems never to have frightened 
them, but on the other hand, when left to their own 
inclination in this respect, they have almost uniformly 
selected those pursuits in which great ingenuity and 
delicacy of perception were most indispensable. 
William Huntly, a native of Barnstaple, in Devon, 
who was born blind, spent the principal portion of 
his life in watch and clock making. His father seems to have possessed great skill in this business, and 
brought up his son to the same craft. He was con- 
sidered by the inhabitants of his native place, a very 
superior hand in his profession, especially in repair- 
ing musical clocks and watches. It is said that he 
seldom met with any difficulty, even in the most 
complicated cases ; and it often occurred that when 
others failed in repairing a clock or watch, Iluntly 
found no trouble in discovering the nature of the 
malady, and presently administered the proper nos- 
trum. Had not our own experience and observa- 
tion taught us to what an astonishing degree the sense 
of touch may be cultivated, the idea of making it 
supply the place of the eye, and a powerful magni- 
fying glass, (which is generally used by jewelers,) 
might, to us, as well as to others, seem preposterous. 
Besides, these facts will appear still more reconcila- 
ble, when it is remembered that Huntly lived in the 
days of huge wooden clocks, and watches about the 
size of a Moravian biscuit. 
Neither is he the only blind person who turned 
his attention to this art. William Kennedy, who 
became sightless in childhood, had the reputation of 
being one of the best clock builders, both common 
and musical, of his time. This mechanical genius 
was a native of Tanderagee, Armagh, and lived in 
the latter part of the seventeenth century. When a 
boy, he was master builder and projector for all the 
children in his native town, nor did maturer years 
relax his desire to engage in useful employments. 
THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
251 252 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
When at the age of thirteen, having been sent to Ar- 
magh for the purpose of receiving lessons in music, 
and while there, residing with a cabinet maker, his 
mechanical propensities were newly awakened, and 
he soon made himself acquainted with the tools of 
his host, and the manner of working them. Although 
this more congenial employment occupied much of 
his time, he also made a very satisfactory progress in 
music ; but, on his return home, his first care was 
to procure tools, with which he fabricated many ar- 
ticles of household furniture. He also constructed 
Irish bagpipes of a very improved patent, together 
with other wind and stringed instruments; and so 
perfect was his knowledge in this art, that he was, 
by a sort of common consent, elected repairer and 
builder-general, for the entire musical order, over a 
large section of country. In the alternate occupa- 
tions of clock and cabinet making, building looms, 
with their various tacklings, and his other mechan- 
ical accomplishments, he maintained and raised a 
large and respectable family. 
Another genius of the same kind, not altogether 
without fame, was Thomas Wilson, a native of Dum- 
fries, who lost his sight in very early infancy. His 
intuitive fondness for mechanical pursuits, early en- 
ticed him to gain a knowledge of the w'ood-turning 
trade, in which occupation he spent most of his life. 
So well did he succeed in this business, that his roll- 
ing-pins and potatoe-mashers gained great reputation 
among the good wives of both town and country ; and THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
253 
in making tinsmiths' mallets, lint-breaks, and huck- 
sters' stands, honest Tom was acknowledged on every 
side to be without a rival. He also made a lathe 
suited to his purpose, and the numerous tools which 
this business requires, he had so arranged that he 
could take from his shelf any one he might need, 
without the least difficulty. 
It is related of Csesar, the ambitious Roman, that, 
on passing through a small country village one day, 
in company with some of his courtiers, he turned 
to one of them, and said, " Believe me, I had rather 
be the first man in this small town, than the second 
in Rome." If Wilson was inspired with any such 
desires of superiority, he had the good fortune to 
have them early gratified; for, in addition to the 
Honor arising from his mechanical genius, he was 
elected principal, not of a college or university, for 
why should he have his peace of mind disturbed by 
the impertinent trickery of mischievous students ?- 
but principal of the high situation of bell-ringer in 
the mid-steeple of Dumfries. And to prove to all 
future generations that a blind man can be true to 
high situations, as well as any other man, he died at 
his post, in the mid-steeple, at the age of seventy-five 
years, and the sixty-third year of his bell-ringership. 
He was respected and beloved during the whole of 
his life, by his fellow-citizens, and all who knew him. 
It appears that he was never married, but lived the 
enviable life of a bachelor, doing his own cooking, 254 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
making his own bed, raising his own potatoes, and 
living, in every respect, a freeman. 
John Kay, of Glasgow, was engaged at the carpen- 
ter and joiner trade for a number of years, though 
he lost his sight through the accidental discharge of 
a musket, when but nine years of age. His skill in 
the use of edge tools was so complete that he gave 
his work as perfect a finish as the most skillful of his 
fellow-tradesmen. He also worked in mahogany and 
other sorts of fine wood, and made various kinds of 
furniture. But the most valuable labors of Kay's 
life, and those that endeared him most to his friends 
and the church, were directed towards the spiritual 
and intellectual elevation of the youth. As a teacher 
and promoter of Sabbath schools, distributer of tracts, 
and an humble and assiduous disciple of Christ, his 
influence will long be felt in the villages and country 
of Scotland. He died December 16th, 1809, in the 
thirty-second year of his age. 
In this connection we may also notice Bageeo, the 
blind carpenter and joiner of Western New York. 
This enterprising man, who was sightless from in- 
fancy, has gemmed the counties of Livingston and 
Steuben with beautiful cottages, finished in the most 
elegant style. 
It seems that there are but few mechanical depart- 
ments in which sight may not be dispensed with, as 
the following example may serve to show : Mao- 
guiee, the family tailor of Mr. McDonald, of Clan 
ronald, Invernesshire, totally lost his sight fifteen 255 
THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
years before his death. Yet he continued to work 
for the family as before, not indeed with the same ex- 
pedition, but with equal correctness. It is well 
known how difficult it is to make a Tartan dress, be- 
cause every stripe and color (of which there are 
many) must fit each other with mathematical exact- 
ness ; yet from this material he made an entire suit 
for his master's brother, with as much precision as 
he could have done before he lost his sight. 
David Mapes, who lost the use of his eyes, after 
having learned the trade of wagon making, continued 
in that pursuit with nearly the same success as be- 
fore, and is at present earning a very respectable 
livelihood at Angelica, New York. 
It has been remarked, that those who lose their 
sight in mature years, never succeed in learning a 
new trade. But even to this rule we must offer an. 
exception. Nathaniel Price, who became blind 
from severe cold, while on a voyage to America, af 
ter his return betook himself to the employ.ment of 
binding books. It seems that he had no previous 
knowledge of this art, as his former occupation was 
that of a bookseller. Yet it is recorded that he 
bound books in the very first style. Several speci 
mens of his skill are in the English libraries of the 
curious, among which is an elegantly bound quarto 
bible, in the library of the Duke of Marlborough, at 
Sion-hill, in Oxfordshire. Mr. Price also gave vent 
to his ingenuity in the manufacture of his clothes, 256 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
which he made, from the shoes on his feet to the hat 
on his head. 
We shall now proceed to notice a few characters, 
who, it seems, rose to greater proficiency in the me- 
chanical department than any adverted to in the fore- 
going. One of these is Joseph Strong, a native of 
Carlisle, who lost his sight at the age of four years. 
He early exhibited an inventive and mechanical 
genius, m the construction of a curious fiddle, bell- 
harp, hautboy, and other musical instruments; and 
at the age of fifteen his great ambition was to build 
an organ, on which he had learned to play. In order 
to gain a more perfect knowledge of its several parts 
and their combinations, he was anxious to examine 
that in the cathedral of Carlisle. For this purpose 
he concealed himself one afternoon in that place, and 
when the congregation had retired and the gates 
were shut, he proceeded to the organ loft, and ex- 
amined every part of the instrument. He was thus 
occupied till about midnight, when, having satisfied 
himself respecting its general construction, he began 
to try the tone of the different stops and the propor- 
tion they bore to each other. This experiment, how- 
ever, could not be conducted as silently as the busi- 
ness which had before engaged his attention ; the 
neighborhood was alarmed, and various were the 
conjectures as to the cause of the nocturnal music, 
as spiritual manifestations were then unknown. But 
at length some persons mustered courage sufficient 
to go and see what was the matter, and Joseph was THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
257 
found playing the organ. The next day he was sent 
for by the dean, who, after reprimanding him for the 
method he had taken to gratify his curiosity, gave 
him permission to play whenever he pleased. 
He now set about building his first organ, which, 
after its completion, he sold, and it is now in posses- 
sion of a gentleman in Dublin, who preserves it as a 
curiosity. After receiving some instruction in this art 
at London, he built a second organ for his own use, 
and afterward constructed a third, with great perfec- 
tion, which he sold to a gentleman in the Isle of 
Man. Mr. Strong was married at the age of twenty- 
five, and had several children. His house was ele- 
gantly furnished, yet it contained but few articles, 
either of utility or ornament, that were not of his own 
construction. He died at Carlisle, in March, 1798, 
in his sixty-sixth year. 
The acquirements of William Talbot were so nu- 
merous and diversified, that it is difficult to determine 
in which of his accomplishments he most excelled. 
As we have reserved for our next series a sufficient 
number of musicians (among whom he might claim 
an eminent rank) to prove the capacity of our order 
for that profession we shall mainly speak of his me- 
chanical attainments. He was born near Roscrea, 
in Tipperary, in the year 1781, and lost his sight from 
small-pox at four years of age. Afterwards his fam- 
ily removed to the seaside, at a place near Water- 
ford, where young Talbot soon began to evince a 258 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
taste for mechanics, in the construction of miniature 
wind-mills and water wheels, and in fitting up small 
ships and boats, with every rope and appendage as 
exactly formed as in those of a larger scale. 
At the age of seventeen he became acquainted 
with a captain in the navy, and was finally persuaded 
to go with him to sea. In the four years of his sea- 
faring life, during which time he visited many parts 
of the world, he became so thoroughly acquainted 
with the ship that he could readily go aloft among 
any part of its tacklings, and was frequently seen as- 
cending to the mast-head with the dexterity of an ex 
perienced seaman. But the alternate smooth and bil 
lowed breast of the ocean had not sufficient variety 
to satisfy his nature, and in 1803 he again set his 
foot upon the turf of green Erin. He soon after mar- 
ried at Limerick, and resorted to the exercise of his 
bagpipes, on which he was a perfect performer, and 
to mechanical ingenuity, as means of support. 
About this time he commenced building an organ, 
and admirably succeeded, without the least assist- 
ance. Soon after completing this instrument, he 
moved to the city of Cork, where he purchased an 
organ, for the purpose of making himself better ac- 
quainted with its mechanism. After dissecting and 
examining all its parts minutely, he built a second 
instrument of this kind, of a superior tone and finish. 
In this way Mr. Talbot maintained a large family in 
respectability and comfort. 
Among these sons of Jubal, we must not omit our THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
259 
own John Hellick, a native of Northampton county, 
Pennsylvania, who lived at the beginning of the pres- 
ent century, and lost his sight in youth. Among the 
many fine musical instruments which this man con- 
structed, without the least assistance, was an organ 
that would have reflected credit upon any workman 
skilled in this art, and in possession of perfect sight. 
These examples must, prove beyond a shadow' of 
doubt, to every reflecting mind, that as perfect a 
knowledge of form and structure can be obtained by 
the sense of touch as by that of sight. They seem, 
also, to indicate that the blind derive as much pleas- 
ure from the exercise of their ingenuity as any other 
class of men, since a genius is always more impelled 
to labor from a desire to give tangible form to his in- 
ventions, or ideal images, than by the real value of 
the article when completed. 
But perhaps the most complete triumph of tactual 
perfection over want of sight, that history records, is 
to be found in the artistic skill of John Gonelli, some- 
times called Gambasio, from the place of his birth in 
Tuscany. This remarkable person lost his sight at the 
age of twenty, and after having been in this condi- 
tion about ten years, he first manifested a taste foi 
sculpture. His first work in this art, was to imitate 
a marble figure, representing Cosmo de Medici, which 
he formed of clay, and rendered a strikingly perfect 
likeness of the original. Mis talent for statuary soon 
developed itself to such a degree that the Grand 
Duke Ferdinand, of Tuscany, sent him to Rome to 260 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
model a statue of Pope Urban VIII., which he com- 
pleted to the entire satisfaction of his patron. It is 
supposed that this is the same famous blind sculptor 
whom Roger de Piles met with in the Justinian pal- 
ace, where he was modeling, in clay, a figure of Mi- 
nerva. It is related that the Duke of Bracciano, 
who had seen him at work, doubted much that he 
was completely blind, and in order to set the matter 
at rest, he caused the artist to model his head in a 
dark cellar. It proved a striking likeness. Some, 
however, objecting that the duke's beard, which was 
of patriarchial amplitude, had made the operation of 
producing a seeming likeness too easy, the artist 
offered to model one of the duke's daughters, which 
he accordingly did ; and this also proved an admira- 
ble likeness. Among his numerous other works is a 
marble statue of Charles L, of England, said to be 
finely finished. So far as this art pertains to the 
form and contour of a statue, it is not more difficult for 
a blind person to pursue, than others adverted to in 
this section. But to engrave upon a marble statue 
that intangible, life-like expression, in which mainly 
consists the individual similitude, is altogether extra- 
ordinary, and must be regarded as the climax of 
tactual attainments. THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
261 
SECTION IL 
MISCELLANEOUS OCCUPATIONS. 
Whatever serves to illustrate a condition to which 
by the vicissitudes of life every person is exposed, 
cannot fail to awaken interest in the public mind. 
In view of this fact, we shall devote this section to 
the notice of such characters who, on account of 
their various pursuits, would not admit of regular 
classification, yet whose honorable attainments may 
afford interest to the general reader, and many valu 
able hints to our class. 
Among these may be mentioned Wimprecht, the 
bookseller of Augsburgh, who was sightless from 
birth, yet by his energy and perseverance secured a 
good education, and is at present maintaining a large 
family in respectability and comfort, from the profits 
of his thriving business. His stock usually consists 
of about eight or nine thousand volumes, which he 
frequently reviews with no other assistance than his 
intelligent wife. His honesty, obliging deportment, 
and general acquaintance with books, have secured 
for him a large and profitable business. 
We are informed of another blind person, who is 
the proprietor of a " music store," at Plymouth, En- 
gland, and by this employment, together with the 
teaching of music, has placed himself in very inde- 
pendent circumstances. 
It is evident that our class is by no means exempt 262 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
from the law of necessity, imposed upon Adam by 
the divine declaration, viz, " In the sweat of thy face 
shalt thou eat bread." Yet it is perhaps worthy of 
remark, that few among us have engaged in the cul- 
tivation of the ground, as a means of support. For 
this we can assign no better reason than has already 
been hinted, viz, that the greatest inconvenience at- 
tendant on the lack of sight in the industrial pursuits, 
is the inability to transport ourselves with facility 
from place to pl-ace, and this difficulty is perhaps 
most felt in farming. Yet as proof that even this 
branch of business is not altogether beyond our reach, 
we record the name of John Hall, brother of one of 
the present writers, who has been successfully en- 
gaged for several years in agricultural pursuits, not- 
withstanding his lack of sight from birth, and is at 
present an able and respectable farmer in the state 
of Ohio. Nor are his labors confined (as some may 
suppose) to the mere supervision or management of 
his farm ; there are really but few kinds of labor in 
which he cannot engage with nearly as much dexter- 
ity as though he possessed perfect sight. The work 
of preparing his ground for seed, sowing, dragging, 
&c., is of course performed by his hired man ; but in 
harvest time John is at his post, and can perform, as 
he chooses to express it, as big a day's work as the 
next man. He has yet scarcely passed the meridian 
of life, has an amiable and affectionate companion, 
and two rosy, bright-eyed boys, who seem to have THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
263 
inherited the enterprising spirit of their father, bu' 
not his misfortune. 
In all the labors and engagements of life, heroic 
courage is one of the most essential virtues. No mat- 
ter how favorable may be the circumstances at the 
outset, before any great enterprise is terminated, we 
always find occasion to call this principle into requi- 
sition. Swift says that " blindness is an inducement 
to courage, because it hides from us the danger which 
. is -before us." How far the dean may be right in 
his conjectures, we shall not here endeavor to 
determine. 
But to illustrate that lack of sight does not intimi- 
date or disqualify us for great encounters, even when 
dangers are most apparent, we record the name and 
a few adventures of Zisca, the Bohemian reformer. 
This distinguished patriot was a native of Bohemia. 
His real name was John de Trocznow, but in the 
course of his military services he lost his left eye, 
from which circumstance he was called Zisca, that 
word, in the Bohemian language, signifying one-eyed. 
He served for some time in the Danish and Polish 
armies, but on the conclusion of the wars he returned 
to his native country. The Council of Constance, 
which had then assembled (1414) for the purpose of 
rooting heresy out of the churches, and at whose 
command John Huss and Jerome of Prague, were 
burned at the stake, sent terror and consternation 
throughout Bohemia, and its cruel and unjust de- 
crees filled the public mind with horror and indigna 264 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
tion. The people at last became exceedingly exaspe- 
rated against the pope and the emperor, on account 
of their cruelties, and were obliged t.n take up arms 
in defense of their lives, and chose Zi§ca as their gen 
eral, who soon found himself at the head of forty 
thousand patriots. But at the siege of Ruby, while 
viewing a part of the works on which he intended an 
assault, an arrow from the enemy struck him in his 
remaining eye, and when extricated tore out the eye 
with it. This accident caused his whole devoted 
army to mourn ; for, while under the gleaming of 
their general's sword, triumphant victory awaited 
them in every contest. 
He was carried to Prague by his weeping soldiers, 
and his life was for some time despaired of. After 
much pain and suffering, however, he recovered, but 
with no other hope before him than of spending the 
remainder of his days in total blindness. But, like 
Sampson of old, he drew more dreadful destruction 
upon the heads of his enemies, after this misfortune, 
than he before had done. His friends were surprised 
to hear him talk, after his recovery, of setting out for 
the army, and did all in their power to dissuade him, 
but he remained fixed in his resolutions. " 1 have 
yet," said he, " my blood to shed for the liberties of Bo- 
hemia. She is enslaved; her sons are deprived of 
their natural rights, and are the victims of a system 
of spiritual tyranny as degrading to the character of 
man as it is destructive of every moral principle; 
therefore, Bohemia must and shall be free." True to THEIR ACHIEVEMENT; 
265 
the magnanimity of soul that characterized his event- 
ful life, he again presented himself to the army, a 
few months after his privation, and was hailed with 
loud and joyful acclamations, by a soldiery whom his 
presence ever inspired with invincible courage. 
When the news came to the Emperor Sigismond, 
that Zisca had again taken the field, he called a con- 
vention of all the states in his empire, at Nurem- 
burgh, and entreated them, for the sake of their sov- 
ereign, for the honor of their empire, and for the 
cause of their religion, to put themselves in arms. 
His harangue had its desired effect; proper meas- 
ures were concerted, and the assembly broke up with 
a unanimous resolution to make this audacious rebel 
feel the full weight of the empire. Accordingly, the 
news came to Zisca that two large armies were in 
readiness to march against him, one composed of con- 
federate Germans, under the Marquis of Branden- 
burgh, the Archbishop of Mentz, Count Palatine of 
the Rhine, and other princes; the other of Hungari- 
ans and Silesians, under the emperor himself. The 
former was to invade Bohemia on the west, the latter 
on the east; they were to meet in the center, and, as 
they expressed it, crush this handful of vexatious sec- 
taries between them. But it appears that the blind 
reformer was not to be frightened by threats nor im- 
perial armaments. He knew that his army could not 
cope in number with those of his enemies, but with 
the firm conviction that every soldier was ready to 
lay down his life for his country, and that the God 266 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
of hosts smiled with approbation upon his cause, be 
placed himself in readiness to meet the shock. 
After some delay the emperor entered Bohemia at 
the head of his army, the flower of which was fifteen 
thousand Hungarians, deemed at that time the best 
cavalry in Europe, and led by a Florentine officer of 
great experience, and the infantry, which consisted 
of twenty-five thousand men, were equally fine, and 
well commanded. This force spread terror through- 
out all the east of Bohemia. Wherever Sigismond 
marched, the magistrates laid their keys at his feet, 
and were treated with severity or favor, according as 
they were well or ill affected towards his cause. His 
bold career was, however, presently checked. As 
soon as the news of the emperor's devastation reached 
Zisca, he put his army in motion, and rapidly ad 
vanced towards the enemy. On the 13th of Janu 
ary, 1422, the two armies met on a large plain, near 
Kamnitz. Sigismond took great care in the selection 
of his ground, and in the arrangement of his army, 
and was elated with the hope of crushing this hith- 
erto invincible chief, who could neither be terrified 
by mandates nor conquered by arms. No general 
paid less regard to the circumstances of time and 
place than Zisca. He seldom desired more than to 
come up with his adversary ; the impetuosity and 
heroism of his troops supplied the rest. 
But on this occasion, when the liberties of his 
country and the interests of the reform depended 
upon the result of the engagement, all necessary pro- THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
267 
parations were made with circumspection and care. 
When the two armies were drawn up in battle array, 
Zisca appeared in the center of his front line, guarded 
or rather conducted by a horseman on each side, 
armed with a poleax. His troops having sung a 
hymn with determined coolness, drew their swords, 
and waited for the signal. Zisca stood not long in 
view of the enemy, and when his officers had in- 
formed him that the ranks were well closed, be waved 
his sabre over his head, which was the signal of bat- 
tle, and never was there an onset more mighty and 
irresistible. As dash a thousand waves against the 
rock-bound shore, so Zisca rolled his steel-fronted le- 
gions upon the foe. The imperial infantry hardly 
made a stand, and in the space of a few minutes they 
were disordered beyond a possibility of being rallied. 
The cavalry made a desperate effort to maintain the 
field, but finding themselves unsupported, they 
wheeled round and fled upon the spur. Thus was 
the extensive plain, as far as the eye could reach, 
suddenly overspread with disorder, the pursuers and 
the pursued mingling together, in one indistinct mass 
of waving confusion ; here and there might be seen a 
tew parties endeavoring to unite, but they were bro- 
ken as soon as formed. The routed army fled to- 
ward the confines of Moravia, the patriots, without 
intermission, galling their rear. The river Igla, which 
was then frozen, opposed their flight, and here new 
disasters befel them. The bridge being immediately 
choked, and the enemy pressing furiously on, many 268 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND 
<>f the infantry and the whole body of cavalry at- 
tempted the river ; the ice gave way, and not fewer 
than two thousand were swallowed up in the water. 
Here Zisca sheathed his sword, and returned in tri- 
umph to Tabore, laden with all the trophies which 
the most complete victory could give. 
But the heroic reformer's labors had not yet ended. 
The emperor, exasperated by his defeat, raised new 
and immense armies, which he sent against Zisca in 
the following spring, and with which he determined 
to root heresy out of his dominions. With this view, 
he placed the Marquis Misnia at the head of a con- 
siderable body of Saxons, who were to penetrate by 
the way of Upper Saxony, while he himself, at the 
head of another army, should enter Moravia, on the 
side of Hungary. But the blind general, determined 
that his country should not be enslaved while he had 
strength to wield a sword, gathered his brave army, 
and laid siege to Ausig, a strong town situated on the 
Elbe. When he had reduced the place to its last ex- 
tremity, the marquis appeared at the head of an im- 
mense army, and offered him battle. His maxim be 
ing never to decline fighting, he accepted the chai 
lenge, though he had many difficulties to encounter. 
An engagement ensued, in which the Saxons were 
utterly routed, leaving no less than nine thousand of 
their number dead on the field. By this victory, 
Ausig, with all its surrounding country, fell into the 
hands of Zisca. 
The other branch of the imperial army, under the THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
269 
command of Sigismond, meeting the same fate, the em- 
peror was obliged, after having carried on the unpro- 
voked contest for a number of years, to sue for peace. 
Our blind hero having taken up arms only to secure 
peace, he was glad for an opportunity to lay them 
down. No ambitious thirst for power inspired his 
breast. When his grateful countrymen requested 
him to accept the crown of Bohemia, as a reward 
for his eminent services, he respectfully declined. 
While you find me of service to your designs," said 
the disinterested chief, you may freely command both 
my counsels and my sword, but I will never accept 
any established authority; on the contrary, my most 
earnest advice to you is, when the perverseness of 
your enemies allows you peace, to trust yourselves 
no longer in the hands of kings, but to form your- 
selves into a republic, which species of government 
only can secure your liberties." 
After a few couriers had passed between them, a 
place of congress was appointed, and Zisca, attended 
by the principal officers of his army, set out to meet 
the emperor. But the reformer lived not to put a 
finishing hand to this treaty. In passing through a 
part of the country where a contagious epidemic was 
prevailing, he was seized by the infection, and died 
on the 6th of October, 1424, at a time when all his 
labors were ended, and his great purposes almost 
completed. 
The remains of this great man were deposited in 
the church at Craslow, in Bohemia, where a monu- 270 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
meat was erected to his memory, with an inscription 
to this purport: " Here lies John Zisca, who, hav 
ing defended his country against the encroachments 
of papal tyranny, rests in this hallowed place, in de- 
spite of the pope." 
In the daring courage of John, the blind king of 
Bohemia, who fell in the famous battle of Cressy, we 
have another illustration of the fact that sight is not 
always a requisite to valor. This king, who had been 
blind for many years, anxious to know how the bat- 
tle proceeded, was led forward during the heat of the 
engagement, and when the clang of arms fell upon 
his ear, he turned to his lords, and said : " Gentle- 
men, you are men, my companions and friends in this 
expedition ; I only now desire this last piece of ser- 
vice from you, that you would bring me forward so 
near to these Englishmen that I may deal among 
them one good stroke w'ith my sword." They all 
said they would obey him to the death, and lest by 
any extremity they should be separated from him, 
they all, with one consent, tied the reins of their 
horses one to another, and so attended their royal 
master into battle. There this valiant old hero had 
his desire, and came boldly up to the Prince of Wales, 
and gave more than one, four or five good strokes, 
and fought courageously, as also did all his lords, and 
others about him ; but they engaged themselves so 
far that they were all slain, and next day found dead 
about the body of their king, and their horses' bridles 
tied together. THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
271 
Perhaps the most complete triumph of mental en- 
ergy over physical circumstances which the history 
of man affords, is exhibited in the career of John 
Metcalf. We have reserved the summary of his 
novel adventures for the conclusion of this paper, for 
the reason that his attainments were so various, and 
many of them so peculiar to himself, that he seems 
decidedly an odd link in the chain. Metcalf was 
born in 1717, at Knaresborough, Yorkshire, and lost 
his sight at six years of age. This disability did not, 
however, prevent him from joining boys of his own 
age in their juvenile pranks of taking birds' nests and 
robbing orchards, and, as his father kept horses, he 
learned to ride, and soon became a good horseman. 
At the age of thirteen he was taught music, an ac- 
complishment which he afterward turned to great 
utility, being employed for several years as chief 
player at the assemblies of Harrowgate. Here he 
was a favorite of the visiting nobility and gentry. In 
this employment he passed his evenings, and the 
mornings he spent in cock-fighting, hunting, and 
coursing. 
At the age of twenty-one Metcalf was extremely 
robust, six feet one inch and a half in height, pos- 
sessed a peculiar archness of disposition, with an un- 
common flow of spirits, and though his conduct was 
long marked by a variety of mischievous tricks, yet 
he afterward planned and brought to perfection sev- 
eral schemes, both of private and public utility. In- 
deed, there are but few fields of enterprise in win 'i 272 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
he was not engaged, and what was most strange, he 
usually selected those in which sight appears most es- 
sential. He kept chaises at Knaresborough for pub- 
lic accommodation, and ran a stage between that 
place and York, which he drove himself. In 1745, 
he enlisted as musician in the army ; later, largely 
engaged in contraband importation of Scottish goods 
and subsequently became an extensive projector and 
builder of public roads. 
Dr. Bew, who was personally acquainted with Met- 
calf, in his account of him, says : " This man passed 
the younger part of his life as a wagoner, and occa- 
sionally as a guide in intricate roads during the night 
or when the tracks were covered with snow. Strange 
as this may appear to those who can see, the employ- 
ment he has since undertaken is still more extraordi- 
nary ; it is one of the last to which we would suppose 
a blind man would ever turn his attention. His pres- 
ent occupation is that of projector and surveyor of 
highways in difficult and mountainous parts. With 
the assistance, only, of a long staff, I have several 
times met this man traversing the roads, ascending 
precipices, exploring valleys, and investigating their 
several extents, forms and situations, so as to answer 
his designs in the best manner. The plans which he 
designs, and the estimates he makes, are done in a 
method peculiar to himself, and which he cannot well 
convey the meaning of to others. His abilities in 
this respect, are, nevertheless, so great, that he finds 
constant employment. Most of die roads over the THEIK ACHIEVEMENTS. 
273 
peaks in Derbyshire have been altered by his direc- 
tions, particularly those in the vicinity of Buxton ; 
and he is at this time constructing a new one between 
Winslow and Congleton, with a view to open a com- 
munication to the great London road, without being 
obliged to pass over the mountains." Mr. Bew adds 
in a note, " Since this paper was written, I have 
met this blind projector of roads, who was alone, as 
usual, and among other conversation, I made some 
inquiries concerning this new road. It was really 
astonishing to hear with what accuracy he described 
the courses, and the nature of the different soils 
through which it was conducted. Having mentioned 
to him a boggy piece of ground it passed through, lie 
observed that ' that was the only place he had doubts 
concerning ; and that he was apprehensive they had, 
contrary to his directions, been too sparing of their 
materials.' " 
"Among: the numerous roads which Metcalf con- 
tracted to make, was part of the Manchester road, 
from , Blackmoor to Standish Foot. As it was not 
marked out, the surveyor, contrary to expectation, 
took it over deep marshes, out of which it was the 
opinion of the trustees, that it would be necessary to 
dig the earth till they came to a solid bottom. This 
plan appeared to Metcalf extremely tedious and ex 
pensive, and liable to other disadvantages ; he there 
fore argued the point privately with the surveyor, and 
several other gentlemen, but they were all immovea- 
ble in their former opinion. Metcalf attended then 274 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
next meeting, and addressed them in the fo. >wing 
manner: Gentlemen, I propose to make thu road 
over the marshes after my own plan, and if it does 
not answer, I will be at the expense of making it 
over again, after yours. To this proposal they as- 
sented. Having engaged to complete nine miles in 
ten months, he began in six different parts, nearly 
four hundred men being employed. One of the pla- 
ces was peat, and Standish Common was a deep bog, 
over which it was thought impracticable to make any 
road. Here he cast it fourteen yards wide, raising it 
in a circular form, and the water, which, in many 
places, ran across the road, was carried off by drains; 
but he found the greatest difficulty in conveying 
stones to the spot, on account of the softness of the 
ground. Those who passed that way to Huddersfield 
Market, were not sparing in their censure of the un- 
dertaking, and even doubted whether it would ever 
be completed. Having, however, leveled the piece 
to the end, he ordered his men to collect heather or 
ling, and bind it in round bundles, which they could 
span with their hands ; these were placed close to 
gether, and another row laid over them, upon whicn 
they were well pressed down, and covered with stone 
and gravel. This piece being about half a mile in 
length, when completed, was so remarkably fine, 
that any person might have gone over it in winter 
unshod, without being wet; and, though other parts 
of the road soon wanted repairing, this needed none 
for twelve years. " THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
275 
A few anecdotes of his early adventures may not 
be without interest to the reader. 
When about the age of fourteen, Metcalf, with 
some other young men, expressed a great desire for 
a day's sport; and knowing that Mr. Woodburn, the 
master of the Knaresborough pack of hounds, had 
often lent them to Metcalf for the same purpose, they 
doubted not of the success of his application. On 
the evening before the appointed day, Metcalf went, 
flushed with hope, to Mr. Woodburn, requesting him 
to lend the pack for the next day. This was a favor 
out of his power to grant, having to meet Squire 
Trapps with the hounds, next morning, upon Scoton 
Moor, for the purpose of entering some young fox- 
hounds. Chagrined at this, Metcalf debated with 
himself whether the disappointment should fall on 
Mr. Woodburn's friends, or his own : determining 
that it should not be the lot of the latter, he arose, 
the next morning, before daybreak, and crossed the 
high bridge, near which he had the advantage of the 
joint echoes of the old castle and Belmont-wood. 
He had brought with him an extraordinarily good 
hound of his own, and taking him by the ears, made 
him give mouth very loudly, himself giving some 
halloos at the sam§ time. This device had so g-ood 
an effect that, in a few minutes, he had nine couples 
about him, as the hounds were kept by various peo- 
ple about the shambles, and were suffered to lie un- 
kenneled. Mounting his horse, away he rode with 
the dogs, to Harrowgate, where he met his friends. 276 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
ready mounted, and in high spirits. Some of them 
proposed going to Bilton-wood, near Knaresborough, 
but this was opposed by Metcalf, who preferred the 
moor; in fact, he was apprehensive of being followed 
by Mr. Woodburn, and wished to be farther from 
Knaresborough, on that account. Pursuant to his 
advice, they drew the moor at the distance of five 
miles, when they started a hare, kdled her after a 
fine chase, and immediately put up another : just at 
this moment came up Mr. Woodburn, very angry, 
threatening to send Metcalf to the house of correc- 
tion, and his passion rising to the utmost, he rode up 
with an intention to horsewhip him, which Metcalf 
prevented by galloping out of his reach. Mr. Wood- 
burn then endeavored to call off the hounds, but 
Metcalf, knowing the fleetness of his own horse, ven- 
tured within speaking, though not within whipping 
distance of him, and begged that he would not spoil 
them by taking them off, and that he was sure that 
they would (as they actually did) kill in a very short 
time. Metcalf soon found that Mr. Woodburn's an- 
ger had begun to abate, and, going nearer to him, 
pleaded a misunderstanding of his plan, which, he 
said, he thought had been fixed for the day after. 
The apology succeeded with this good-natured gen- 
tleman, who, giving the hare to Metcalf, desired he 
would accompany him to Scoton Moor, whither, 
though late, he would go, rather than wholly disap- 
point Mr. Trapps. Metcalf proposed to his friend to 
cross the rivei Nid at Holm Bottom ; and Mr. THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
277 
Woodburn not being acquainted with the ford, he 
again undertook the office of guide, and leading the 
way, they soon arrived at Scoton Moor, where Mr. 
Trapps and his company had waited for them several 
hours. Mr. Woodburn explained the cause of the 
delay, and being now able to participate in the joke, 
the affair ended very agreeably. 
Our young hero, also frequented the hippodromes 
at York, and other places. At the races, he com- 
monly rode in among the crowd, and was often suc- 
cessful in his bets, in which he was, however, assisted 
by several gentlemen, to whom he was known. Ilav 
ing once matched one of his horses to run three miles 
for a considerable wager, and the parties agreeing each 
to ride his own horse, they set up posts at certain 
distances on the Forest Moor, describing a circle of 
one mile, having, consequently, to go three times 
round the course. Under the idea that Metcalf would 
be unable to keep the course, great odds were laid 
against him, but his ingenuity furnished him withan 
expedient in this dilemma. He procured some bells, 
and placing a man with one at each post, was ena- 
bled by the ringing to judge when to turn ; by this 
contrivance, and the superior speed of his horse, he 
came in winner amidst the applauses of all present, 
except those who had betted against him. 
We also give place to the following account of his 
marriage: At the Royal Oak, (an inn,) where Met- 
calf was in the habit of spending his evenings, 
after the season at Harrowgate, he attracted the no- 278 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND 
tice of Miss Benson, the landlady's daughter, whose 
constant attention and kindness soon inspired him 
witli a reciprocal affection : knowing, however, that 
her mother would oppose their union, various suc- 
cessful devices were employed to conceal their mu- 
tual partiality and frequent meetings. An event, 
however, occurred, which obliged Metcalf to quit not 
only the object of his attachment, but likewise that 
part of the country. During his absence, a Mr. Dick- 
enson had paid his addresses to Miss Benson, and 
now urged his suit with such ardor, that the banns 
were published, and the wedding-day appointed, to 
the no small mortification of Metcalf, who thought 
himself secure of her affections. But, though he 
loved her tenderly, his' pride prevented him from 
manifesting his feelings, or attempting to prevent the 
match. On the day preceding that on which the 
nuptials were to be celebrated, Metcalf, riding past 
the Royal Oak, was accosted with, " One wants to 
speak with you." He immediately turned toward 
the stables of the Oak, and there, to his joy and sur- 
prise, he found the object of his love, who had sent 
her mother's servant to call him. After some ex- 
planation, an elopement was resolved upon, which 
Metcalf, with the assistance of a friend, effected that 
night, and the next morning they were united. The 
confusion of his rival, who had provided an enter- 
tainment for two hundred people, may easily be ima- 
gined. Mrs. Benson, enraged at her daughter's con- 
duct, refused either to see her or give up her clothes THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
279 
nor was she reconciled until the baptism of her sec- 
ond child, on which occasion she stood sponsor for it, 
and presented Metcalf with his wife's fortune. It 
now became a matter of wonder that she should have 
preferred a blind man to Dickenson, she being as 
handsome a woman as any in the country. A lady 
having asked her why she refused so many good offers 
for Blind Jack, she answered, " Because I could not 
be happy without him." And being more particu- 
larly questioned, she replied, " His actions are so 
singular, and his spirit so manly and enterprising, 
that I could not help liking him." ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE BLIND IN POETRY AND 
MUSIC. 
SERIES III.-SECTION I 
SOME EXPLANATION' OF THE METHOD BY WHICH THE BORN BLIND 
GAIN A KNOWLEDGE OF THE EXTENSION, MAGNITUDE AND AP- 
PEARANCE OF DISTANT OBJECTS. 
It is not difficult to understand how it is that the 
obstacles which imperfect sight throws in the way of 
blacksmithing, painting, or anatomical investigations, 
are no impediments to the study of music, or even to 
very superior attainments in it, both as an art and a 
science. But we confess it is not so easy to perceive 
how it happens that some persons, denied the bless- 
ings of sight from birth, can describe scenes so graph- 
ically that even a connoisseur of natural scenery could 
not detect their condition ; or how, indeed, they can 
form any notion of objects as they must appear to the 
eye from a distance, of the nature of light itself, ot 
the indescribable glory of the sun, moon, and stars, 
and much less of those peculiarly pleasurable sensa- 
tions which the blending of light and shade, and con- 
trast of colors produce. 
It is not wonderful that those who regard sight as 
the grand avenue to the mind, and who through this THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
281 
entrance receive most of their impressions from with- 
out, are slow to believe that so many fields of enter- 
prise, and rich subjects for contemplation, are open 
to the blind. How, say they, can one whose ideas 
of extent and superficial area can be gathered only 
from the distance within his reach, or the space of 
ground over which he may have traveled, form any 
adequate conception of the magnitude of a mountain, 
or picture to himself a vast landscape, diversified with 
groves, meadows, sunny hill-sides, winding streams, 
with plains and grazing flocks, and here and there 
isolated trees, at distinct though irregular distances 
from each other ? That the born blind do possess this 
imaginative power, and even the ability to form new 
combinations from isolated ideas, is clearly shown 
in their writings. 
The following descriptive lines gathered from the 
poems of Blacklock, by Spence, his critical reviewer, 
mav serve to demonstrate this fact: 
"Mild gleams the purple evening o'er the plain." 
"Ye vales, which to the raptured eye, 
Disclosed the flowery pride of May ; 
Ye circling hills, whose summits high, 
Blushed with the morning's earliest ray." 
" Let long-lived pansies here their scents bestow, 
The violets languish and the roses glow; 
In yellow glory let the crocus shine- 
Narcissus here his love-sick head recline ; 
Here hyacinths in purple sweetness rise, 
And tulips tinged with beauty's fairest dyes." 282 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
"On rising ground, the prospect to command, 
Untinged with smoke, where vernal breezes blow, 
In rural neatness let thy cottage stand; 
Here wave a wood, and there a river flow." 
"Oft on the glassy stream, with raptured eyes, 
Surveys her form in mimic sweetness rise ; 
Oft as the waters, pleased, reflect her face, 
Adjusts her locks, and heightens every grace." 
" Oft while the sun 
Darts boundless glory through the expanse of heaven. 
A gloom of congregated vapors rise; 
Than night more dreadful in his blackest shroul, 
And o'er the face of things incumbent haug, 
Portending tempest; till the source of day 
Again asserts the empire of the sky, 
And o'er the blotted scene of nature throws 
A keener splendor." 
The idiosyncrasies of the blind, or those traits of 
the mind which the want of sight from birth has 
uniformly developed, have long furnished the seeing 
with curious subjects of metaphysical speculation. 
Many strange conjectures have been hazarded, and 
some very happy conclusions arrived at; but as yet, 
we think they have not received sufficient attention 
from the blind themselves. In view of this fact, we 
have ventured to offer, in this connection, a few re- 
marks, as the result of our united experience. Not 
that we fancy ourselves equal to the task of explain- 
ing to the seeing what, to ourselves, is mysterious, 
but we are persuaded that many of the manifesta- 
tions of mind that seem peculiar only to our class, 
may be accounted for, on as strictly philosophical THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS, 
283 
principles as though they had been developed by a 
full use of all the senses. 
Our first inquiry is, then, by what means are those 
faculties of the mind which perceive physical objects, 
and contemplate and retain facts concerning them, 
developed ? We answer, by the very impression which 
those objects produce upon the mind through the 
external senses. The conversion of these impressions 
or shadows of the external world, into its own nature, 
not only affords it healthful exercise, but increases its 
capacity for the reception of facts. Knowledge is its 
aliment; and the senses are so many mouths through 
which it receives its food. But, it may be asked, 
what if sight, that medium through which the mind 
cqn take cognizance of so large a field of objects at 
the same time, be obstructed from birth ; will not the 
powers of the mind lie dormant ? Certainly not, for 
every essential fact relative to the nature or proper- 
ties of outward objects, would reach the mind through 
the other senses or channels of communication, al- 
though they might not come robed in such gorgeous 
colors. A pill may possess medicinal properties, 
whether it is sugared or not. Delicious fruits are as 
inviting to the blind man's taste, as gratifying to his 
appetite, and quite as salutary in their effect upon 
the system, as though he could behold the bright, 
rich colors with which nature has painted them. 
Color, it should be remembered, is nature's dress, 
and not nature's self. No one will contend that 
beautiful colors are essential to the existence of bod 284 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
ies. Correct ideas of every terrestrial object might 
have been presented to the mind without them. To 
illustrate this more clearly : a certain quantity of nu- 
tritious food is requisite to the support of our animal 
nature. Now, this aliment may be introduced di- 
rectly into the stomach without the ordinary process 
of mastication, and produce the same salutary effect. 
Indeed, all food might be prepared for the immedi- 
ate action of this organ, by artificial means. But, 
in order to afford us greater enjoyments than those 
of simply answering nature's demand, the God of na- 
ture has given us the sense of taste. Yet, had he 
denied us this source of pleasure, we can conceive 
how life might have been perpetuated, and all the 
physical powers naturally developed. 
We come now briefly to notice the superior advan- 
tages which some of the senses possess over sight, 
the degree of cultivation of which they are suscepti- 
ble, and the manner in which they can be made to 
perform nearly all the functions of the visual organ. 
This is a large subject, and so thickly enveloped in 
the mist of metaphysical science, that scarce a ray 
from our feeble light can be expected to reach it. 
But darkness to the blind has no terrors. In the first 
place, then, we remark that, to the eye alone, the 
common properties of bodies, namely, hardness, den- 
sity, elasticity, etc., are not cognizable. To the sense 
of touch, only, are they appreciable. For example: 
Glass is a hard, dense and brittle body, but indepen- 
dent of the sense of touch, the eye could never have THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
285 
perceived this fact. Indeed, our knowledge of the 
physical world must have been very limited and su- 
perficial, had the Creator endowed us with no other 
organ of sense than this. Shadows would have been 
thought as real as the objects by which they were 
cast. Images reflected from polished surfaces, would 
have lived and moved, and in short, life would have 
been even less than a shadowy dream, a beautiful 
panorama, with neither soul nor substance. 
Of all the senses, that of sight is the most liable to 
delusive impressions. Ocular illusions are common, 
but who ever heard of a tactual illusion. Spectres, 
hobgoblins, and every chimera of the imagination 
of which it is possible to conceive, have frightened 
and deceived the timid, in every age of the world. 
But who was ever terrified at the sudden appear 
ance of a tangible ghost ? An untutored infant reaches 
after its toy, while the object desired is, perhaps, 
some feet from it. It grasps at a sunbeam, or its own 
image in a mirror, and cries with vexation and dis- 
appointment because it cannot possess itself of the 
beautiful objects. We confess it might be difficult 
to determine whether these deceptive appearances 
are attributable to the infant's undisciplined vision, 
or to the undeveloped state of its mental percep- 
tions, were it not that numerous instances are re- 
corded of persons having been restored to sight, at a 
mature age, who had lost all recollection of objects 
as they appear to the eye. To several of these per- 
sons, all objects at first appeared at a uniform dis- 286 
OF THE BLIND. 
tanee fr m the eye. although differing greatly in form 
and magnitude. But what is most surprising, they 
were wholly unable to recognize familiar objects, 
until they had first been submitted to the sense of 
touch, when the eye immediately became satisfied 
as to their identity. Hence, we are led to infer that 
to the child, all bodies at first appear at a uniform 
distance, and perhaps inverted, brt that this delusion 
vanishes when it comes to examine them by the sense 
of touch ; that it learns to calculate relative distance 
by comparative magnitude ; that there is nothing in 
the nature of reflected light, or in the images which 
it forms upon the retina, by which the mind can de- 
termine absolute distance or magnitude ; and that 
these facts, like most others, can only be reached 
through the efficient aid of the other organs of sense. 
But how, then, it may be asked, does the blind 
child, whose means of perception do not seem to ex- 
tend much beyond the reach of his arms, gain any 
adequate idea of figure, extent, elevation or magni- 
tude ? By modes, of course, somewhat differing from 
those used by the seeing, yet always productive of 
the same results. But, as these modes may not, at 
first, appear to the reader, we shall notice a few of 
them, as the result, of the experience of one of the 
present writers, who, it will be remembered, has been 
deprived of sight from birth : 
I fancy that the entire form or contour of bodies, 
may be discovered by the eye at a single glance, by 
the contrast of light and shade, or in other words THEIK ACHIEVEMENTS. 
287 
by contrasting their particular colors, with the light 
medium which surrounds them. But by the sense 
of touch, shape is more gradually communicated. 
For instance : A large body is presented to me. By 
passing my fingers over its several parts, retaining 
in memory a complete idea of each, as they are pre- 
sented to the mind by the sense of touch, until the 
entire surface has been carefully examined, the ima- 
gination at once combines each ideal proportion, and 
presents to my view a perfect image of the object. 
Not by contrast of color, since this property of bod- 
ies, it will be remembered, is nevei- perceptible to 
the touch. But by contrasting, in memory, the den- 
sity of the object with the rare medium or space 
which surrounds it. In this way, I can picture to 
myself without color, (if I choose,) groups of distinct 
objects of various shapes, with smooth or rough sur- 
faces, in motion or at rest, and can change their re- 
lation to each other at will, both in position and dis- 
tance. 
Of course, it will not be expected that, at this pe- 
riod of life, I retain any distinct recollections of the 
first impressions wdiich tangible objects produced 
upon my mind. I suppose, however, their peculiar 
forms and diversified surfaces afforded me sources of 
<<reat amusement, and, perhaps, created quite as 
many pleasurable sensations, as the same variety of 
bright and beautiful colors would have done. And 
even at the present time, I take a strange and inde- 
scribable delight in passing my hands gently over 288 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
highly polished surfaces, especially if they are curved 
or undulating. Hard, rough surfaces, like those of 
sand-paper and unpolished metal, are extremely 
disagreeable to the touch. Angular figures, with 
fuzzy, glutinous, or adhesive surfaces, excite in the 
blind feelings of disgust, kindred, perhaps, to those 
experienced by the seeing, when the eye falls upon 
grim and dingy colored objects ; while spherical bod- 
ies, with soft, smooth, or glossy exteriors, never fail 
to create the* most pleasing sensations and impart 
ideas of fascinating beauty. Consequently, with these 
qualities, and sweet sounds, we associate our concep- 
tions of beautiful colors. 
"To those who see," says a distinguished writer, 
" a scarlet color signifies an unknown quality in bod- 
ies, that makes to the eye the appearance with which 
we are well acquainted. The blind man has not this 
appearance as the sign of that particular quality in 
bodies ; but he can conceive the eye to be variously 
affected by different colors, as the nose is by different 
smells, or the ear by different sounds. Thus he can 
conceive scarlet to be different from blue, as the 
sound of a trumpet is different from that of a drum: 
or as the smell of an orange is from that of an apple." 
As regards our mode of inferring how different colors 
must appear to the eye, the writer is essentially cor- 
rect. We do, indeed, fancy a sort of analogy to exist 
between the sensations which light and color produce 
upon the eye, and those which sounds produce upon 
the ear. With almost every property of bodies that THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
289 
may address itself to our hearing, smelling, taste, etc., 
we associate, as we have before remarked, some ideal 
quality of color. But what is most singular, these 
qualities seem to have a separate existence in the 
imagination, and may be formed by fancy int6 new 
and various combinations, as may be seen in the 
highly colored lines above quoted. 
Much more might yet be said in explanation of the 
methods by which we are enabled to gain a knowl- 
edge of extent by the effect of distant sounds upon 
the ear, and of height and magnitude, by multiply- 
ing many times in imagination, the size and elevation 
of bodies commensurate with our means of percep- 
tion. But as we have nearly exhausted the space 
allotted to us in this section, and perhaps the pa- 
tience of the reader, we shall proceed briefly to no 
tice, in conclusion, a few more favorites of the muses. 
The most ancient of these, and perhaps the first in 
merit, is Henry the Minstrel, more commonly called 
Blind Harry. This poet was born in 1361, and lost 
his sight in infancy. He was the author of a histor- 
ical poem, in ten books, narrating the achievements 
of Sir William Wallace. This poem continued for 
several centuries, to be in great repute, but after- 
wards sunk into neglect, until very lately, when it 
was recovered from obscurity, and a very neat and 
correct edition was published at Perth, under the 
inspection and patronage of the Earl of Buchan. As 
an example of the author's style, we subjoin the fol- 
lowing, which is, perhaps, one of the most lively, and 290 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
animated descriptions in the whole poem. It is fre 
quently remarked that those who have never seen, 
should not attempt descriptive verse. If facts can 
reach the mind by no other entrance than the eye, 
and if color is the only stuff out of which poets' 
dreams are made, then, perhaps, it may be true that 
the blind can neither feel deeply nor describe natu- 
rally. But whether our author succeeds in giving 
this scene its true coloring or not, we leave our it ad 
ers to judge : 
Now Bigger's plains with armed men are crown'd. 
And shining lances glitter all around; 
The sounding horn and clarion all conspire 
To raise the soldier's breast, and kindle up his fire. 
So Triton, when, at Neptune's high command, 
He heaves the swelling surge above the land; 
When -with full breath, he bids the tempes't roar, 
And dash the sounding billows to the shore ; 
His angry waves the wrinkled seas deform, 
They rise, they rave, and blacken to the storm, 
Each eager soldier seized his ready shield, 
Drew the fierce blade and strode along the field; 
The black'ning wings extend from left to right, 
% Condense the war and gather to the fight I 
Now rose the battle,-there the warriors tend, 
A thousand deaths on thousand wings ascend ; 
Swords, spears and shields, in mixed confusion glow 
The field is swept, and lessens at each blow. 
Wallace's helm, distinguished from afar, 
Tempests the field, and floats amid the war ; 
Imperious death attends upon the sword, 
And certain conquest waits her destined lord ! 
Wallace beheld his fainting squadron yield, 
And various slaughter spread along the field ; 
Furious he hastes and heaves his orbid shield, TTIEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
291 
Resolved in arms to meet his enemy ; 
Before his spear they run, they rush, they fly 
And now in equal battle met the foes,- 
Long lasts the combat, and resound their blowi 
Their dreadful falchions brandishing on high, 
In wary circles heighten to the sky. 
Now all is death and wounds ; the crimson plain 
Floats round in blood, and groans beneath its slain ; 
Promiscuous crowds one common ruin share, 
And death alone employs the wasteful war; 
They trembling fly, by conquering Scots opprest, 
And the broad ranks of battle lie defaced; 
A false usurper sinks in every foe, 
And liberty returns with every blow I 
John Gower, another ancient poet, who flourished 
in the latter part of the fourteenth century, and died 
in 1402, deserves a place in this series. He lost his 
sight, it appears, at an advanced period in life, but 
from what cause we are not informed. Some have 
supposed from imbecility of age ; but this does not 
appear probable, from the fact that after his misfor- 
tune he wrote several of his best Latin and English 
poems. 
There is nothing more certain than the uncertainty 
of human events; nor is there a greater disability 
than human inertness, or a want of power to break 
away from the sinking wreck of condemned projects, 
and to bear up manfully against the tide of reverses 
and disappointments, until a foothold can be gained 
on safer and more feasible plans. Failures are the 
creatures of error and mismanagement, and not of fa- 
tuitous misfortune. The only way to battle success- 292 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
fully with natural difficulties, is to meet the ills of 
life with fortitude, and if obliged to yield a desired 
point, to rally all the energies in another quarter of 
the field. Nor is triumph over difficulty the only 
achievement; the true moral hero is able to endure as 
well as contend. 
Another encouraging example of the power of re* 
solve over physical circumstances, is exhibited in the 
life of Dr. M. Clancy, a dramatic poet, who flour- 
ished in the beginning of the eighteenth century. 
He was born in the county of Clare, Ireland, and was 
deprived of sight in 1737, by a severe cold, and was 
thus rendered incapable of following his profession as 
a physician. As the doctor in his earlier days had 
evinced a fondness for scribbling verse, he was ad- 
vised by some friends to try his success as an author, 
and supposing the theater was open alike to all, his 
first attempt was in the dramatic line. His first 
piece was a comedy, called the "Sharper," which 
was acted five times at the theater in Smock-alley, 
Dublin, and obtained for him the notice of Dean 
Swift. The dean having critically read a copy of this 
play, which had been secretly placed upon his table, 
was so highly pleased with it that, on learning the 
circumstances of its author, he immediately dis- 
patched the following : 
" To Dr. Clancy : 
" Sir,-Some friend of mine lent me a comedy, 
which, I was told, was written by you. I read it THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
293 
carefully and with much pleasure, on account both 
of the characters and the moral. I have no interest 
with the people of the play-house, else I would gladly 
recommend it to them. I send you a small present, 
in such gold as will not give you trouble to change, 
for I much pity your loss of sight, which, if it had 
pleased God to let you enjoy, your other talents might 
have been your honest support, and had eased you 
of your present confinement. 
" I am, sir, your well-wishing friend, 
" and humble servant, 
"Jonathan Swifi 
" Deanery House, Ohristmasday, 1737." 
In the year 1746, he received a sum of money foi 
performing the part of Tiresias, the blind prophet, in 
" CEdipus," which was acted for his benefit at Drury 
Lane theater. He afterward settled at Kilkenny, 
where he was for some time connected with a Latin 
school. Clancy was the author of three dramatic 
pieces, and also of a Latin poem, called " Templum 
Veneris, sive Amorum Rhapsodise." From the follow- 
ing fragment, found among the papers of Mrs. Pil- 
kington, we conclude the stream which most embit- 
tered our author's life did not spring from want of 
sight, but from the climax of domestic misery - a 
scolding wife. 
" Hapless Clancy ! grieve no more, 
Socrates was plagued before ; 
Though o'ercast, thy visual ray 
Meets no more the light of day, 294 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Yet even here is comfort had, 
Good prevailing over bad. 
Now thou canst no more behold 
The grim aspect of thy scold; 
Oh! what raptures wouldst thou find, 
Wert thou deaf as well as blind." 
A German, named John Pheffel, a native of Col- 
mar, who lost his sight in youth, wrote several vol- 
umes of poetry, consisting chiefly of fables, which 
were published in 1791. He also established in his 
native town a military school, to which youths of the 
best families in Germany were sent to be educated. 
He died in 1809, in the seventy-third year of his age. 
Miss Anna Williams, who came to London in 1730, 
with her father, a Welch surgeon, lost her sight from 
cataract, in the thirty-fourth year of her age. This 
disheartening calamity did not strip life of all its at- 
tractions, nor crush every hope of future usefulness, 
but seemed rather to give new zest to intellectual 
pursuits. Her world was now one of thought, and 
every bright creation of fancy seemed more glorious 
in contrast with the dark world without. In 1746, 
after six years of blindness, she published a transla- 
tion from the French of Le Bleterie's " Life of the 
Emperor Julian," and twenty years after she appeared 
again as an authoress, of a volume entitled, " Miscel- 
lanies in Prose and Verse." Her fine literary attain- 
ments recommended her to the notice of Dr. Johnson, 
in whose house she lived for several years, and died 
in 1783, at the age of seventy-seven. 
We have also before us a miscellaneous collection THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
295 
of prose and verse, yet in manuscript, from the pen 
of O. Hewitt, late deceased, who was .an intimate 
friend and classmate of the present writers. 
"We thank thee, Lord, that in each stricken heart, 
The radiant star of hope doth brightly shine ; 
And while we weep that thus we early part, 
We bless the chast'ning hand, for it is thine; 
We know thy mercy, Lord-thy righteous ways, 
And while we mourn, we praise." 
Hewitt was born 1827, in Tioga county, New York, 
and lost his sight in infancy. He entered the Insti- 
tution for the Blind at New York in 1839, and, after 
a term of six years, graduated with the highest hon- 
ors of that institute. He died, from pulmonary con- 
sumption, June 10th, 1852, in the twenty-fifth year 
of his age. We cannot but feel a deep regret for his 
early death, in common with the numerous and ad- 
miring friends which his kindness, generosity, and 
promising genius had endeared to him. But from 
the deep rooted and unaffected piety that character- 
ized his life, we are encouraged to hope that his im- 
mortal spirit has winged its flight to realms of un- 
clouded day. " And there shall be no night there ; 
and they need no candle, neither light of the sun; 
for the Lord God giveth. them light: and they shall 
reign for ever and ever." His manuscripts, from 
which we subjoin the following short poem, as a spe- 
cimen of the author's style, have fallen into the hands 
of a relative, who appreciates the " value, and they 
will, it is hoped, ere long find thei 1 o the press. 296 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
REFLECTIONS ON VISITING THE RESIDENCE OF A 
DECEASED FRIEND, 
I entered tnat lone dwelling, all was still; 
No sound of joy or mirth was heard along 
Those now deserted halls, but silence deep 
Reigned there, in all its solem ity. 
But each familiar thing, so dear to me 
In other days, remains unchanged by time ; 
Like living sentinels they ever stand 
To speak to me of the departed dead. 
But where is she, whoje tones of gladness oft 
Echoed so joyously through these lone walls ? 
Gone, never to return, or cheer again 
The hearts that sigh in vain for scenes long de l 
And must it be, that other feet shall tread 
The spot still sacred to her memory ? 
Be, as she oft has been, the pride and joy 
Of those that gather round ti)e social board? 
No, though ye revel still in smiles, and though 
In mirth and joy the livelong night, may pass, 
Sad thoughts of other days will sometimes come, 
To cast a shadow o'er your brightest joys. 
'Tis strange, though true, those we have held mostdea: 
Wither and die, touched by the icy hand 
Of d, h ; and o'er their slow but sure decay 
Grieve w if all that we most prize on earth 
With tnat loved form had perished in an hour: 
And yet, we soon forget that they have been, 
Forget that they to us were ever dear; 
That yesterday they mingled in the dance, 
To-day are slumbering cold in death's embrace. 
Again I entered that once loved abode; 
But other forms and other scenes were there, 
And I, of all that vast assembled crowd, 
Am now a stranger where was once my home. 
Oh, it is sad, that time should everbring 
Such fearful changes to so fair a spot- THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
297 
That one who once was gladly welcomed there 
Should stand alone by all forgotten now. 
But I can bear it, though the sacred past 
Be full of sadness--yet 'tis sweet to know 
That those I loved have slumbered in the grave, 
And buried friendship in oblivion deep, 
Ere yet its holy flame had ceased to burn 
Or dimmed its brightness by the flight of years. 
In arranging these characters, we have usually 
treated them in order of time; but after the comple- 
tion of this article, we found, on looking over our list 
of authors, that we had omitted the name of Edward 
Rushton, whose abilities as a writer justly entitle 
him to a place among the poets, as the extract sub- 
joined will show. 
He was a native of Liverpool, and lost his sight in 
1774, in his nineteenth year, while on a slaving voy 
age to the coast of Africa. It is, however, due to his 
memory to record, that when he beheld the horrors 
of this disgraceful traffic, he expressed his sentiments 
in very strong ahd pointed language, with the bold- 
ness and integrity which characterized his every ac- 
tion ; and though in a subordinate situation, he went 
so far that it was thought necessary to threaten him 
with tlie irons if he did not desist. 
The first occupation worthy of note in which he en- 
gaged after his return to England, was the editing of 
a newspaper called the " Herald." But finding his 
views too liberal and magnanimous for the times, and 
the engagement not very lucrative, he exchanged it 
for that of a bookseller, a branch of business more 298 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
congen al with his habits and taste than any other 
that presented itself. A few years subsequent to the 
loss of his sight, he had married, and now his capital 
consisted of a wife, five children, and thirty guineas. 
But by incessant toil and frugal management, he soon 
rendered his circumstances more easy, and found 
time to indulge his fondness for reading, and to exer- 
cise his talents in composition. With the exception 
of two letters on the subject of negro slavery, one ad- 
dressed to President Washington, and the other to 
Thomas Paine, his productions are all in verse. As 
a poet, he seems to have possessed considerable merit. 
Throughout all his writings the reader is charmed 
with the display of rich and glowing imagination, 
and a lively conception of the beautiful. His poems, 
which first appeared in the periodicals of the day, 
were afterwards collected by his friends, and com- 
piled in one volume, at London, in 1814. 
FROM HIS LASS OF LIVERPOOL. 
Where cocoas lift their tufted heads, 
And orange blossoms scent the breeze, 
Her charms the wild mulatto spreads, 
And moves with soft and wanton ease. 
And I have seen her witching wiles, 
And I have kept my bosom cool, 
For how could I forget thy smiles, 
Oh lovely lass of Liverpool ? THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
299 
The softest tints the conch displays, 
The cheek of her I love outvies ; 
And the sea breeze midst burning rays, 
Is not more cheering than her eyes. 
Dark as the petrel is her hair, 
And Sam, who calls me love-sick fool, 
Ne'er saw a tropic bird more fair 
Than my sweet lass of Liverpool 
SECTION IL 
BLIND MUSICIANS. 
There is a world to which night brings no gloom, 
no sadness, no impediments ; fills no yawning chasm, 
and hides from the traveler no pitfail. It is the world 
of sound. Silence is its night, the only darkness of 
which the blind have any knowledge. In it every 
attribute of nature has a voice ; the beautiful, the 
grand, the sublime, have each a language, and to one 
whose heart is in tune, every sound has a peculiar sig- 
nificance. In the voice of the flood, the thunder and 
the earthquake, Omnipotence is heard, and deeper 
and stronger emotions seem to agitate the feelings, 
than those which are awakened by the appearance 
of the dashing water, the gathering storm, the sweep- 
ing tempest, or the lightning's flash. Sound fills the 
soul, while light fills the eye only. The brightest 
glance that morning ever threw over this beautiful 
earth, was but a reflected beam of heaven's ineffable 
glory; but sound is a living echo of that voice that 300 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
spake and the world stood fast, that commanded and 
holy stars came forth from the depths of night. "As 
the visible wrorld, with all its pleasing varieties of 
form, its endless combinations, and beautiful blend- 
ings of light and shade, is to the soul that is permit- 
ted to look out upon it, and feel its refining, nay, its 
regenerating influences, so is the world of sound to 
him who is denied the contemplation of these beau- 
ties." "In the varied stream of warbling melody," 
as it winds its way in graceful meanderings to the 
deep recesses of his soul, " or of rich and boundless 
harmony, as it swells and rolls its pompous tide 
around him," he finds a solace and a compensation 
for the absent joys of sight. 
Consequently, the educated blind musician be- 
comes enthusiastic in his admiration of the science 
and art of music. Secluded ever from the joys of 
vision, he seeks for consolation here. Oft, in the 
pensive musings of his active mind, when lonely and 
retired, he contemplates the excellence of music, and 
seeks the sources of its powerful charms. He runs 
through the nice gradations and minute divisions of 
its scale, and fancies an unlimited extent, in gravity 
and acuteness, beyond the reach of all perception; 
thence he traverses the rich and devious maze of 
combinations which result from harmony, and all its 
complicated evolutions-the soft and loud, the min- 
gling light and shade of music-the swelling and de- 
creasing tones, which form the aerial tracery and fa- 
ding tints of just perspective-all are to him the THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
301 
oody, color, strength and outline, which compose the 
vivid pictnre his imagination has created. He pon- 
ders next upon the various sounds produced in na- 
ture, from the soft and balmy whisper of the vernal 
breeze to the loud pealings of the deep-toned thunder, 
heard amid the wailings of the fiercely raging storm. 
Lost in the tumult of his strong emotions, he exclaims, 
" What is there in the wide creation so sublime, mag- 
nificent, or beautiful, as sound ? " 
In the lives of those eminent blind, who have in 
different ages distinguished themselves in the science 
and practice of music, the truth and justice of the 
foregoing remarks are fully exemplified. Franciscus 
Salinas, professor of music at the University of Sal- 
amanca, and created Abbot of St. Pauciato della 
Rocca Salignas, in the kingdom of Naples, by Pope 
Paul IV., was one of the most remarkable musical 
geniuses of which any age can boast. He was the 
author of an elaborate treatise, in seven books, on his 
favorite science, under the title of " De Musica," 
which held a preeminence for many centuries, and 
was, perhaps, one of. the most profound and erudite 
works ever produced on this subject, in any language 
or country. Franciscus Salinas was born in the year 
1513. His blindness from birth probably early lead 
him to the study of music, and during his youth 
nearly the whole of his time was employed in sing- 
ing and playing the organ. When but a lad, he ac- 
quired a knowledge of the Latin language, from a 
young lady, to whom he gave lessons in music in re- 302 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
turn. Encouraged by his rapid attainments, his pa- 
rents sent him to the University of Salamanca, where 
he applied himself assiduously and with astonishing 
success to the study of the Greek language, philoso- 
phy and the arts. After leaving the university, his 
genius recommended him to the favorable notice of 
Archbishop Compostella-, afterward made cardinal, 
whom Salinas accompanied to Rome, where he spent 
thirty years in studying the works of Boetias and the 
writings of the ancient Greek harmonicians. He af- 
terward returned to Spain, where he was invited to 
the professorship of music in his own university, on 
a liberal salary. He died in 1590, at the advanced 
age of seventy-seven, leaving behind him many ex- 
cellent musical compositions, together with the valu- 
able productions above alluded to. 
In the sixteenth century, when the tender influence 
of music seemed for a time to warm into action the 
nobler impulses of men's natures, and to cause springs 
of feeling to gush anew from hearts long calloused 
with vice and cruelty, flourished Caspar Crumbhorn, 
who was blind from the third year of his age. He 
composed several pieces of music in parts, and per- 
formed, with such superior taste and skill, on both 
the flute and violin, that he won the favor and pat- 
ronage of Augustus, elector of Saxony. But, prefer- 
ring his native Silesia to every other country, he re- 
turned thither, and was appointed organist of the 
church of St. Peter and St. Paul, in the city of Lig- 
nitz, and likewise had the chief direction of the mu- THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
303 
sical college in that place. Tie died there on the 
11th of June, 1621. 
Cotemporaneous with Crumbhorn lived Martin 
Pesenti, a native of Venice, who was blind from 
birth. He was a distinguished composer, both of 
vocal and instrumental music. 
One of the more modern musicians, if not the first 
among the blind in point of talent, was John Stan- 
ley, the celebrated English organist and composer, 
who was born in 1713, and lost his sight when but 
two years of age, from a fall on a marble hearth. In 
early youth his friends placed him under a musical 
master, but more from a desire to amuse him than a 
hope of his excelling in the art. But so rapid was 
his progress, that, at the age of eleven, he obtained 
the situation of organist at All-Hallows, and in 1726, 
at the age of thirteen, was elected organist of St. An- 
drew's, Holborn, in preference to a great number of 
candidates. In 1734 the Benchers of the Inner Tem- 
ple elected him one of their organists ; and the last 
two situations he retained until his death. Few pro- 
fessors have spent a more active life in every branch 
of their art than this extraordinary musician ; who 
was not only a most neat, pleasing, and accurate per- 
former, but an agreeable composer and successful 
teacher. Besides several voluntaries for the organ, 
he was the author of two oratorios - " Jeptha," writ- 
ten in 1757, and "Zimri," which was performed at 
Covent Garden, during the first season of Mr. Stan- 
'ey's management of the oratorios there. He aV 304 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
composed the music to an ode, performed at Drury 
Lane, and set music to a dramatic pastoral, entitled 
"Arcadia, or the Shepherd's Wedding," which was 
played at the same theater. After the death of the 
great master, Handel, (who was himself blind for sev- 
eral years before his decease,) Stanley, in conjunc- 
tion with Smith, undertook the management of the 
oratorios during Lent, and after Mr. Smith retired, 
he carried them on in connection with Mr. Lindsley, 
till within two years of his death, which took place 
on the 19th of May, 1786. On the 27th, his remains 
were interred in the new burial-ground of St. An- 
drew's, and on the following Sunday, instead of the 
usual voluntary, a solemn dirge was performed, and, 
after service, " I know that my Redeemer liveth," 
was given with great effect upon that organ at which 
the deceased had for so many years presided. 
In proof of his masterly management of the organ, 
it is related by one of his biographers, that when at 
the performance of one of Handel's Te Deums, on 
finding the organ a semitone too sharp for the other 
instruments, Stanley, without the least premeditation, 
transposed the whole piece ; " and this, with as much 
facility and address," adds the writer, "as any person 
could have done, possessed of sight." The ready- 
transposition of harmony so intricate as the compo- 
sition of Handel, alluded to, from the key of two 
sharps to that of seven, certainly proved Stanley to 
be a competent master of the instrument, and exhib- 
ited a degree of skill, power of concentration, and ce- THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
305 
lenty of thought, truly surprising. Nor would it 
have been less wonderful had he possessed perfect 
sight; for what had sight at all to do with the mat- 
ter ? Music is addressed to the ear, and not to the 
eye; nor could two of the brightest eyes that ever 
prototyped crotchets and quavers have rendered him 
any material aid. True, the relative length, pitch, 
and power of musical sounds are all represented by 
signs or characters addressed to the eye, by which the 
most difficult composition may be read almost at a 
glance. But in the transposition of a piece commit- 
ted to memory, the presence of these must tend rathei 
to distract than to aid. 
One of the most brilliant and interesting perform 
ers in the concerts at Paris, during the season of 1784, 
was Mademoiselle Paradis, of Vienna, who lost her 
sight in the third year of her age, from excessive fear. 
Her friends, it appears, had placed her, at a very ten- 
der age, under proficient instructors, and when but 
eleven years old, she was able to accompany herself 
on the organ in a " Stabat Mater," of which she sung 
a part at St. Augustin's church, in the presence of 
the empress queen, who was so touched with her per- 
formance and interesting appearance, that she settled 
a pension on her for life. After completing her mu- 
sical education, she, in company with her mother, vis- 
ited the principal courts and cities of Germany, 
France, and England, where her talents never failed 
to engage the admiration of musicians, and the re 
spect and patronage of the royal families. 306 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Dennis Hampson, the blind bard of Magilligan, 
also deserves a place in this series ; but more, per- 
haps, on account of his abstemious habits and re- 
markable longevity than true musical taste. He was 
born in 1697, and died at the advanced age of one 
hundred and ten years. Hampson lost his sight from 
small-pox, at the age of three years, and spent most 
of his life as a traveling bard. He was present at 
the great meeting of harpers, at Belfast, and his per- 
formance was pronounced by the amateurs of Irish 
music, the best example of true bardic style. In 
later years, adverting to the occasion, he said, with 
an honest feeling of self-love, " When I played the 
old tunes, not another of the harpers would play 
after me." 
The following lines were carved on his time-nib- 
bled harp ; 
In the time of Noah I was green, . 
After his flood I have not been seen 
Until seventeen hundred and two, I was found 
By Corman Kelly, under ground; 
He raised me up to that degree, 
Queen of music they call me. 
The following lines on Hampson's death, which 
appeared in the Belfast Magazine, in 1808, serve to 
show how fondly his memory was cherished in the 
hearts of his countrymen : 
The fame of the brave shall no longer be sounded, 
The last of our bards now sleeps cold in the grave; 
Magilligan's rocks, where his lays have resounded, 
Frown dark at the ocean and spurn at the wave. THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
307 
For HampsoM, no more shall thy soul-touching finger 
Steal sweet o'er the strings, and wild melody pour; 
No more near thy hut shall the villagers linger, 
While strains from thy harp warble soft round the shore. 
No more thy harp swells with enraptured emotion, 
Thy wild gleams of fancy forever are fled; 
No longer thy minstrelsy charms the rude ocean, 
That rolls near the green turf that pillows thy head. 
Yet vigor and youth with bright visions had fired thee, 
And rose buds of health have blown bright on thy cheek 
The songs of the sweet bards of Erin inspired thee, 
And urged thee to wander, bright laurels to seek. 
Yes, oft hast thou sung of our kings crowned with glory, 
Or, sighing, repeated the lover's fond lay ; 
And oft hast thou sung of the bards famed in story, 
Whose wild notes of rapture have long passed away. 
Thy grave shall be screened from the blast and the billow, 
Around it a fence shall posterity raise; 
Erin's children shall wet with tears thy cold pillow, 
Her youth shall lament thee and carol thy praise. 
Francis Linley, who lived near the close of the 
eighteenth century, though blind from his nativity, 
was a most excellent performer on the organ. Nor 
were his abilities confined alone to the science of 
music, fie was a charming companion, a very acute 
reasoner, and well acquainted with the works of the 
most eminent authors, ancient and modern. Having 
completed his musical studies under Dr. Miller, of 
Doncaster, he went to London, and was the success- 
fid candidate, among seventeen competitors, for the 
situation of organist of Pentonville chapel, and soon 308 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
after married a blind lady of large fortune. This lat- 
ter step, however, we by no means approbate, nor do 
we record it as a worthy example to be followed by 
other blind persons. True, the afflicted feel for each 
other a deeper and more enduring sympathy than the 
mere appearance of misfortune can possibly awaken 
in others. But the loss of sight begets, in some de- 
gree, a physical dependence upon those who possess 
it. And although a seeing companion may not at 
once anticipate every want, her highest happiness 
may be found in guiding the footsteps of her sight- 
less husband, and receiving in return his love and 
confidence. We have nowhere contended that eyes 
may be entirely dispensed with in human society ; 
but as there are more eyes than brains in the world, 
a few of the former may (we think) be dismissed 
without creating seism among the members of the 
body politic. Subsequent to the event adverted to, 
having lost a large portion of his property through 
the treachery of a friend, Linley came to the United 
States, where his performances soon brought him into 
favorable notice. He died at Doncaster, shortly after 
his return to England, September 13th, 1800, in the 
twenty-ninth year of his age. 
William Clemantshaw, organist of the parish 
church in Wakefield, Yorkshire, which situation he 
held for upwards of forty years, lost his sight in 
youth. He died in 1822, and the following signifi 
cant epitaph, composed by himself, was inscribed on 
his tomb-stone : THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS. 
309 
"Now, like an organ robbed of pipes and breath, 
Its keys and stops all useless made by death; 
Though mute and motionless, in ruins laid, 
Yet, when rebuilt by more than mortal aid, 
This instrument, new voic'd and tun'd, shall raise. 
To God, its builder, hymns of endless praise." 
To this list we might add a large number of Amer- 
ican* blind, who have received thorough instruction 
in the science of music at our several state institu- 
tions, and are at present engaged as successful teach- 
ers and organists throughout the Union. But as the 
most of these are still young in reputation, we leave 
them for a future enlarged edition of this work. 
Perhaps one of the most eminent of this number is 
Professor R. Elder, graduate of the New York Insti- 
tution for the Blind, who has held for several years 
the situation as organist in the Sixteenth-street Bap- 
tist Church, New York city, and is acknowledged the 
second best performer on that instrument in the me- 
tropolis. He is emphatically a true musical genius; 
and, notwithstanding his blindness from childhood, 
his pleasing address and gentlemanly deportment 
have secured for him extensive patronage as a teacher 
of the piano forte. LEMUEL ROCKWELL. 
To distinguish man from the lower animals he has 
sometimes been denominated the tool-using animal. 
By this is meant, that instead of following the in- 
stincts of his nature, he is governed by a higher law 
of necessity, and he is not only an intellectual, but 
an inventive creature. Indeed, method is the grand 
lever of the human mind. It is emphatically the tool 
of thought. Put diligence at the long arm, and let 
genius direct her labors, and there are but few ob- 
stacles, even in the blind man's path, that may not 
be thrown aside. Another example of mental tri- 
umph over physical condition, or in other words, of 
natura1 defects overcome by perseverance and proper 
discipline, may be seen in the life and successes of 
Lemuel Rockwell, an American musician. 
His birth was hail'd by those spirits of song, 
Who dairce in the torrent's foam, 
Or glide with soft music the streamlets along, 
Or leap from the fountain's home. 
Mingling forever their silvery notes, 
As from harps with moonbeams strung, 
With the dashing flood or breeze that floats 
The shady trees among. 
In compliance with our request, Mr. Rockwell has 
Kindly furnished us with a brief sketch of his life, LEMUEL ROCKWELL. 
311 
comprising some of the most important and interest- 
ing events of his early history, and clearly demonstra- 
ting a fact which we have all along sought to estab- 
lish, viz: that helplessness and inactivity is not a ne- 
cessary sequence of blindness-that the lack of sight 
is only a physical defect, and does not presuppose 
mental deficiency, or a want of capacity for knowl- 
edge-and that there are but few of the active pur- 
suits of life, in which this class of persons may not 
engage with a confident hope of success. It seems 
to have been Mr. Rockwell's maxim, never to hang 
up the fiddle while a string remains unbroken. 
Never abandon a favorite project while hope sheds a 
ray into the future, or at least until defeat is inevita- 
ble ; never desert hope until she has first deserted 
you, has been the theme of his life's song. May it 
find'an echo in every aspiring heart. 
In Mr. Rockwell we recognize the true American 
hero. Entirely independent of the special provision 
made by this and several other of the sister states, for 
the education of the blind, he has raised himself by 
his own industry and perseverance, from a very hum- 
ble station in life, to one of honor and usefulness. 
The complete victory he has achieved over the diffi- 
culties consequent on blindness-his proficiency in 
thorough bass, and success as a teacher of vocal and 
instrumental music-it is hoped may serve as an in- 
centive to greater exertions on the part of the blind, 
generally, and to convince those who still entertain 
doubts whether the blind can or cannot teach music, 312 
BEAUTIES OF THE 3LIND. 
that what has been realized in Mr. Rockwell's expe 
rience, might be true in almost every other instance, 
were it not for public prejudice. Why refuse this 
class of musicians what you do not deny to others, 
whom nature has more highly favored, at least the 
benefit of an experiment? We speak with candor 
and earnestness, because it has been our misfortune 
to experience some strong opposition in this partic- 
ular branch. It seems most astonishing that, not- 
withstanding the ability of the blind as teachers of 
music has been proved in so many instances, and ac- 
knowledged by so many eminent masters of the art; 
that, regardless of all that has been done by philan- 
thropists in instituting schools for the education of 
this class, in order to fit them for a high and useful 
station in life ; that, notwithstanding all this, there are 
some who still persist in thinking that the lack of 
sight totally incapacitates a man for any branch of 
business. To aspire to any of the professions, or even 
to the art of piano forte tuning, is in their opinion an 
unpardonable presumption. They cannot, it seems, 
understand how it is, that one who is unable to dis- 
tinguish by actual contrast of color the form of the 
characters which represent sounds, should have any 
knowledge of the nature or properties of sounds them- 
selves, or the relation they sustain to each other, in 
pitch, power, or duration. We are pleased with the 
manner in which Mr. Rockwell has presented this 
subject, and we trust our readers will find it equally 
interesting and instructive. LEMUEL ROCKWELL. 
313 
" I have not the vanity," says Mr. Rockwell, " to 
suppose that a life spent like mine, in poverty and 
comparative obscurity, a life whose details comprise 
little of thrilling adventures or remarkable achieve- 
ment, can furnish any considerable amount of mate- 
rial that will be of much interest to the general 
reader; nevertheless, in compliance with your re 
quest, I submit the following statements, as compri- 
sing in the main an account of the leading circum- 
stances and influences to which I am indebted 
for the little I have achieved, or hereafter may ac- 
complish. 
" I was born October 9th, 1817, in the town of Sims- 
bury, Hartford county, Connecticut. Very early 
in my infancy my parents became apprehensive, from 
indications that could not elude parental vigilance, 
that I was laboring under some marked peculiarity 
or infirmity, either mental or physical, and they were 
not long in identifying it as total blindness. Those 
who have watched over the cradle of a new-born in- 
fant, observing, with that tender interest which pa- 
rental affection only can inspire, every indication 
having the slightest bearing upon the question of its 
present development or future prospects, will ima- 
gine the feeling of my parents on being forced to this 
most unwelcome conclusion-the more unwelcome, 
from their present and prospective poverty. I must, 
in all probability, be dependent for a subsistence, 
either on my own exertions, or on public or private 314 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
charity. As for the former, it was difficult for them 
to conceive how any one enveloped- in total dark- 
ness should be able to grope his way to any depart- 
ment of useful enterprise; and, as for the latter, 
everybody feels the truth, as well as the poetry, of 
Thomas Hood's exclamation- 
'Alas for the rarity 
Of Christian charity 
Under the sun.' 
" The key to the little I have attained in the way 
of general knowledge, will, I apprehend, be found in 
the fact that my father was an ardent lover of scien- 
tific and literary pursuits, and devoted to them more 
time and attention than the generality of men in his 
circumstances would have thought it prudent to spare 
from their ordinary vocations. He delighted in read- 
ing to his family, and especially to me, knowing, as 
he did, that all my knowledge of books must be ac- 
quired by hearing them read by others. Not being 
able to join, to any considerable extent, in the in- 
dustrial or recreative employments of other children, 
I had time to hear, and to digest what I heard, so 
that what I lost in not being able to read for myself 
was, in a measure, made up to me in the fact that 1 
had leisure to hear and to think. 
" When I was in my sixth year, I was sent, or rather 
permitted, to go to school with my elder brother, 
and from that time onward, I continued to go to 
school about as regularly as children in general do, LEMUEL ROCKWELL. 
315 
till I was some fifteen years old. During this time, 
I acquired a tolerable familiarity with the contents 
of Webster's Old Spelling Book, the historical portions 
of the New Testament, and Murray's English Reader, 
as much so, at least, with the book last mentioned, 
as my limited understanding, and the mumbling, 
drawling, inarticulate style of school-boy reading in 
those days, would permit. I also acquired a tolera- 
ble knowledge of English grammar, in which Kirk- 
ham was my principal text book. To tjiis, if 1 add 
Oomstock's Philosophy, except so much of it as re- 
lates to optics, you will have about the extent of my 
school attainments. 
"In August, 1825, we removed to the town of South- 
port, Chemung county, New York, some three or four 
miles from the now large and flourishing village of 
Elmira; since which time I have resided almost ex- 
clusively in Western New York. What I have stated 
before in reference to my father's connection with my 
early intellectual development, is preeminently ap- 
plicable to my musical education. It was under his 
instruction, almost exclusively, that I acquired a 
knowledge of the fundamental principles of music. 
[ did not proceed to learn the principles of musical 
science from a knowledge of the written characters, 
which are presented to the eye, but from musical 
sounds themselves, which are addressed to the ear. 
On the contrary, I had a pretty thorough knowledge 
of the scale and its various transpositions, through 
the different major and minor keys, before I knew 316 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
anything of the staff, clefs, flats, sharps and naturals, 
which are merely the modes of representing the pitch 
of sounds to the eye. I knew, also, that musical 
sounds, as it respects their length or duration, bore cer- 
tain definite proportions to each other, which I could 
easily analyze in my mind before I knew anything 
of the mode of representing them to the eye, by the 
different forms of whole notes, half-notes, &c., and I 
probably never should have troubled myself to learn 
the written characters, but for the necessity of being 
able to explain them in teaching them to others. 
The acquisition, however, was of great service to me. 
For, besides the advantage of being able to explain 
the written characters, the knowledge of them ena- 
bled me to learn musical composition, by hearing the 
written characters described, one by one, by those 
who, though they might not be able to sing or play, 
had acquired that least of all musical attainments, 
the knowledge of the names and forms of the written 
characters. A large share of the music which I now 
retain in memory, and much that I have forgotten, 
was learned in this way. I subjoin an illustration of 
this mode of reading music: This tune, says my reader, 
has B flat for its signature ; the rhythmic sign is 4-4 ; 
the first note of the soprano is a half-note on the let- 
ter F, followed by a bar ; the next is a quarter on A; 
next two quarters on C ; next a quarter on D, fol- 
lowed by a bar; then a half on C, and a quarter on 
A. I need not pursue the illustration farther. The 
reader familiar with the tune may have discovered LEMUEL ROCKWELL. 
317 
that I have given orally the first strain of the well 
known Missionary Hymn. 
" I never attended a music school of any kind until 
I was fifteen years of age; and here I must indulge 
my vanity so far as to state a circumstance which 
will illustrate the progress which my teacher and I 
had made, respectively, in musical science, premising 
that he was a young man just making his first at- 
tempt at teaching. Having occasion to sing a tune, 
which was written in the key of E flat, he directed 
me to give, on my flute, the letter E. What is the 
signature, I inquired. Three flats, replied the teacher. 
Then, said I, the key is E flat. I then explained to 
him the difference between the keys of E and E 
flat. He understood it, but said it was something he 
never thought of before. He had been accustomed, 
like many that I have since met with, to regard and 
treat the signature of four sharps and three flats, as 
indicating, for all practical purposes, one and the 
same thing. I had never heard anything which even 
pretended to choir singing, till the winter above men- 
tioned. The only examples of vocal performance I 
had heard, except at my father's fireside, were at 
Methodist meetings, in an old school-house, and at 
camp-meetings, and the like. 
" In the autumn of 1833, just as I was entering my 
eighteenth year, I went to the town of Independence, 
Allegany county, New York, for the purpose of 
spending a few weeks in the family of a brother who 
was residing there. At this time, I could play very 318 
BEAUTIES OE HIE BLIND. 
well, for a country lad, on the fife and flute, and a 
little on the violin, and had as good a*voice for sing- 
ing as boys at that age are apt to have, and knew a 
good many tunes, and could sing them by syllables, 
or by note, as it was then called; and I could talk 
learnedly, for a blind boy, about scales, keys, major 
and minor modes, modulations, etc. etc. On the 
whole, I suppose 1 was considered by the good peo- 
ple of that place as a sort of musical prodigy. Un- 
der the circumstances, it occurred to me that now 
was my time to realize what had been a favorite 
scheme with me for a long time, namely, to become 
a music teacher. I had attended two singing schools, 
and watched the movements of the teachers, as well 
as a blind boy could, but I had not been able to dis- 
cover anything in their mode of conducting singing 
schools which I could not learn to imitate. 
" The maxim that a prophet is not without honor 
save in his own country, was now in my favor. I 
was some sixty miles from home, in a community 
where there was but little musical knowledge ; suc- 
cess would immortalize, and failure was a bug-bear, 
which could not, for the moment, obtrude itself upon 
my sanguine mind. I broached my plan to one or 
two leading men in the place, who seemed to regard 
it with favor. A meeting was called, a subscription 
was circulated, and in process of time, I was duly in- 
vested with the labors and responsibilities of a coun- 
try singing master. 
" The time for the commencement of the school was LEMUEL ROCKWELL. 
319 
appointed, and now, for the first time, the difficulties 
of my position began to stare me in the face. I had 
now, for the first time, to perplex myself with those 
little, vexatious details which relate to written music, 
such, for instance, as the mode of applying the letters 
to the staff, as indicated by the different clefs. The 
form of the different kinds of notes, and rests, flats, 
sharps and naturals, slurs, pauses and staccato marks, 
and numerous other matters, for which I had hereto- 
fore had no use, must all be minutely investigated 
A thousand little difficulties, real and imaginary 
pressed upon my mind with such force as to drive 
me almost to despair. Had it not been for the earn- 
est remonstrances of my brother and his wife, I be- 
lieve I should have abandoned the undertaking. I 
felt sure I could not succeed, and should involve not 
only myself, but the friends whose efforts had been 
instrumental in bringing me to my present position, 
in disgrace and mortification. My friends, however, 
cheered me on, and assisted me in preparing for my 
work, and on the whole,! have reason to believe that 
I gave very good satisfaction. It was fortunate for 
my new enterprise that I had to deal with a plain, 
hospitable set of people, who were prepared to make 
the best of whatever was good, and overlook imper- 
fections. 
" I have been thus minute in detailing these cir- 
cumstances, because this was my first entrance upon 
the life of a singing teacher. From that time, on- 320 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
ward, I have taught from one to six classes of vocal 
music every winter. 
" In the summer of 1837, I was made acquainted 
with the Pestilozzian, or inductive system of teach- 
ing, as explained in the Boston Academy Manual. 
This, together with the black-board, which, though 
not a part of the system, was strongly recommended 
in connection with it, was of great service to me in 
the business of teaching. I could not, of course, 
write my own lessons cn the black-board, but any 
person who knew the form of different kinds of notes, 
could easily do so with little practice. The great- 
est obstacle that I have had to encounter in teach- 
ing singing classes in country villages, has been the 
difficulty of transporting myself from place to place, 
and this is the reason why, while teachers around me 
have taught, in some instances, from seven to ten 
classes per week, I have been, for the most part, re- 
stricted to from two to four. 
"Between the years 1837 and 1844,1 have taught 
one or more classes in the following places, namely : 
Elmira, Southport, Laurenceville, (Pennsylvania,) 
Lindsley, Addison, Painted Post, Corning, Pike, Cen- 
treville, Hume, Rushford, Arcade, Sardinia, Frank- 
linville, and Castile. I have attended nearly all the 
courses of lectures given by Messrs. Mason and Webb 
at Rochester. 
" In 1844, and while I was there, for the purpose of 
attending their second course, Mr. James Murray, 
(teacher and leader in the choir of the Brick Church, LEMUEL ROCKWELL. 
321 
with whom I had had some previous acquaintance,) 
proposed to me to stay and try my fortune in that 
city. He reminded me of the difficulties I labored 
under in the country, and thought it probable that I 
mie-ht obtain a situation as leader in one of the choirs 
of the city, which, together with juvenile and adult 
classes, might be as useful to others, and if not more 
profitable to myself, much less perplexing and labo- 
rious, than my operations in the country. He fur 
thermore proffered me his assistance in obtaining 
business, and as the first step toward the accomplish- 
ment of his object, laid my case before Mr. Mason, 
who, in turn, manifested a lively interest in the mat- 
ter, and, in conjunction with Messrs. Webb, Root, 
and Johnson, kindly furnished me the accompanying 
certificate. I spent several weeks in Rochester with- 
out employment, but at length an opening presented 
itself. Through the influence of Mr. Murray, I was 
chosen as leader of the choir of the Washington-street 
Presbyterian church. In this situation, I continued 
for more than four years, without interruption. 
It was during this time that I took up in good earn- 
est the study of the piano forte, under the instruction 
of Mr. George Dutton, junior. I had previously had 
a good deal of hap-hazard practice on the piano, but 
had never, till this time, taken up anything like a 
systematic course of piano forte study. Here, as in 
vocal music, I was obliged to commit everything to 
memory, by hearing the written characters named 
one by one. At the end of s''x months I 322 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
commenced tins study, I had played through Hun- 
ten's entire work, besides some other miscellaneous 
matter. I continued my practice under the direction 
of Mr. Dutton, for nearly three years. I was influ- 
enced in taking up the piano, chiefly by the desire 
of learning to play the organ. I soon found, how- 
ever, that by the time I had gone over enough 
ground to be a good organist, I should also be a 
pianist. The result of my four and a half years' res- 
idence in Rochester has been the adoption of piano 
forte teaching, as my leading occupation, while my 
old business of teaching vocal music has become com- 
paratively secondary. 
I left Rochester, April, 1849, since which time, I 
have resided, at different periods, in the villages of 
Almond, Rushford, Springville and Olean, giving in 
struction to individuals and classes, both in vocal 
and instrumental music. On the fourth day of March, 
1850, I was united in marriage to Miss Mary Van 
Scoter, a native of the town of Burns, Allegany 
county, New York, and daughter of Elias Van Sco- 
ter, one of the oldest inhabitants of that town. Our 
union has been crowned with a little son and daugh- 
ter, and I may add, for the benefit of those interested 
in such matters, that neither of them inherits, in the 
slightest degree, the paternal misfortune. 
The blind have in general the natural feelings and 
social sentiments of human nature in full vigor; and 
yet, a cold, mercenary world would impose on them, 
indiscriminately, the chilling destiny of perpetual ce- LjtMUEL ROCKWELL. 
323 
fibacy ; because it lacks the magnanimity to reach 
forth a brother's helping hand, to aid them in winning 
for themselves and families that support which their 
own efforts, in many instances, would obtain for them, 
or even, as sometimes happens, to let them alone and 
leave them to work out the problem of life, untram- 
meled by impertinent interference. I know of men 
in whose way I never laid a straw, who, having as- 
sumed, a priori, that it is impossible for a person 
without eyesight to succeed in any department of 
useful enterprise, so far from rendering that assist- 
ance which would have cost them nothing, and would 
have been invaluable to me, have manifested a dis- 
position to throw obstacles in my way, by diverting 
patronage to other channels, not because they had 
anything against me personally, as they have some- 
times been kind enough to say, but in order, as I am 
obliged to believe, to demonstrate to the world the 
wisdom of their premature decision, even though at 
the risk of blighting all my prospects, and involving 
my family in hopeless poverty and dependence. 
Such men remind one of the ancient prophet, who 
burned with indignation against divine clemency and 
forbearance, because those benign attributes were ex- 
ercised for the preservation of a guilty but repentant 
city, at the apparent expense of his credibility as a 
prophet. But these, thank Heaven, are some of the 
dark phases of human nature-the exceptions, not the 
rule-and it would ill become me, the almost daily 
recipient of human kindness, to indulge in anything 324 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
that should even have the appearance of indiscrimi- 
nate censure or wholesale animadversion. But such 
instances of illiberality as those above indicated, 
though rare, are now and then to be met with, as my 
own experience painfully demonstrates. 
But the inquiry is often made, not only by the cap- 
tious and narrow-minded, but by those who would 
fain hear an answer consonant with the aspirations 
of the philanthropic heart-What is there within the 
whole range of human effort, which is fairly within 
the reach of the blind ? I will not here stop to dis- 
cuss their relative fitness or unfitness for the different 
departments of industrial and professional enterprise ; 
but, with your permission, I beg leave to devote a 
few sentences to the question as to the influence of 
blindness as a disqualification for that particular 
branch of effort in which I am, and have been for so 
many years, engaged. 
Can the blind teach music ? Many persons seem to 
have imbibed the impression, that the most that the 
blind can do in the way of imparting musical instruc- 
tion, is to teach their pupils by rote such musical com- 
positions or tunes as they have learned themselves in 
the same way ; that, not being able, from the nature 
of the case, to read and understand the musical char- 
acters for themselves, they cannot of course be ex- 
pected to teach them to others. Such persons forget 
or overlook the principles adverted to by Mr. Mason, 
in the paper heretofore referred to, viz : that music 
is addressed to the ear. The knowledge of those LEMUEL ROCKWELL. 
325 
characters which are addressed to the eye, and which 
constitute the visible symbols or signs by which mu- 
sical relations are represented to the sense of sight, 
forms in reality but a small part (we might, indeed, 
say almost no part) of the science of music. Their 
relation to it may be illustrated by that of the alpha- 
bet to the science of language. The eye alone, it is 
true, can take cognizance of the forms of the letters, 
but beyond this, everything relating to the nature 
and power of letters, and their various arrangements 
and combinations in forming syllables and words, as 
well as everything else relating to the structure of 
language, is addressed primarily to the ear, or per 
haps more properly comprehended by the mind. 
If this view of the subject be correct, it will fol- 
low as a natural inference, that the principal qualifi- 
cation in a music teacher must be a correct and culti- 
vated musical ear, and a mind familiar with the 
nature and various relations of musical sounds > 
and in the case of instrumental music, an acquaint 
ance with the genius of the particular instrument in- 
tended to be taught. It will scarcely be contended, 
that these conditions cannot be met in the case of the 
blind. I am far from assuming that blindness is not 
in itself a real disadvantage, but then so are numer- 
ous other things that very successful teachers have to 
encounter, as for instance, the want of a knowledge 
of the language in which instruction is attempted to 
be communicated. Amd in vocal music, the want of 
compass, clearness, fullness, flexibility, or any other 326 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
of those qualities which go to constitute a good voice 
for singing. All these, and many more disadvanta- 
ges that might be named, have been successfully met 
and overcome by teachers of music, who have, in 
spite of them, enrolled their names high on the list 
of fame. 
I should hardly be justified, perhaps, in advert- 
ing to my own experience in this connection, and yet 
were the names of Oliva, Shaw, Lana, and others, 
(who, in spite of blindness, have distinguished them- 
selves in this department,) blotted from the page of 
history, still I should have the consolation of know- 
ing that if substantial attainments in the science and 
practice of music are of any value to mankind, I have 
not lived and labored in vain. 
ACCOMPANYING TESTIMONIALS. 
Mr. Lemuel Rockwell has been known to me for a 
little more than a year past. He has attended the 
lectures given to teachers of music in this place the 
present year, and also last year. I feel certain that 
he has a very thorough and accurate knowledge of 
music, and also that his taste and style of perform- 
ance are highly creditable to him. Notwithstanding 
his want of sight, I believe him to be well qualified 
to teach singing schools ; indeed, this is not saying 
quite enough, for if I am not very much in error, he 
is in an extraordinary degree qualified for such teach- 
ing. I have not any doubt but that, as a teacher, he 
will ~~ake himself uncommonly useful, and I feel as LEMUEL KOCK WELL. 
327 
if I could cordially recommend him to societies or 
communities in want of a teacher of a singing school. 
Let not the fact that he is blind prevent his being 
employed. Music is addressed to the ear-and it is 
this that is to be principally cultivated, (together with 
the voice,) in singing. Many teachers fail from the 
very fact that they rest satisfied with an explanation 
of those signs addressed to the eye, while they neg- 
lect the things signified in sounds addressed to the 
ear. I might say much more, but this must suffice, 
dry Mr. Rockwell, and you will soon know the rest. 
Lowel Mason, of Boston. 
Rochester, N. Y., Sept. Vdth, 1844. 
This is also fully and cheerfully endorsed by Pro- 
fessors Webb, Johnson, and Root. COLLECTED POEMS, 
BY L. V. HALL, AND OTHER BLIND AUTHORS. 
FROM THE REMINISCENCES OF UNCLE TOBY, 
fORPORTING TO HAVE BEEN FOUND AMONG THE PAPERS OF A DECEASE • 
RELATIVE. 
One sultry eve in summer time 
I sauntered forth to make some rhyme 
Upon the moon, or some fair thing 
About which poets love to sing: 
The stars looked down but wondrous any 
As if they half suspected I 
Had come to sing, as oft I'd done, 
My tributes to some favored one, 
That chanced to glimmer softly out, 
Or twinkle o'er some favorite spot, 
Where it might shed its golden light 
Upon her silken couch, 'twas right;- 
But now the bard could find no theme, 
Nor could his muse suggest a scheme. 
The nightingale had caught a cold, 
And the owl laughed hoarser than of old, 
As if he saw my silly plight, 
And scorned my mission ; well he might, 
For truly now I'd lost the vein, 
Or sadder still, had racked my brain, 
Or crazed it, in a fruitless quest 
Of something that might stand the test 
Of critics, when my purse should fail, 
Since merit, then, can naught avail. COLLECTED POEMS. 
329 
The dust will fill a critic's eye, 
So through it he cannot descry 
The grossest error, right! 'twill do I 
While all assumes a golden hue, 
The author has a lofty soul, 
He's paid me well, I must extol 
His wit, his genius, perfect rhyme, 
What imagery ! sublime I sublime 1 
Enough, we turn from this digression, 
For lo 1 the bard has got possession , 
Of one stray thought, that chanced to crawl 
From some dark corner in his skull, 
Where dormant it perhaps had lain 
For years, as seeds their germs retain. 
As torpid flies, from rubbish creep, 
When spring awakens from their sleep 
The insect tribes, the croaking frogs, 
And lizards in a thousand quags: 
And with her warm sweet breath, inspires 
Their little hearts to strange desires, 
The bees to buzz among the flowers, 
The birds, to test their vocal powers, 
By warbling sweetest melody, 
From early morn till twilight gray 
Steals softly down the flowery vales, 
Till milkmaids with their flowing pails, 
Come singing home their evening song 
As merrily they trip along: 
While frogdom, from her ugly throats 
Contributes such discordant notes, 
That e'en the screech-owl turns away 
Ashamed of nature's orchestra. 
No nTatter, he shall not defeat 
My aim, my simile's complete. 
And thus had genius fancy taught. 
To break the chrysalis of thought, 
To mould it with a skulptor's skill, 
In forms that best might please her will. 330 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
To give it life and buoyancy, 
And powers of such fecundity, 
That little thoughts, from embryo, 
Came forth and like the fungus grew. 
Thus did one straggling thought inspire 
The bard with such poetic fire, 
That from his ventilated bonnet 
Escaped this rare ethereal sonnet: 
Through fate's kaleidoscope I see, 
That what has been, again may be. 
This world is like a dinner pot, 
Filled with water boiling hot: 
Each atom near the heated sides 
Expands, and to the surface glides, 
While those which float upon the top, 
Are cooled, and to the bottom drop. 
But soon they kiss the heated metal, 
And soon expand, while from the kettle 
Clouds of mist in air ascend, 
And so on till the boiling end. 
While clouds of mist in air ascend, 
And so on till the boiling end. 
So on till the boiling end, 
And so on till the boiling end. 
Nor is the circle yet complete, 
Its perimeter does not yet meet. 
The air is like an onion formed. 
Of strata, ever cooled and warmed, 
In regions so unequally. 
That watery vapor thus set free, 
Is soon condensed, soon falls in rain, 
But only to be boiled again. COLLECTED POEMS. 
331 
My song had ceased; but my well-tun'd lyre still rung, 
As the dying cadence to the passing breeze it flung : 
Faintly once more it caught the closing strain, 
And trembled with the echo-boiled again. 
My song had ceased; the cypress gravely ben* 
His leaf-crowned head, in token of assent; 
The cedars nodded, but the giant oak 
In silent awe stood motionless, as broke 
From many a deep ravine and rocky dell, 
The deathless theme my lyre had learned so well;- 
Till every string, now wakening to the strain, 
Murmured as died the echo-boil'd again. 
The winds were sighing softly through the trees, 
As though they had conspired to raise a breeze, 
Among some distant clouds, that lowering, hung 
Above the mountain peaks that tow'ring flung 
Their long dark shadows o'er the grassy plain, 
That lengthen'd as the fading moonlight waned. 
Amazed I stood, and bent my listening ear 
To catch the last faint sound that lingered near, 
When, horrible to tell! from some lone dell, 
Broke on the midnight air a fiercer yell, 
Than ever burst from Satan's marshal'd hosts, 
E'en when through space they scourg'd the shiv'ring ghosts. 
With knotted chords of fire, full of stings, 
With twisted tails of comets, and other things. 
As when from thundering Etna hurts on high 
A flood of liquid fire to the sky, 
Piercing its sable shroud with fury driven, 
As if the burning shaft were aimed at heaven, 
To vent the rage that long had been repressed, 
Deep beneath old ocean's heaving breast. 
So rose this tide of sound to upper air, 
And with the spirits of song who hover there, 
Claimed equal fellowship by right of birth, 
Since all are creatures of the bards of earth. 
Prepost'rous claim I most impudent I as well 
Might some infectious, foul and putrid smell, 332 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Reeking from the pest-house, breathing death 
On all who feel its pestilential breath, 
Claim sweet communion with those spices rare, 
That, dewy wing'd, float on the ev'ning air 
From many a Persian bower, where hand in hand, 
The cinnamon and jessamine sighing, stand 
Like lovers, side by side, while at their feet. 
On beds of silken moss, sleep violets sweet. 
Nor was I at a loss to guess the source 
From whence arose a laugh, so crack'd and coarse, 
A scream so strange and wild that night drew back 
And made the long deep shadow still more black. 
The hills once more reechoed with the sound, 
The giant oak, with awe no less profound. 
Stood motionless: the lofty cedars bow'd, 
And e'en my lyre in concert breathed aloud, 
In unison with echo's fickle voice, 
That may alike with asses and poets rejoice. 
With sick disgust I turned, and soon retraced 
The path that led to so unhallowed a place: 
But breathing at every step a malediction 
On my long-eared competitor-sore affliction I 
To see my star of hope so soon eclipsed, 
To find the cup of joy dashed from my lips, 
Ere from its sparkling brim I scarce had quaffed 
One drop of its intoxicating draught. 
To hear the voice of praise so soon retire, 
To feel my bosom heave with mad'ning ire, 
To snuff the breeze of favor but to find 
It ever changing, fickle as the wind. 
Nay more: the fates had never haply crowned 
My efforts with success, but ever frowned,- 
And frowning, turned away contemptuously ; 
Aye, sometimes cursed the half fledg'd progeny, 
That patience with assiduous care had brought, 
And nurtured from the overa of thought. 
Mysterious fate! in what portentous cloud 
That rose at life's first dawn didst thou enshroud COLLECTED POEMS. 
333 
Forever in silent gloom my destiny, 
And shall this cloud forever obscure life's day! 
Shall evening gather o'er me when I'm old, 
With all its dusky shadows drear and cold, 
And not one star to light my lonely way 
Upon the unknown deep of Eternity ? 
Shall age come tott'ring on with feeble tread, 
With furrowed brow, with bow'd and hoary head, 
And the dim eye turn once more to view the past, 
And the heart grow sick and faint, as the chilling blast 
Of disappointment sweeps o'er the sadden'd soul, 
When memory fain would die, shall I be old ? 
Shall youth go forth uncheck'd 'mid the frowns of Heaven 
Unblessed by those who should have counsel given, 
Unloved, unwept, by those who should have known 
How the young soul lives in affection's tone ? 
And can the world, with all its pomp and pride, 
Its cold and hollow hearts, fill up this void ? 
My boyhood dreams are past! their visions fled! 
And the brightest flowers of hope are crushed and dead. 
The thunder's voice, and the wild bleak wind that moans 
Through the forests deep, are to me affection's tones. 
Ah, yes; e'en now yon ocean's beating surge 
Hath hollowed my grave, and sung my funeral dirge ; 
And on my ear hath died the passing knell,- 
Rocks, mountains, streams, and home, farewell 1 farewell 
Farewell! the echo cried, as the dark sea spread 
Its troubled waters o'er my aching head: 
And the wild waves moaned, as their sparkling crest I clave, 
A requiem o'er the heart-sick poet's grave. [tire; 
Strange sights: strange sounds ; the world seemed all on 
A comet's torch had lit the parched air, 
Nor would the bold intruder e'er retire, 
Till he had scorched each false philosopher. 
The stars like meteors fell from the flaming sky, 
Anu hissing, seemed to lick the ocean dry. 
Old night, affrighted, spread her sable wings, 
Unable to behold such dreadful things. 334 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIN1> 
Centuries passed; the seasons went and came, 
Nor did the earth e'er vegetate again. 
The conflagration o'er, grim night returned, 
Save where volcanic fires dimly burn'd; 
And hovering, brooded darkly over earth, 
The same chaotic mass that gave her birth. 
Silence once more returned, with all her brood 
Of timid nymphs, to earth's vast solitude. 
And now the question rose, is this a dream ? 
Or are these things now what they really seem ? 
And as I thought, returning reason spoke, 
And I once more to consciousness awoke. 
When, lo! to my surprise, my tortured brain 
Had pictured for a dark, deep sea, a field of grain. 
And from a wall of stone about four feet high, 
I had headlong plunged in a field of waving rye. 
The screech-owl laughed outright, as the braying as* 
Proclaimed the poet's drowned. Alas! alas I 
False echo caught the lie ere it had died, 
And with a thousand tongues the rocks replied. 
Till e'en my lyre, deserted on the grass, 
Murmured with regret, alas! alas! 
Strange fate, thought I, the circle did not meet, 
The boiling process is not yet complete. 
The numbered sands of life had not run out; 
The die was not yet cast; the fates, no doubt, 
Have yet reserved for me a loftier theme, 
Than ever circled in a Dante's dream. 
A nobler end is mine : the smallest rock, 
Dropped in the sea, communicates a shock 
To every inert atom, from side to side 
Extends its bounds and elevates the tide. 
The ugliest toad that nature e'er gave birth, 
Need only hop to move this pondrous earth. 
And may not I some magic lever find, 
Of modern workmanship, to move mankind! 
The smallest mountain stream that winds along 
Through deepest solitude, mingling its song COLLECTED POEMS. 
335 
Of wildest joy»with nature's symphony, 
Contributes its mite to swell the bright blue sea: 
Though from obscurity darkly it rose, 
Now through the merry sunshine sparkling it flows, 
Laughing as it leaps from rocky height, 
Or moaning in the depths of chasm'd night, 
Down, down it madly rushes from rocky ledge, 
Till far across the plains, through heath and hedge, 
It gurgles on, and gurgling evermore, 
Till lost amid the sea's tumultuous roar. 
Inexorable fate ! the frailest flower 
That blooms to fade and wither in an hour, 
That smiles unseen, unloved to pass away, 
Secures the object of its destiny! 
Yet men there are who never seem to find 
The humble end to which they were design'd; 
Ambitious aspirants for power and fame, 
But die at last, and leave what? scarce a name. 
Others there are, though much less worthy, found, 
Whom nature with her choicest gifts hath crowned. 
Prodigies indeed, yet the world must own, 
That fame ne'er epitaphed a more reckless drone. 
More pets hath fate, though less supremely blest, 
Those who on the arm of fortune rest 
Content, if with earth's countless bounties fed. 
With pockets filled 'tis true, but empty head. 
But here must end the theme of my moonstruck song, 
For the ox must hear my voice at the plow ere long; 
The nightingale hath flown, the owl is gone, 
And the first red light of morn begins to dawn. 
Trol la! trol la! a vvay to the plow! 
Both happy and free is a farmer's son; 
He earns his own bread by the sweat of his brow, 
And lives at his ease when his toil is done. 
By honest industry he has gained his wealth, 
And lives for his friends as well as himself. 
Trolla! trol la! sing merrily 
A farmer's life is the life for me! 336 
beauties of the blind. 
With the lowing ox, and the bleating flocks 
With horses and swine his land he stocks ; 
Of useful books lias a rich supply, 
Aud his garners are filled with corn and rye. 
In the cool green glade he sleeps in the shade, 
But dreams of none but a farmer's maid. 
Trolla! trollal singmerily! 
A farmer's life is the life for me; 
Trol la I trol la 1 both happy and free 
Is a farmer's life, 'tis the life for me. 
But why this ecstacy, this overflow, 
This thrill of soul? the poet does not know. 
Of the field of rye he has lost all recollection, 
Sufiiceth that he's made a resurrection; 
And sauntering listless homeward, luckily strayed 
Beneath the window of his dairy-maid; 
And as the lark her song to the free air flings, 
The lover tunes his lyre, and thus he sings • 
Sweet Lizzie, awake! 'tis early dawn. 
The golden eyes of morn 
Are peeping in o'er flow'ry lawn, 
And fields of waving corn. 
The eastern hills with rosy light 
Are blushing through the trees, 
And odors sweet from roses bright, 
Float on the morning breeze. 
Yet, dim are morning's eyes to thine, 
And pale her rosy light, 
To the blushes on thy cheek divine, 
And thy neck so lily white. 
Then Lizzie awake! the dew-drops bright 
Are sparkling on each tree, 
And a garland of roses red and white, 
Have I wreathed in beauty to th ee. COLLECTED POEMS. 
337 
TERESA. OR THE PEASANT MOTHER. 
1 traced a river frojn the deep, dark wood, 
To where it meets old ocean's darker flood, 
Through all its windings down the mountain side, 
I watched it as it leaped through chasms wide, 
Through ravines dark and deep I hear it roar, 
And now from craggy heights its torrents pour, 
Foaming and dashing in its onward course, 
The firmest rock it breaks with giant force; 
Hurling far below in deafening sound 
Each fragment, till the mountain caves resound. 
Still on it flows, not like the jaded steed. 
In bloody conflict forced to stay his speed, 
But o'er the distant plains and mossy green, 
Through fruitful vales, its shining path is seen. 
High on the summit of a lofty mount, 
There rose in grandeur wild a crystal fount; 
Around dense groves of spruce and cedar stood, 
To shade the cradle of the infant flood ; 
The holly bush and fir their branches spread, 
But not a single floweret reared its head 
Above the mossy rocks, that rudely lay 
Around the fountain, glittering with its spray. 
The day was bright and fair, and many a stag 
Came bounding o'er the rocks from crag to crag; 
The antelope looked down from dizzy height, 
And ravens screamed in their airy flight. 
In this sequestered spot I saw a maid, 
Seated in the deep, cool forest shade; 
A peasant girl she seemed, of tender years, 
But her cheek was pallid and bedewed with tears 
Her eye was wild and restless as a gleam 
Of starlight on a turbid, mountain stream. 
Her brow was strongly marked with anxious care, 
And near her stood a boy with flaxen hair; 
His golden ringlets floating in the breeze, 
That from the vale came sighing through the trees, 338 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Bearing upon its light wing many a sigh 
Of fainting flowers beneath a sunny sky. 
How sad it is, thought I, that one so young 
Should weep; but as I wondered thus she sung; 
Teresa's song. 
" Oh 1 happy dreams of infancy, 
How dear your memory is to me ; 
Why lingered not those joyous hours ! 
When but a child in quest of flowers 
I plucked the wildest rose, and say 
Was I not pure and wild as they I 
But ah ! 'tis past, they've fleeted by, 
And nought is left but infamy. 
Tell if ye can, ye limpid streams, 
That now so wildly drink the beams 
Of the warm sunshine, as ye go, 
What fate awaits you? Ah! no, no! 
We simple peasants, like these brooks, 
Find in our paths a thousand nooks; 
But the proud, the opulent, the gay, 
Are mightier streams, yet like us, they 
Through darker, deeper channels go, 
All bright above, all black below." 
But soon a cloud had gathered o'er the mount, 
And higher rose the gushing crystal fount, 
As if to pierce its sable, mystic shroud, 
And drink the sunshine through the threat'ning cloud- 
But dense and fleeting mists swept o'er the plain, 
And now in torrents falls the dashing rain; 
From shattered crag to crag forked lightnings leap 
And tempests howl in the forest deep. 
Peal after peal of thunder shook the ground, 
Till yawning caverns echoed back the sound. 
Alarmed, the mother clasped in fond embrace 
Her rosy boy, and down the mount retraced COLLECTED POEMS. 
339 
A rugged path, that near a chasm led, 
Where dark below a foaming torrent sped. 
How anxiously I watched her gliding form 
Among the rocks and trees ; but soon the storm 
Had thickened into night, save when a flash 
Of lurid lightning clave some mountain ash. 
May Heaven preserve, cried I, that lovely pair, 
But, as I spoke, a shriek of wild despair, 
A cry of mingled horror burst without, 
Amid the raging storm's tumultuous shout 
I hastened to the spot, but ah ! too late I 
No human power could change the dreadful fate. 
High on a towering crag Teresa stood, 
Swayed to and fro as roll'd the impetuous flood. 
" My child! my boy! she cried, O stop the stream I 
What! lost? It cannot be,'tisbut a dream. 
Just now on yonder ledge of rocks we stood- 
But where is he ?-I faint!-my child!-my God I " 
Her trembling arms in air she wildly threw, 
Then plunged into the flood and sank-adieu. 
VIEW OF THE MIND RELEASED FROM MATTER. 
There is a thought that springs from truths innate, 
That culture cannot form, nor mind create; 
That genius never drew from fancy's mould, 
A sense of latent powers that must unfold; 
That will expand, when freed from matter crude, 
To roam the vast domain of nature's God. 
To mind thus free what may not time reveal I 
For error cannot now the truth conceal. 
Infinity she grasps through time's duration, 
And solves the deep enigmas of creation. 
Amazed, she soars on high, while 'neath her whirls 
The whole stupendous frame of clustering worlds. 
What ecstacy of soul I what strains of love 1 
Now burst in hymns of praise to God above, 340 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
From earth's redeemed; while many a twinkling thrcng 
Of starry worlds augment the tide of song. 
But now she hovers; resting on those beams 
Of crystal light, that bridge affliction's streams; 
Those tides of human tears, that pit of woe, 
That vortex of despair in which they flow, 
Sweeping, as their floods tumultuous roll, 
Like withered leaves, the hopes of many a soul. 
The earth she sees engulphed in moral night* 
Nor can her pitying tears obstruct the sight. 
Darkly it swings around its central sun, 
While red with human gore its rivers run. 
Its lofty domes, its minarets, its towers, 
Rocked to and fro, as roll contending powers. 
E'en pestilence, with foul, infectious breath, 
Now stalks abroad, a parasite of death. 
Oppression's hand hath bound in servile chains, 
The brothers, ah! of those who hold their reins, 
And with iron hand hath crushed their sacred shrinea, 
And robbed e'en hell of half its black designs. 
Sighing she turns to seek in Eden's bowers, 
Those founts of joy that spring from beds of flowers, 
Laughing as their crystal arms entwine 
The ripening fruit that clusters on the vine, 
And sprinkling with golden spray like floods ' light* 
Howers that bloom forever fresh and bright. 
THOUGHTS ON CREATION. 
Geologists surmise, 
Nay, prove it to a fraction, 
That this fair earth was at her birth 
In a state of liquefaction; 
But that nature and time wrought many a change 
Vnd drew forth objects new and strange. COLLECTED poems. 
341 
The motion on her axis, 
Produced conglomeration; 
And soon a crust of rock and dust, 
Was formed for vegetation. 
A dent in this shell the ocean found, 
And left quite bare the fertile ground. 
The seasons went and came, 
But left no fossil time; 
Though herbs and trees, and flowers and bees, 
And mountains that towered sublime, 
Appeared on the face of the infant earth, 
And to many a fish did the sea give birth. 
Meantime, while nature toiled, 
Great rivers changed their beds; 
And where the sea was wont to be, 
Tall mountains reared their heads. 
Reptiles and beasts had all been formed, 
And the air with birds and insects swarmed. 
Yet all was not complete; 
The lord of this creation 
Was not yet made to wield the spade, 
And nurture vegetation; 
But at length there sprang from nature's hand 
The crowning work, a perfect man. 
Thus, science contradicts 
The words of inspiration; 
For Moses says, within six days 
God finished all creation ; 
The heavens, with all their clustering stars, 
The earth, its animals and flowers. 
That, on the seventh day, 
From all his works he rested; 
And that one, of seven, might taste of heaven, 
He hallowed it and blest it; 
As proof that these were days, not years, 
The evening and the morn appears. 342 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND 
Yet should one dare to question 
The primeval earth's fluidity, 
Geologists would sneer andhiss, 
And eall it sheer stupidity: 
These scientific men of letters 
Regard themselves as Moses' betters. 
Oh, why should poets dream so sadly i 
Hath poesy no other strain ? 
Or why, misanthropes, rave so madly, 
Can hatred break love's golden chain f 
Linked to the brightest hopes we cherish, 
It vibrates through eternal years; 
But broken, every ray must perish 
Amid the gloom of skeptic fears. 
From things of nature's first creation, 
To orders of a higher mould; 
From eyes that beam with animation, 
And hearts that throb with powers untold; 
From world to luminous world extending, 
Unbroken lies love's golden chain; 
From sphere to loftier sphere ascending, 
Till heaven ends the glittering train. 
Dimly it skirts hell's dark dominions, 
And glimmers on the verge of night; 
And now upborne on seraph's pinions, 
It melts in heaven's purest light 
LOVE'S CHAIN. COLLECTED POEMS. 
343 
Twilight shadows thick were flying, 
Like the leaves of autumn sighing, 
Sighing as they fall; 
Sprites with bat-like wings distended, 
Brushed the lamps that hung depended 
From night's dusky wall. 
Winds, that all the day had rustled 
Through the leafy groves, now bustled 
Blustering o'er the plains. 
Midnight gloom was creeping o'er me, 
As the lamp burned dim before me, 
Fitfully it waned. 
Mournfully the windows clattered, 
While without the rain-drops pattered, 
Pattering evermore; 
Coals upon the grate were glowing, 
But with wild, strange light were throwing 
Shadows on the floor. 
One by one I saw them dying, 
Crumbling and in ashes lying, 
Tinkling as they fell; 
So, thought I, if all we cherish, 
Like these fading embers, perish, 
What can break Fate's spell? 
Thus, if every pure emotion 
Sink in passion's boundless ocean, 
Fathomless and drear, 
How shall every holy feeling 
Melt in Christian light, revealing 
Cordials for each fear? 
Softly o'er my brow were playing 
Breezes, while a voice seemed saying 
Jesus is the way; 
TWILIGHT SHADOWS. 344 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Morning shall dispel thy sadness, 
As the birds, with songs of gladness, 
Welcome in the day. 
So shall faith unbar hope's prison 
When the sun of truth is risen, 
Setting conscience free; 
Mind shall soar on buoyant pinions, 
Scanning nature's vast dominions, 
Through eternity. 
A FABLE. 
"In olden time," tradition says, 
"When Charity was young, 
A squad of philanthropic flies, 
Of every caste and tongue, 
Assembled on the bright green glade, 
With circumspect intention, 
Beneath a palm tree's spreading shade. 
In general convention. 
A dignitary filled the chair, 
With parchment, scrip and scribe, 
And many a delegate was there, 
From every buzzing tribe. 
A worthy sage, with numerous eyes, 
And legs of great dimension, 
Arose, and in the following wise, 
Addressed the said convention. 
" Most excellent sir, and worthies all, 
The speaker thus began, 
" Our tyrants, ever since the fall 
That so perverted man, 
That threw all nature out of gear, 
Have tried their subtlest arts, 
To see how they could best ensnare 
The victim of their sports COLLECTED POEMS. 
345 
Our flesh and blood too long have been 
A staple of their food, 
And now 'tis time that we begin 
To seek each other's good; 
To rescue from the iron heel 
Of tyranny our brothers, 
To make our vile oppressors feel 
That we are good as others. 
For this most holy cause we're met, 
In this secluded place, 
To take some measures requisite 
To guard our injured race. 
These ugly, scrawling monsters weave 
Their webs in every hole, 
Where they suspect or half believe 
A fly is like to crawl; 
Then in some corner lie in wait, 
Till one comes peeping in, 
When, oh ! 'tis horrid to relate, 
The bloody monsters spin 
Their tangled webs around him fast, 
Regardless of his groans, 
Then with a fiendish grin at last, 
They pick his quivering bones. 
Arise ye patriots, break your chains, 
And say we will be free! 
A vict'ry shall reward our pains; 
Te arms 'tis fate's decree 1 " 
The stamping of countless feet declar'd 
That willing hearts were found, 
While a wondrous buzzing fill'd the air 
For many rods around. 
Speaker. " They say they have a natural right 
To trap the thievish fly, 
, That justice, always yields to might: 
(A voiee.) "The villains lie." 346 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Speaker. " They say we're all such pilfering things, 
That mankind think us asses, 
Because we dip our filthy wings," 
(A voice.) "In their molasses." 
Speaker. " They say the Fates did not design 
That we should e'er be free, 
That they have organs more refined, 
And whiter blood than we. 
They think us low and worthless curs, 
Not worth an altercation: 
Brothers, my blood with anger stirs, 
And fury's indignation. 
Their boasts are all a pack of lies, 
And most consummate knavery ; 
With death, we will not compromise, 
Nor covenant with slavery. 
Therefore, I offer, noble sirs, 
A list of resolutions, 
With which my heart in full concurs, 
But wait your wise conclusions 
" PREAMBLE, 
"Inasmuch as liberty is notan especial but common right, 
Not an inheritance, but a universal birth-right,- 
Neither a creature of chance, nor confer'd by fate 
Since from man to the beetle, and from the cricket to the mite 
All living things 'neath the sun, and the twinkling ey / of 
night, 
Are made of the same free elements increate. 
Therefore, resolved, that the fly shall be free 
To roam where he pleases, o'er land and sea • 
To sport on the beams of the common sun, 
Or on the lake's bright mirror'd bosom to run. 
Second, resolved, that each flower and tree, 
Was made for the spider, as well as the bee;- 
That insects should feed on the green leaves of wood, 
And not slay each other, fl r pleasure or food. COLLECTED POEMS. 
347 
Thirdly and lastly, resolved, that we force 
Our blood-thirsty tyrants to this wise resource ; 
To spend the bright summer on some cool, green tree, 
And through the cold winter, lie torpid .'ike we." 
Once more the pattering of countless feet 
And general acclamation, 
Declared all plans were now complete, 
And met with approbation. 
At this, a troop of dragon-flies, 
With loud vociferation, 
Arose, and looking wondrous wise, 
Denounced all agitation. 
"We may not hope to change," said they, 
" What nature hath decreed, 
That some were formed for slavery, 
Is evidenced indeed." 
Another gang, with galaxies 
Of eyes like constellations, 
Stook up and said: " 'tis better, sirs, 
To stop these agitations. 
They'll only lead to civil strife, 
And more insidious trappings, 
By which we'll lose more precious life. 
Than years of such kidnapping. 
Besides, 'tis not the better class, 
Whose natural rights are questioned, 
But only a low, ignoble race, 
Who were for tnis predestin'd. 
However much we may abhor 
This barbarous institution, 
We shudder at the thought of war, 
And dread of dissolution. 
We, therefore, cannot recommend 
So hazardous a position; 
Our boast of equal rights would end 
At last in tame submission. 348 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
The weak should always yield to might, 
The simple to the wise, 
The spider, therefore, deems it right 
To trap defenseless flies. 
Let those whom nature's hand hath fitted, 
To serve this humble end, 
Be not by fiery zealots pitted 
To impiously contend 
Against ther fate, in bold defiance 
Of nature and her laws ; 
Worthies refrain from all alliance 
With so unjust a cause. 
Philanthropists should never aim, 
By hostile demonstration, 
To add fresh fuel to a flame, 
In view of amelioration. 
The end can never sanctify 
Unholy means employed, 
The law embraces man and fly, 
And naught can make it void. 
We, therefore, totally deprecate 
A*, forms of intervention ; 
JSo allied powers can baffle fate, 
Or thwart her fix'd intention. 
Once more, we would reiterate 
Our dragon friends' suggestion, 
Let no one dare to agitate 
Again this dangerous question. 
May gentle peace, while yonder sun 
Brings life and warmth with day, 
Shine o'er our paths, where'er we run. 
And rule our destiny." • 
Thus spake this cow'ring, servile crew, 
'Gainst freedom's holy cause ; 
And then exultingly withdrew, 
'Mid rapturous applause. 
Resistless roll'd this mighty flood 
Of suasive eloquence, COLLECTED POEMS. 
349 
While from the assembled multitude, 
Arose tte meek response: 
May gentle peace, while yonder sun, 
Brings life and warmth with day, 
Shine o'er our paths, where'er we run, 
And rule our destiny. 
'Twas plain the wind had tuned her pipes. 
To quite a different air; 
And they who would not dance to stripes, 
Must follow the tune, 'twas clear. 
E'en liberty's most ardent friends, 
Seem'd favorably impressed, 
And at last, to gain some private end, 
Most cordially acquiesced. 
'The public weal demands," said they, 
'Some honorable concession: 
Let's give at least to tyranny 
A peaceable possession. 
Our only sacrifice will be 
A weak and worthless tribe, 
And by this compromise, you see, 
Her boundaries we'll prescribe. 
We hate these mad enthusiasts, 
Who urge emancipation, 
Without respect to grade or caste : 
Away with agitation. 
Its tendency has ever been, 
The captive's bonds to tighten. 
By precept we may hope to win,- 
Example may enlighten. 
Let each discordant note be tuned, 
And let this strife be ended; 
Time oft hath healed a deeper wound,- 
A wider breach hath mended. 
Let every web that spiders spin, 
To trap their harmless neighbor, 
Be shunned as their besetting sin, 
And drive these knaves to labor." 350 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
A FRAGMENT. 
There is a time, when yet the mind is new. 
That thoughts half-fledged go forth on feeble wing 
And poised in ether, much bewildered, view 
Through fancy's glass, the gliding forms that spring 
From unseen hands, to float awhile in air, 
Then like the melting mists at early dawn, 
Give place to brighter forms of beauty rare, 
That ages past from mystery have drawn. 
Oh, faithful time ! what progeny is thine I 
The universe appeared at thy decree; 
But who made thee, thou Artisan divine? 
Self-made, thou art, from all eternity. 
Presumptuous thoughts, abortions of the mind, 
Of sickly birth, and creatures of a day. 
How vain, to scan what God himself designed, 
And caF his perfect work Time's progeny. 
Blind Fate ! did'st thou, through ever-during dark, 
Grope o'er the elements that formed this world, 
And strike from chaos first the electric spark, 
That lit up space where mad confusion whirled? 
Crude matter sublimed, and rolling nebulae, 
Which time hath since reduced to radiant suns, 
And from the foam, hath formed a galaxy, 
That through high heaven's expanse unbroken runs, 
REFLECTIONS IN YOUTH. 
One summer's morn, as I strolled along, 
With heart as free as the lark's gay song, 
Plucking the wild sweet flowers, that grew 
Where the maples their soft, deep shadows threw 
I thought as I kissed from their glossy leaves 
The crystal dew, how much there breathes 
.n nature of true piety, 
Of love, and deep humility. COLLECTED POEMS. 
351 
Through every fabric that Nature weaves 
From the simple fern, with its drooping leaves, 
To the giant oak that defies the blast, 
(Yet meekly bends as the gales sweep past,) 
From the clinging vine, that darkly crawls 
'Mong ruined towers and broken walls, 
That sigh as the night winds whisper of old- 
Of deeds that the darkness hath not yet told; 
Of impious man, who so sadly fell, 
And made of this bright fair earth a hell. 
No! not of the earth, 'tis the soul within 
That makes for itself a world of sin, 
The world without is a joyous one, 
Busy and bright, 'neath a glorious sun. 
From age remote, o'er a boundless waste, 
Through the path of time this thread is traced; 
Weaving the stars in a robe of light, 
To clothe in beauty the silent night; 
A chord of love and sympathy. 
That vibrates through eternity. 
Of such, the angel harps were strung, 
When heaven's celestial choirs sung, 
All glory, honor, and power be given, 
To Him who reigns in earth and heaven. 
THE VOYAGE OF LIFE-A SONG. 
How rights the ship, when the world goes merrily, 
When sweet success crowns every wish; 
Bright beams the sun, and th'e birds sing cheerily, 
When showers of plenty fill our dish. 
How rights the ship, as her sails catch greedily 
Each prosperous wind that kindly blows, 
Gaily sings the crew, when she glides on speedily, 
O'er life's deep sea so sweet in repose. 352 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Night holds his watch 'neath a cloudless canopy,- 
With hanging lamps o'er the bright sea's crest, 
Till young morning spreads, like a golden panoply. 
A flood of day o'er its glassy breast. 
Sparkling like dew-drops distilled on sweet violets, 
Life's sea of light unruffled lies; 
Away darts the ship o'er the silvery breast of it, 
Her white sails spread to the breeze, she flies. 
Morning hath op'd those golden eyes of hers, 
But scarce one glance o'er the world hath shone 
When far to the west a gathering cloud appears, 
Gleaning the darkness that night had strown. 
How tosses the ship when the world goes crabbedlj 
When storms of deep affliction rise ! 
Loud shrieks the blast as the waves roll rapidly, 
Till hope amid the tumult dies. 
LINES WRITTEN ON THE FIRST OF APRIL, 1852 
If nature sanctions all the rules 
That govern wind and weather, 
Then, by her we are all made fools, 
And April fools together. 
p j when Aurora raised the vail 
That shades old Sol's complexion, 
A cloudless sky his coming hailed, 
Nor raised one slight objection. 
The birds rejoiced to see the eye 
Of morning beam so gladly; 
But ere the day had fleeted by, 
They, too, were fooled most sadly. COLLECTED POEMS. 
353 
The prince of that mysterious power 
That keeps the ocean stewing, 
Despatched a sprite at midnight hour, 
To set a storm a-brewing. 
And sure enough, it came blust'ring on 
From snow-crowned Alleghany; 
And though the morning brightly dawned, 
The day was cold and rainy. 
So round the cradle often beams 
Bright rays of hope and gladness; 
But oh, how changed are childhood's dreams, 
When age brings scenes of sadness. 
A prosperous sun may set at noon, 
And leave the future hazy, 
A fickle freak of fortune soon 
May drive a mortal crazy. 
A LEGEND. 
In Jersey there lived, as I have been told, 
When science was yet in its shell, 
A worthy old Dutchman, who offered much gold 
To any wise man who could tell 
now to drive from his cellar a troublesome witch, 
Who nightly disturbed his repose, 
By leading him forth o'er thorn-hedge and ditch, 
By a ring made fast In his nose. 
"So droubled am I," said our hero one day, 
"Tat I'd giff de pest hoss in me parn, 
To any old wizard tat may dravel tis vay, 
For to trive tis old hag from me varm. 354 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
" My cals tey run vild, my cows tey run try, 
No putter my voman can make ; 
My pees leave de hives, my gattles dey dies, 
No gomfort at all can I dake.' 
One evening when all had retired to bed 
And left the old man in his chair, 
He sighed as the darkness grew thicker, and said, 
" Ici wold garn ins bet ga won ich darf." 
But the old mansion shook with a November gale, 
Dread spectres were stalking without, 
And howl'd through each crevice the horrible tale 
That Mynheer was thinking about 
Dense wreaths of tobacco smoke curled round his head 
While the old kitchen clock, that for years 
Had measured each moment of time as it sped 
Tick'd louder to banish his fears. 
But the darkness grew thicker, the candle burnt blue, 
A sulphurous smell filled the room, 
While the tumult without waxed fiercer, as grew 
The clock face more pale in the gloom. 
While Van Hoehtail thus mused (for that was his name) 
The clock in the corner tolled one; 
The candle went out, when a fit seized his frame 
And he thought, sure the devil is come. 
The door was thrown open, a figure rushed in, 
A bellowing sound-then a crash; 
All consciousness fled, while away on the wind 
The Dutchman was borne in a flash. 
The whole of that night, in the form oi a horse, 
He scoured the country around, 
With a witch on his back, as a matter of course, 
And not until morning he found COLLECTED POEMS, 
355 
Himself in his chair, his hat in his hand, 
His pipe and his wig on the floor; 
The storm had passed off, the morning was clear 
And the clock tick'd on as before. 
THE HARPER. 
RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED TO MESSRS. HALL AND ARTMAN 
BY FRANCES J. CROSBY. 
Oh, speak not harshly to the humble poor, 
Nor chide the wanderer that with trembling hand 
Taps at your door, and in a feeble voice, 
Choked with emotion, asks a simple crust, 
Which human sympathy could not deny. 
Ye little know the wrongs that heart hath borne; 
The bitter anguish that hath rudely crushed 
Its best affections. Nature is but weak; 
And though it long may patiently endure, 
May struggle hard to bear its toilsome lot, 
Yet there are moments when the aehing breast, 
Robb'd of its dearest hopes and brightest joys, 
Feels like itself a burden, and would fain 
Breathe its last sigh, and sleep its last long sleep. 
The golden sun had set, and the blue sky, 
Yet beautiful with rich crimson tints, 
That softly lingered on its azure breast, 
Seemed wooing nature to a sweet repose. 
Calm and serene the evening star looked forth, 
As if to chant His praise who gave her birth; 
All, all was lovely; 'twas the hallowed hour 
When memory whispers of long-absent ones, 
And bears us back to days and years gone by. 
A weary man, whose form was bent with age, 
Whose silver locks were floating on the breeze, 
That seemed to pity as it passed him by, 
Had turned, dejected, from the busy throng, 
And with a look which might have moved a heart 
Of adamant, was wending his lone way 356 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Towards his humble cottage. All day long 
Through crowded streets his wild harp he had-borns, 
And o'er and o'er its rustic airs had played, 
To those who heeded not, till, sick at heart, 
When the dim shadows of the twilight came, 
He gathered up his scanty pittance, and 
Covering his face with his shriveled hand, 
He wept, not for himself, but for his child. 
Within a drear and comfortless abode, 
On a rude couch, a gentle girl reclined; 
Her cheek was pale as marble, and her eye 
Turned ever and anon, with restless glance, 
Toward the open casement. Hark I 'tis he! 
She faintly murmured, while a placid smile 
O'erspread her pallid features. Yes ; 'tis he; 
My father! And the old man slowly bent 
O'er that loved form, and pressed his lips to hers. 
There was a change, a sad and fearful change, 
Since he had left her at the early morn; 
And he felt that the icy hand of death 
Was at her heart. 'T was more than he could bear. 
My child, he said, the staff of my old age, 
How can I lose thee ? Thou wert all to me; 
And who will comfort me when thou art gone ? 
God will protect thee, (was the quick response,! 
Father 1 she paused for breath, then suddenly, 
As if a light had burst upon her soul,- 
Father, ere from the world and thee I part, 
There is a secret I would fain disclose. 
Dost thou remember Rodolph? At that name 
She slightly trembled, but her voice grew calm 
As she proceeded: Near our happy cot, my childhood home. 
There was a shady nook, o'erhung with woodbines and the 
evergreen, 
And there at eve, with Rodolph by my side, 
While the light zephyrs with their silken wings, 
Fanned the sweet flowers that slept beneath our feet, 
I listened to the gentle words' he breathed. 
He sought my hand-my heart had long been his: COLLECTED POEMS. 
357 
But my mother from thine arms was torn, 
And laid beneath the cold and silent tomb. 
I felt 'twere wrong to leave thee thus alone. 
Yet, Rodolph was unchanged; and when the storms 
Of adverse fortune drove us from our home, 
To seek a shelter in a foreign clime, 
I saw the tear-drop gather in his eye ; 
He clasped my hand convulsively in his, 
And whispered, " Ella, thou shalt yet be mine." 
Three long and weary years since then have passed, 
And he perchance ere this hath wooed and won 
A lovelier maiden. Oh, how I have prayed 
A.nd struggled to forget him, but in vain. 
She ceased. The old man with attentive ear 
Had listened to the long suspected cause 
Of that deep sorrow, which too well he knew 
Had nipp'd the rose-bud in its tender bloom, 
And doomed his idol to an early grave. 
Oh, what a sacrifice, he groaned aloud; 
God bless thee, Ella; I have ill repaid 
A love so holy and so pure as thine. 
'Twas then a traveler on his jaded steed 
Paused at that dwelling, and in breathless haste 
Flew up the narrow staircase; hope and fear 
Alternate whispering to his anxious heart. 
The old man's last words fell upon his ear : 
It is enough, he cried; thank heaven she lives! 
And springing forward, in his trembling arms 
He clasped that dying girl, now but the wreck 
Of what he once had deemed so beautiful. 
It was too late. One long and lingering gaze 
From those deep eyes of mild ethereal blue, 
And with her head pillowed upon his breast, 
And his dear name upon her quivering lip, 
Her gentle spirit passed from earth away, 
With scarce a sigh to tell that she had gone. 358 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
AUTUMN. 
Of the Indiana Institution for the Blind.* 
I come, I come, o'er valley and hill, 
Casting a shade o'er the sparkling rill, 
Stripping the leaves from each quivering bough, 
Strewing my pathway as onward I go. 
The tree of the forest, the grass of the plain, 
Submissively bow to my despotic reign ; 
The flow'rets that bloom in the garden and heath. 
All wither and droop at the touch of my breath. 
I come not as spring with its gifts profuse, 
Decking the earth with its gorgeous hues; 
Scattering blossoms like glittering gems, 
More precious than those of earth's diadems. 
The hum of the insect, the song of the bird, 
No more in the glades of the forest are heard; 
Though silent I tread, yet my footprints are seen 
In the withering herbage wherever I've been. 
I come not as spring, with its long sunny hours, 
Decking the earth with its verdure and flowers; 
I come to forewarn the mortal who clings 
To the perishing phaptom of temporal things. 
I come to admonish the children of clay, 
To turn from a world of death and decay; 
To seek for a portion more lasting and sure, 
In the land of the blest, the just, and the pure. 
BY MISS MARGARET BELCHES, 
* It may be Interesting to the reader, to know that this authoress dictated her 
poems to a deaf and dumb sister, her usual amanuensis, by means of the manual 
alphabet COLLECTED POEMS. 
359 
Where the smile of the Lord is his people's delight; 
Where the soul is untouched by a canker oi' blight; 
Where the heart's best affections forever shall bloom. 
Beyond the dark valley of death and the tomb. 
THE DYING SISTER. 
BY MARGARET BELCHES. 
Sister I I'm going home; a voice of love, 
In dreams was gently murmured in my ear, 
Like angel whispers, eeho'd from above, 
It bade me haste from all that binds me here; 
Sweet, as of plaintive music soft and low- 
Sister, oh let me go 1 
They stood around my bed a shining band, 
And on their heavenly pinions far away 
They bore me swiftly to a radiant land- 
To realms of endless bliss and cloudless day; 
There flowers of fadeless beauty sweetly blow- 
Sister, oh let me go 1 
Bright was the starry pathway that we trod, 
Surpassing fair the scenes that met our eyes; 
Countless the hosts before the throne of God, 
In that fair world of peace beyond the skies; 
And music filled the air in ceaseless flow- 
Sister, oh let me go 1 
I saw them, too, the loved, the lost of earth, 
The cherished ones who watched our infant years, 
Who smiled upon us in our hours of mirth, 
Whose soothing words oft checked our rising tears; 
They smiled on me as none now smile below- 
Sister, oh let me go I 360 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Our sister, too, was there with radiant brow, 
She of the sunny smile and dove-like eye, 
The beautiful on earth, far lovelier now, 
Arrayed in light and immortality; 
She whispered come, in heavenly accents low- 
Sister, oh let me go I 
And he was there, the wanderer from the fold, 
For whom so oft in agony we prayed; 
But on his brow no stain of earthly mould, 
Not as on earth, in sin's dark vestures 'rayed; 
His shining robes were white as spotless snow- 
Sister, oh let me go 1 
Death's seal is set upon this fevered brow, 
O'er these dim eyes the gathering shadows come; 
Heaven's zephyrs seem to play around me now, 
And woo me to my far-off distant home; 
None view such scenes and longer dwell below- 
Sister farewell, I go I 
THE FOREST TREE. 
BY MARGARET BELCHES. 
Tree of the forest, gigantic and old, 
What ages unreck'd of have over thee rolled; 
Oh, could'st thou but tell us each varying scene 
That long since has passed 'neath thy branches of green. 
Thou hast seen the glad summer in beauty approach, 
And the woods wake in smiles at her magical touch, 
When the soft wind swept over the delicate flowers, 
Fresh laden with sweets from the tropical bowers. COLLECTED POEMS. 
361 
Thou hast shivered and tossed in the whirlwind's blast, 
And seen thy companions uptorn as it pass'd; 
And still thou art rearing thy old rugged form, 
To smile on the summer and frown on the storm. 
The king of the forest, long, long hast thou stood, 
The pride of the desert and vast solitude, 
Ere the step of the white.man the wilderness stirred, 
Or his sharp ringing axe in the forest was heard. 
In days long gone by, how often perchance, 
Hast thou looked on the Indians' wild, native dance • 
Or marked the deep scowl of his red, gleaming eye, 
As he glared on his victim, and doomed him to die. 
Thou hast seen the pale captive, and heard his wild shriek, 
Which told of the anguish that words might not speak, 
As he saw through the darkness the red, glaring fire, 
And knew while he gazed 'twas his funeral pyre. 
But away with those scenes of darkness and blood, 
Sweet sounds are now heard in thy once solitude; 
The laughter of childhood in innocent glee, 
Blends sweet with the husbandman's song on the lea. 
Perchance thou hast seen on bright summer eves, 
When the zephyr was stirring thy dark, glossy leaves, 
A maiden steal forth with a timorous eye, 
And a blush on her cheek, for her lover was nigh. 
And there she has listened to love's magic tone, 
Believing his heart was as true as her own; 
But, alas I she was seeking an undying love, 
Which only is found in the regions above. 
The wayworn traveler hails with delight 
The mantling shade as you rise on his sight 
And sinks to repose on the green mossy bed 
Which oft in his childhood has pillowed his head. 362 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
How solemn to think of the thousands of earth, 
That are sleeping in death since first thou had'st birth. 
And still thou art waving, majestic and free, 
The monarch of ages, the old Forest Tree. 
THE VOICE OF THE SEA.* 
BY MARGARET BELCHES. 
What art thou, voice, on the wild winds borne- 
Heard 'hove the shriek of the furious storm- 
Sweeping along o'er the angry surge, 
Like the strange, wild notes of a funeral dirge? 
Art thou a spirit foreboding woe, 
Come from the fathomless depths below ? 
For the laugh is hushed, and each cheek grows pale, 
As the seaman lists to thy mournful wail. 
Art thou come to tell of some desolate shore, 
Where the wild waves dash and the breakers roar- 
Of the whirlpool nigh, with its chambers dark- 
The tomb of many a gallant bark ? 
Or, perchance, from the ocean's gem-lit caves, 
Thou wert weary of sport 'neath the feathery waves, 
Midst the unknown tombs where the sea nymphs fair, 
Their vigils keep o'er the sleepers there; 
Where the mermaid wreathes her golden curls 
With crimson coral and rarest pearls; 
Where the naiads' sweet, low melodies 
Resound through the amber palaces. 
But why art thou come from homes like these. 
To float 'mid the tempest-child of the seas- 
When the sable hue of the night is spread, 
Like a funeral pall, o'er the voyager's head- 
♦ We are informed by navigators that strange cries, resembling the human voioe 
nave frequently been heard far out at sea, the causes of which have never been sat- 
isfactorily explained. COLLECTED POEMS. 
363 
Where no ray of brightness greets the sight, 
Save the curling waves' phosphoric light, 
That fearfully on the billows loom, 
Like spectral forms amid the gloom? 
Oh, were our hearts but freed from sin, 
We would fear thee not 'mid the tempest's din- 
We would welcome thee as an angel voice, 
At the gates of the Heavenly Paradise 
THOUGHTS ON NIAGARA. 
BY MICHAEL m'gUIRE. 
I stood where swift Niagara pours its flood 
Into the darksome caverns where it falls, 
And heard its voice, as voice of God, proclaim 
The power of Him, who let it on its course 
Commence, with the green earth's first creation; 
And I was where the atmosphere shed tears, 
As giving back the drops the waters wept, 
On reaching that great sepulchre of floods,- 
Or bringing from above the bow of God, 
To plant its beauties in the pearly spray. 
And as I stood and heard, though seeing nought, 
Sad thoughts took deep possession of my mind, 
And rude imagination venturing forth, 
Did toil to pencil, though in vain, that scene, 
Which, in its every feature, spoke of God. 
Oh, voice of nature 1 full of strength and awe 
Unceasing sermon, where Omnipotence 
Is at once the theme and illustration. 
0 thou pervading sound! o'erwhelming all 
W ith vast conceptions of might infinite I 
Hallow my inspirations, and subdue 
Whatever in me jars with holy thought. 
Let thy loud tones speak to my inmost soul, 
And teach it ever to acknowledge God. 364 
BEAUTIES Ofc THE BLIND. 
Full of thyself, great flood, how vain the task 
To tell thy might, or adequately, know 
How vast thou art,-so very small are we! 
If such the thoughts are which thy voice stirs up, 
Then what the awe that would entrance the mind 
At viewing thy dread strength, thy power sublime! 
Or beauty that o'ertops the highest range 
Of boldest fancy, whose most lofty flight 
Would fall beneath thee far, and much abashed. 
Oh place most sacred! full of awe and God. 
Where every sound, and all that's seen, combine 
To teach our minds to humbly trust in Him, 
Whose fiat called, and who sustains the world. 
0 spot! if any spot on earth can be 
A temple, where Jehovah is felt most, 
Raise my dejection, and enable me 
To speak as may befit thee and myself; 
And teach me to address, in proper terms, 
Him, for whose honor thou wast form'd to flow, 
And talk forever of his power supreme. 
0 Thou, that givest all that we possess, 
Whose might is infinite, and goodness, too, 
Bend to my voice thy always ready ear, 
And hearing grant, 0 grant my earnest prayer, 
One which hypocrisy hath ne'er abused, 
Nor has been by the drowsy formalist. 
The verdant earth which thou hast made, 
The sky through which the blazing sun doth ride, 
And the moon with her large train make progress 
These are thy works, which well assert thy migh' 
And goodness, and addressing us, doth speak 
Wherever culture rules or nature reigns. 
Y et, sight of-sky, of sea, or of the earth, 
Of wild plant, or of cultivated flower, 
Of quiet lake that sleeps in loveliness, 
Wound in a belt of perfect solitude,- 
Of streams that flow contented in their course. 
And leave a legacy of flowers behind,- 
Zs not to me vouchsafed,-nor may I look COLLECTED POEMS. 
365 
Upon the cataract's unfetter'd rage, 
That wildly hurries it to the abyss, 
Which, like a gap in nature, waits the flood 
Which, ever rolling, leaves it waiting still. 
Of this, imagination tells alone I 
Is forced to copy, oh, how faint transcribe, 
Where all its paintings must be in itself, 
Nature's designer, and her artist, too. 
Forme, the world is black, and filled with gloom; 
Huge darkness sits recumbent on the air, 
Oppressing it with universal night, 
And making melancholy joys supplant, 
Till cheerfulness removes from where gloom 
Leaving the mind a prey to thoughts unblest 
And here, where Thou art ever felt to be, 
Where nature loudly owns Thee as her God, 
Whose praise is sounded by the cataract, 
Hearken to me, and my petition hear, 
As from each recess of my struggling soul, 
The sighs of sickly hope, assembling fast, 
Meet in a perfect flood of fervent prayer,- 
Which all express'd is this,-Lord, give me sight 
And that so long unheard, is unheard still. 
THE VOICE OF THE FALLING LEAVES 
BY FRANCES BROWN. 
A. friendless Minstrel walk'd alone, 
Where the autumn twilight lay 
Cold on the woods, and leaves were strewn 
By thousands in his way: 
He thought of the promise-breathing spring, 
And of summer's rosy eves ; 
And he said: "Alas! for the withering, 
And the time of falling leaves I " 366 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
The music of bird and breeze had passed, 
From the woodlands, hush'd and dim- 
But there came an answering voice at last, 
From the dying leaves to him: 
And it said: " Oh! thou of the sleepless thought, 
In thy musings sad and lone, 
Weep not the close of our tearless lot, 
But rather mourn thine own;- 
" For the greenness of early spring was ours, 
And the summer's palmy prime 
And the glowing tints that deck'd the bowers 
In the glorious harvest-time! 
And have we not seen the roses die ?- 
For their splendors might not stay ; 
And the summer birds are gone-then why 
Should not leaves, too, pass away ? 
"Yet the flowers may fade, and the leaves may fall, 
And the glory of woods depart; 
But mourn in thy sorrow, more than all, 
The withering of the heart; 
And the soul's young brightness dimm'd so soon, 
'Twas a glory early o'er; 
For Time hath taken that blessed boon- 
That Time can ne'er restore. 
" And mourn for life's perish'd hopes, that died 
While the spring was flowery still; 
For the stainless love which the grave hath hid, 
Though it could not change nor chill; 
For the weary eyes that have look'd for light 
Which never met their gaze ; 
And for all who have lived through storm and blight, 
But saw no summer days." 
The winds in their lonely power awoke, 
As the night came darkly on- 
And the voice which in twilight stillness spoke, 
With that twilight b«ur was gone ; COLLECTED POEMS. 
367 
" And oh I " said the minstrel, " strange, in sooth, 
Are the spells which Fancy weaves, 
For now she has given a voice of truth, 
To the fading, falling leaves 1 " 
BLACKLOCK'S PICTURE OF HIMSELF. 
While in my matchless graces wrapt I stand, 
And touch each feature with a trembling hand, 
Deign, lovely self I with art and nature's pride, 
To mix the colors, and the pencil guide. 
Self is the grand pursuit of half mankind; 
How vast a crowd by self, like me are blind I 
By self the fop in magic colors shown, 
Though scorned by every eye, delights his own; 
When age and wrinkles seize the conquering maid, 
Self, not the glass, reflects the flattering shade. 
Then, wonder-working self, begin the lay; 
Thy charms to others, as to me, display. 
Straight is my person, but of little size ; 
Lean are my cheeks, and hollow are my eyes; 
My youthful down is, like my talents, rare; 
Politely distant stands each single hair. 
My voice, too rough to charm a lady's ear; 
So smooth a child may listen without fear; 
Not form'd in cadence soft and warbling lays, 
To soothe the fair through pleasure's wanton ways 
My form so fine, so regular, so new, 
My port so manly, and so fresh my hue , 
Oft as I meet the crowd, they laughing say, 
" See, see Memento Mori cross the way." 
The ravish'd Proserpine, at last, we know, 
Grew fondly jealous of her sable beau ; 
But, thanks to nature, none from me need fly. 
One heart the devil could wound-so cannot I. 368 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Yet though my person fearless may be seen, 
There is some danger in my graceful mien : 
For, as some vessel, tossed by wind and tide, 
Bounds o'er the waves, and rocks from side to side 
In just vibration thus I always move : 
This who can view, and not be forced to love ? 
Hail! charming self! by whose prosperous aid, 
My form in all its glory stands display'd: 
Be present, still; with inspiration kind, 
Let the same faithful colors paint the mind. 
Like all mankind, with vanity I'm blessed, 
Conserves of wit I never yet possessed. 
To strong desires my heart an easy prey, 
Oft feels their force, but never owns their sway. 
This hour, perhaps, as death I hate my foe; 
The next I wonder why I should do so. 
Though poor, the rich I view with careless eye; 
Scorn a vain oath, and hate a serious lie. 
I ne'er for satire, torture common sense; 
Nor show my wit at God's nor man's expense. 
Harmless I live, unknowing and unknown; 
Wish well to all, and yet do good to none. 
Unmerited contempt I hate to bear; 
Yet on my faults, like others, am severe. 
Dishonest flames my bosom never fire : 
The bad I pity, and the good admire: 
Fond of the muse, to her devote my days, 
And scribble, not for pudding, but for praise. 
These careless lines if any virgin hears, 
Perhaps in pity to my joyless years, 
She may consent a generous flame to own; 
And I no longer sigh the nights alone. 
But, should the fair, affected, vain or nice, 
Scream with the fears inspired by frogs or mice 
Cry, "Save us, Heaven ! a spectre, not a man !' 
Her hartshorn snatch, or interpose her fan: COLLECTED POEMS. 
369 
If 1 my tender overture repeat, 
O! may my vows her kind reception meet; 
May she new graces on my form bestow, 
And with tall honors dignify my brow. 
EPITAPH, ON A FAVORITE LAP-DOG 
I never barked when out of season; 
I never bit without a reason ; 
I ne'er insulted weaker brother; 
Nor wronged by force nor fraud another. 
Though brutes are placed a rank below, 
Happy for man, could he say so. 
THE YOUNG. 
BY FRANCES BROWN. 
The world may believe in the wisdom time teaches, 
And trust in its truth as the anchor of age, 
But many and cold is the winter that reaches 
Not only the head, but the heart of the sage. 
There are lights on the first steps of life that awaken, 
Oh, never again on the far journey flung, 
But true to the wisdom our years have forsaken, 
And bright in their wrecks are the schemes of the young 
As hearth-light illumes the dark eve of December, 
Affliction may beam through the winter of years. 
But will not the miser in silence remember 
Some brow that still bound with his roses appears! 
Alas ! for the dust and the change may pass over 
The step and the tone to our memory that clung- 
But time hath no shadow that bright track to cover, 
And life hath no love like the love of the young. 370 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Remains there a mine unexplored but believed in, 
Where lies the lost gold of our days at the goal- 
Hath friendship a glance that she ne'er was deceived in, 
Oh I they fall from us early, those stars of the soul 1 
Have we trusted the light, have we toil'd for the treasure, 
Though dimness and doubt o'er the searcher's path hung- 
And oh, could we pour to Time's truth the full measure 
Of trust that is found in the faith of the young I 
Thou dreamer of age, there were themes of proud story, 
And song that rose on thee like stars from the sea, 
Old Time hath no scythe for the might of their glory- 
But how hath that glory departed from thee! 
Thy soul yields no more to the spell of their splendor, 
The tones it sent forth when the lyre was new strung- 
There are echoes still there for the brave and the tender, 
But none such as gush from the hearts of the young. 
Or say, have they pass'd from the paths of thy journey, 
The miss'd among thousands, the mourn'd-for apart- 
From the toil, from the tumult of life dost thou turn thee, 
At times to revisit the tombs of the heart ? 
Green, green, in the leaf-fall of years will they greet thee, 
If fill'd by the flowers in thy home-shade that sprung- 
And blessed are the lessons of love that will meet thee 
From mem'ries laid up in the graves of the young 
Brig t spring of the spirit, so soon passing from it, 
T1 ou know'st no return, and we ask thee not baek- 
For who that hath reach'd e'en the snows of the summit, 
M ould wish to retrace all the thorns of his track ? 
And thorns, it may be, 'mid the verdure have found us- 
Deep, deep have they pierced, though the pang be unsung 
But oh, for the dew of that day-spring around us 
Once more, as it falls on the paths of the young! COLLECTED POEMS. 
371 
THE GOD OF THE WORLD. 
BY FRANCES BROWN. 
The gray of the desert's dawn 
Had tinged that mighty mound 
That stands as the tomb of Babylon, 
On her ancient river's bound- 
For the land hath kept no trace beside 
Of the old Chaldean's power and pride 
Upon that lonely height, 
To mark the morning climb 
The skies of his native solitude, 
The genius of the desert stood, 
And saw the conqueror Time 
Approach on pinions swift and dim, 
But ever welcome was he to him. 
For his journey left no track 
On the long untrodden sand- 
No human hopes or homes were there, 
No blooming face or flowing hair, 
To fear his withering hand; 
And the genius greeted him who made 
So wide the bounds of his scepter's shade. 
They spoke of their ancient swav, 
Of the temples rich and vast 
That mouldered in their sight away; 
And the scorn of ages passed 
O'er the desert-dweller's lip and brow, 
As he said- " What gods do they worship now r " 
The father of the years 
Hooked up to the rising sun, 
And said- " In the bounds his path surrounds, 
There reigns no god but one: 
All faith beside hath grown faint and cold, 
The only god in the world is gold. 372 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
" 'Tis gold in the city proud, 
'Tis gold in the hamlet low, 
To it they kneel with the bridal vail, 
And the mourner's garb of woe-. 
And childhood's joy, and youth's bright hair, 
And the peace of age are offered there. 
"I stood on Nimrod's tower, 
When it rose to meet the stars, 
And the boundless pride and the empire wide 
Of the world's first conquerors, 
Brought tribute to the gods, of old- 
But they ne'er were served like that mighty gold 1 
"They praise the Christian's God, 
And they build him temples fair ; 
The prayer is made, and the creed is said- 
But gold is honored there ; 
For they bear from the holy place no sign 
That tells of a worship more divine. 
" Still are the temples raised 
To the God of light and song, 
For many scorn, and some are borne 
By the tides of life along, 
Who oft in their weariness look back 
To the light they left in that chosen track. 
"In groves and crowded marts, 
I have sought love's shrines in vain, 
Yet it may be that in silent hearts 
Their ruins still remain- 
But scorch'd by fire, and stain'd with tears, 
And buried deep in the dust of years." 
" And has the wgrld grown old 
In vain ? " said the shadowy sage, 
"And come at length to the age of gold, 
But not to the golden age ? COLLECTED POEMS. 
373 
Is this the fruit of her latter days, 
From the gather'd love of centuries, 
And piled up wisdom of the past, 
To how to her .very dust at last! " 
THE ECLIPSE.* 
BY FRANCES BROWN. 
Watchers are on the earth ; and o'er the sky 
Strange darkness gathers, like a funeral pall, 
Shrouding the summer day, while stars, that lie 
Far in the depth of heaven, rekindle all 
Their faded fires. But where is now the sun, 
That arose so glorious on the Alps to-day? 
Methinks his journey short and early done. 
Not thus his wont to leave fair Italy 
Not thus so near the skirts of rosy June! 
Why is the midnight come before the noon? 
Night, but not silence, for old Pavia speaks. 
As with the voice of unforgotten years, 
When victory was her's. What now awakes 
Such music in the fallen land of fears? 
Is it some ancient echo in her heart, 
Surviving Roman power and Gothic gold 1 
Or, glorious dream, that might not all depart- 
The memory of brave battles won of old- 
That wakes the pealing of that joyous cheer, 
Which the far mountains answer deeply clear? 
* Du tng the eclipse of the sun which occurred in the end of July, 1844, the citi- 
zens of Pavia assembled in multitudes, in the principal square, for the purpose of 
the phenomenon; and in the midst of the deepest darkness, when the 
moon and stars were plainly visible, the whole concourse burst into one simultane- 
ous shout. 374 
BEAUTIES OE THE BLIND. 
Or, hath the gathered city's mighty voice 
The queen of night amid her trophies hailed, 
As conqueror of the sun? Could she rejoice 
To see the splendor of his presence vailed, 
Who walked the heavens in unshared majesty, 
Since Time was born, the brightest and the first 
Of thousand gods still glorious on his way, 
As when through ancient night his chariot burst, 
And swept the circuit of those cloudless skies, 
That yet heard only starry harmonies ? 
Not so rejoiced the Grecian legions, led 
By great Iskander to the Persian shore; 
No so Ceoropia's host. But days of dread 
Are past-the twilight of the world is o'er, 
Withall its shadows. Pavia, from thy walls 
We hear the spirit of our brighter days 
Proclaim to Alpine huts and Roman halls, 
The morn that met the sage or prophet's gaze, 
Through the far dimness of that long eclipse, 
Whose mighty darkness sealed gieat Galileo's lips. 
AUTUMN. 
BY FRANCES BROWN. 
Oh, welcome to the corn-clad slope, 
And to the laden tree, 
Thou promised autumn ; for the hope 
Of nations turned to thee, 
Through all the hours of splendor past, 
With summer's bright career; 
And we see thee on thy throne at last, 
Crowned monarch of the year 1 
Thou comest with the gorgeous flowers 
That make the roses dim, 
With morning mists and sunny hours. 
And wild bird's harvest hymn ; COLLECTED POEMS. 
375 
Thou comest with the might of floods, 
The glow of moonlit skies, 
And the glory flung on fading woods, 
Of thousand mingled dyes 1 
But never seem'd thy steps so bright 
On Europe's ancient shore, 
Since faded from the poet's sight, 
That golden age of yore; 
For early harvest-home hath poured 
Its gladness on the hearth, 
And the joy that lights the princely board 
Hath reached the peasant's hearth. 
O Thou, whose silent bounty flows 
To bless the sower's art, 
With gifts that ever claim from us 
The harvests of the heart- 
If thus thy goodness crowns the year, 
What shall the glory be, 
When all thy harvest, whitening here, 
Is gathered home to thee 1 
FAREWELL TO THE FLOWERS. 
BY FRANCES BROWN. 
Farewell! farewell! bright children of the sun, 
Whose beauty rose around our path where'er 
We wander'd forth since vernal days begun- 
The glory and the garland of the year. 
Ye came, the children of the spring's bright promise- 
Ye crown'd the summer in her path of light; 
And now when autumn's wealth is passing from us, 
We gaze upon your parting boon, as bright 
And dearer far than summer's richest hue- 
Sweet flowers, adieu! 376 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
You will return again; the early beams 
Of spring will wake ye from your wintry sleep, 
By the still fountains and the shining streams, 
That through the green and leafy woodlands sweep; 
Ye will return again, to cheer the bosoms 
Of the deep valleys, by old woods o'erhung, 
With the fresh fragrance of your opening blossoms, 
To be the joy and treasure of the young- 
With birds from the far lands, and sunny hours, 
Ye will return, sweet flowers. 
But when will they return, our flowers that fell 
From life's blanch'd garland when its bloom was new 
And left but the dim memories that dwell 
In silent hearts and homes ? The summer's dew, 
And summer's sun, with all their balm and brightness, 
May fall on deserts or on graves in vain; 
But to the locks grown dim with early whiteness, 
What spring can give the sable back again, 
Or to the early wither'd heart restore 
Its perish'd bloom once more ? 
In vain, in vain-years come and years depart- 
Time hath its changes, and the world its tears; 
And we grow old in frame, and gray in heart- 
Seeking the grave through many hopes and fears 
But still the ancient earth renews around us 
Her faded flowers, though life renews no more 
The bright but early broken ties that bound us, 
The garlands that our blighted summers wore: 
Birds to the trees, and blossoms to the bowers 
Return-but not life's flowers 1 
Thus sang the bard, when autumn's latest gold 
Hung on the woods, and summer's latest bloom 
Was fading fast, as winter, stern and coll, 
Came from- his northern home of clouds and gloom. COLLECTED POEMS, 
377 
But from the dying flowers a voice seem'd breathing 
Of higher hopes; it whisper'd sweet and low- 
" When spring again her sunny smile is wreathing, 
We will return to thee-but thou must go 
To seek life's blighted blossoms on that shore 
Where flowers can fade no more 1 " 
THE LAST OF THE JAGELLONS. 
BY FRANCES BROWN. 
"Oh, minstrel, wake thy harp once more, 
For winter's twilight falls, 
And coldly dim it darkens o'er 
My lonely heart and halls: 
But memories of my early home 
Around me gather fast- 
For still with twilight shadows come 
The shadows of the past. 
"Then wake thy lyre, my faithful bard, 
And breathe again for me 
The songs that in my land was heard, 
While yet that land was free 
The lays of old romantic times, 
When hearts and swords were true- 
They will recall the dazzling dreams 
That youth and childhood knew." 
T was thus the noble matron spake 
To one whose tuneful strains 
Could win her exiled spirit back 
To Poland's pleasant plains ; 
But now did memory's wizard wane 
Far distant scenes portray, 
As thus the minstrel of the land 
Awoke her lyre and lay : 378 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
The shout hath ceased in Volla's field, 
But still its echoes ring 
With the last thunder-burst that hail'd 
Sarmatia's chosen king. 
For young Jagellon now ascends 
His father's ancient throne; 
Yet still the chosen monarch stands 
Uncrown'd-but not alone! 
"A lovely form is by his side, 
A hand is clasp'd in his, 
That well might be a monarch's bride, 
Even in an hour like this; 
For never fairer form was seen 
In saint's or poet's dreams, 
Nor ever shone a nobler mein 
In Poland's princely dames. 
" Oh, many a princely dame is there, 
And many a noble knight- 
The flower of Poland's famed and fair- 
The glory of her might. 
But there is pride in every face, 
And wrath in every tone, 
As on that fair young brow, their gasa 
Of gather'd scorn is thrown. 
" There came an ancient senator, 
With firm and stately tread, 
And to the silent monarch there 
In courtly phrase he said: 
' The love that cannot grace a throne 
A king should cast aside- 
Then let Jagellon reign alone, 
Or choose a royal bride.' 
" The monarch yet more closely clasp'd 
That small and snowy hand; 
Then like a knightly warrior grasp'd 
His own unrivall'd brand; COLLECTED POEMS. 
379 
And from his dark eye flash'd the pride 
Of all his martial line, 
As-' By my father's sword,' he cried, 
'Such choice shall ne'er be mine : 
" ' My land hath seen her ancient crown 
Bestow'd for many an age, 
While other nations have bow'd down 
To kingly heritage; 
And now the crown she freely gave, 
I render back as free; 
For, if unshared by her I love, 
It shines no more for me.' 
' He said-but from the throng arose, 
Ere yet his speech was done, 
A wilder, louder cheer than those 
That told of conquests won- 
When far in many a famous field, 
Through long, victorious years, 
O'er Tartar bow and Paynim shield, 
He led the Polish spears. 
"And thus they said, 'The flower whose worth 
Inspired a soul so great 
With love like this, whate'er her birth, 
Should be a monarch's mate 
And as thy tameless heart was found 
To love and honor true- 
Oli, early tried and far renowned, 
Be true to Poland, too 1 ' " 
The minstrel ceased, and with a sigh, 
That noble matron said- 
" Alas, for Europe's chivalry- 
How hath its glory fled! 
Perchance in sylvan grove or glen, 
Such faithful love is known, 
But when will earth behold again 
Its truth so near a throne! " 380 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
THE SPECTRE OF THE HEARTH 
BY FRANCES BROWN. 
Old Europe boasts of the broad low lauds 
She won from the western main; 
But the wasting wave and the whelming sands 
Are winning them back again: 
Long and fierce is the war they wage 
And the conquest groweth from age to age. 
The song of the billows' sounding march, 
Is heard where the anthem rose 
O'er sculptured column and stately arch 
The dreary sand-hill grows, 
And fills the waste of the sterile shore, 
Where corn was bent by the breeze of yore. 
No trace doth tire bare, gray summit keep 
Of buried spire or dome; 
But still, 'tis said, where the drifted heap 
Lies high o'er a peasant's home, 
The place of the hearth may yet be known 
To wanderers forth in the twilight lone. 
For there, when stars through the deep'ning gray, 
Shine far over wave and height, 
Or their crests give back the ruddy raj 
Of the hamlet-fires of night, 
A spectre-woman pours her woe 
O'er the cold and the quench'd of long ago. 
Old is the tale-aye, old and strange 
As the peasant's lore of dreams; 
Yet how hath it kept through fear and change 
That changeless truth, which seems, 
In the power of its undecaying proof, 
A golden thread in the rustic woof! COLLECTED POEMS. 
381 
Are there not hearts-the worn, the wise- 
That ever in vain return 
To some spot where their old love-memory lies, 
Though they only come to mourn 
The dust and the debris piled between 
Their souls and the rest they might have seen! 
The sands 1 oh, the severing sands upflung 
By the world's wide sea of fears! 
And the heart, in its toiling silence stung 
By the solitude of years I 
And the lights that shine on its lonely ways, 
At times, through the twilight-fall of days! 
The winters wane, and the ruins grow 
With the wrecks of wave and mind; 
But, oh I were the dust less deep below, 
And the stars above more kind, 
How many a dream by the hearth might rest, 
That now returns but a spectre guest. 
THE LONELY MOTHER. 
BY FRANCES BROWN. 
My home is not what it hath been, 
When the leaves of other years were green, 
Though its hearth is bright and its chambers fan 
And the summer beams fall lightly there; 
But they fall no more on the clear young eye, 
And the lip of pleasant song, 
And the gleaming night that wont to lie 
On the curls so dark and long. 382 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Oh, pleasant is the voice of youth, 
For it tells of the heart's confiding truth 
And keeps that free and fearless tone, 
That ne'er to our after years is known: 
I hear it rise in each hamlet-cot, 
O'er evening prayer and page; 
But woe for the hearth that heareth nougtit 
But the dreary tones of age. 
The glow is gone from our winter blaze, 
And the light hath pass'd from our summer days; 
And our dwelling hath no household now 
But the sad of heart and the gray of brow . 
For the young lies low 'neath the church-yard tree. 
Where the grass grows green and wild; 
And thy mother's heart is sad for thee,- 
My lost, mine only child! 
But a wakening music seems to flow 
On me from the years of long ago, 
As thy babe's first words come sweet and clear 
Like a voice from thy childhood to mine ear 
And her smile beams back on my soul again, 
Thy beauty's early morn, 
Ere thine eye grew dim with tears or pain, 
Or thy lovely locks were shorn. 
Alas! for the widow'd eyes that trace 
Their early-lost in that orphan face 
What after-light will his memory mark, 
Like the dove that in spring-time sought her ark 
For long in that far and better land 
Were her spirit's treasures laid; 
And she might not stay from its golden strand 
For the love of hearts that fade. 
But woe for her on whose path may shine 
The light of no mother's love but mine; 
Oh, well if that lonely path lead on 
To the land where her mother's steps have gone- COLLECTED POEMS. 
383 
The land where the aged find their youth, 
And the young no whit'ning hair: 
Oh 1 safe, my child, from both time and death-- 
Let us hope to meet thee there. 
THE FRIEND OF OUR DARKER DAYS. 
BY FRANCES BROWN. 
'Twas said, when the world was fresh and young, 
That the friends of edrth were few; 
And shrines have blazed, and harps have rung, 
For the hearts whose love was true! 
And say, when the furrowing tracks of time 
Lie deep on the old earth's brow, 
The faith so prized in her early prime- 
Shall we hope to find it now? 
It may be found, like the aloe's bloom 
In the depth of western woods, 
To which a hundred springs may come, 
Yet wake not its starry buds; 
But if, through the mists of wintry skies, 
It shine on life's weary ways- 
What star in the summer heavens will rise 
Like that friend of our darker days ? 
We know there are hands and smiles to greet 
Our steps on the summit fair; 
But lone are the climber's weary feet, 
Where the steep lies bleak and bare. 
For some have gain'd far heights and streams, 
To their sight with morning crown'd; 
But the sunrise shed on their hearts' first dreams, 
And its light, they never found 1 384 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
Yet, O for the bright isles seen afar, 
When our sails were first unfurl'd, 
And the glance that once was the guiding star 
Of our green unwithered world! 
And, O for the voice that spake in love, 
Ere we heard the cold world's praise; 
And one gourd in our promised noon, to prove 
Like the friends of our darker days ! 
Alas 1 we have missed pure gems that lay 
Where the rock seemed stern and cold; 
And our search hath found but the hidden clay, 
Where we dreamt of pure bright gold. 
And dark is the night of changing years 
That falls on the trust of youth, 
Till the thorns grow up and the tangled tares 
In the stronghold of its truth. 
The shrines of our household gods, perchance 
We have seen their brightness wane ; 
And the love which the heart can give but once. 
It may be given in vain ; 
But still from the graves of better hopes- 
From the depths of memory's maze, 
One blessing springs to the heart and lipst 
For the friend of our darker days. 
WE ARE GROWING OLD. 
We are growing old-how the thought will rise 
When a glance is backward cast 
On some long-remembered spot that lies 
In the silence of the past: 
It may be the shrine of our early vows, 
Or the tomb of early tears; 
But it seems like a far-off isle to us, 
In the stormy sea of years. 
BY FRANCES BROWN. COLLECTED POEMS. 
385 
Oh 1 wide and wild are the waves that part 
Our steps from its greenness now • 
tnd we miss the joy of many a heart, 
And the light of many a brow ; 
For deep o'er many a stately bark 
Have the whelming billows rolled, 
That steered with us from that early mark- 
Oh ! friends, we are growing old I 
Old in the dimness and the dust 
Of our daily toils and cares, 
Old in the wrecks of love and trust 
Which our burdened memor' bears. 
Each form may wear to the passing gaze, 
The bloom of life's freshness yet, 
And beams may brighten our latter days, 
Which the morning never met. 
But oh I the changes we have seen 
In the far and winding way- 
The graves in our path that have grown green 
And the locks that have grown gray 1 
The winters still on our own may spare 
The sable or the gold; 
But we saw their snows upon brighter hair- 
And, friends, we are growing old 1 
We have gain'd the world's cold wisdom nov 
We have learn'd to pause and fear; 
But where are the living founts, whose flow 
Was a joy of heart to hear? 
We have won the wealth of many a clime, 
And the lore of many a page; 
But where is the hope that saw in Time 
But its boundless heritage? 
Will it come again when the violet wakes 
And the woods their youth renew ? 
We have stood in the light of sunny brakes, 
Where i.he bloom was deep and blue: 386 
And our souls might joy in the spring-time then, 
But the j'oy was faint and cold ; 
For it ne'er could give us the youth again 
Of hearts that are growing old. 
BEAUTIES OF THE BLIND. 
SONGS OF OUR LAND. 
BY FRANCES BROWN. 
Songs of our land, ye are with us forever; 
The power and the splendor of thrones pass away, 
But yours is the might of some far-flowing river, 
Through summer's bright roses or autumn's decay. 
Ye treasure each voice of the swift-passing ages, 
And truth, which Time writeth on leaves or on sand ; 
Ye bring us the Bright thoughts of poets and sages, 
And keep them among us, old songs of our land I 
The bards may go down to the place of their slumbers, 
The lyre of the chamber be hushed in the grave; 
But far in the future the power of their numbers 
Shall kindle the hearts of our faithful and brave, 
It will waken an echo in souls deep and lonely ; 
Like voices of reeds by the summer breeze fann'd; 
It will call up a spirit for freedom, when only 
Her breathings are heard in the songs of our land 1 
For they keep a record of those, the true-hearted, 
Who fell with the cause they had vowed to maintain ; 
They show us bright shadows of glory departed, 
Of love that grew cold, and the hope that was vain. 
The page may be lost, and the pen long forsaken, 
And weeds may grow wild o'er the brave heart and hand 
But ye are still left, when all else hath been taken, 
Like streams in the desert, sweet songs of our land I COLLECTED POEMS. 
387 
Songs of our land ye have followed the stranger, 
With power over ocean and desert afar; 
Ye have gone with our wand'rers thro' distance and danger 
And gladden'd their path like a home-guiding star. 
With the breath of our mountains in summers long vanish'd 
And visions that passed like a wave from the sand, 
With hope for their country and joy for her banish'd, 
Ye come to us ever, sweet songs of our land ! 
The spring-time may come with the song of her glory, 
To bid the green heart of the forest rejoice, 
But the pine of the mountain, though blasted and hoary, 
And the rock in the desert, can send forth a voice. 
It is thus in their triumph for deep desolations; 
While ocean waves roll, or the mountains shall st md 
Still, hearts that are bravest and best of the nations 
Shall glory and live in the songs of their land I