an epithet applied to a person or sensitive creature deprived of the use of his eyes; or, in other words, to one from whom light, colours, and all the glorious variety of the visible creation, are intercepted by some natural or accidental disease. Such is the literal acceptation of the term; but it is likewise used in a metaphorical sense, to signify mental or intellectual darkness; and frequently implies, at the same time, some moral or spiritual depravity in the soul thus blinded, which is either the efficient or continuing cause of this internal malady. Yet, even in metaphor, the epithet of blind is sometimes applied to a kind of ignorance, which neither involves the ideas of real guilt nor of voluntary error. It is, however, our present intention to consider the word, not in its figurative, but in its natural and primary sense. Nor do we mean in this place to regard it as a subject of medical speculation, or to explore its causes and enumerate its cures.

There are in the department of another science†. It is rather our design to consider, By what means this inexpressible misfortune may be compensated or alleviated to those who sustain it; what advantages and consolations they may derive from it; of what acquisitions they may be susceptible; what are the proper means of their improvement; or by what culture they may become useful to themselves, and important members of society.

There is not perhaps any sense or faculty of the corporeal frame, which affords so many resources of utility and entertainment; as the power of vision; nor is there any loss or privation which can be productive of disadvantages or calamities so multifarious, so various, and so bitter, as the want of sight. By no avenue of corporeal perception is knowledge in her full extent, and in all her forms, so accessible to the rational and inquiring soul, as by the glorious and delightful medium of light. For this not only reveals external things in all their beauties, in all their changes, and in all their varieties; but gives body, form, and colour, to intellectual ideas and abstract essences; so that the whole material and intelligent creation lie in open prospect, and the majestic frame of nature in its whole extent, is, if we may speak so, perceived at a single glance. To the blind, on the contrary, the visible universe is totally annihilated; he is perfectly conscious of no space but that in which he stands, or to which his extremities can reach. Sound, indeed, gives him some ideas of distant objects; but those ideas are extremely obscure and indistinct. They are obscure, because they consist alone of the objects whose oscillations vibrate on his ear, and do not necessarily suppose any other bodies with which the intermediate space may be occupied, except that which gives the sound alone: they are indistinct, because sounds themselves are frequently ambiguous, and do not uniformly and exclusively indicate their real causes. And though by them the idea of distance in general, or even of some particular distances, may be obtained; yet they never fill the mind with those vast and exalting ideas of extension which are inspired by ocular perception. For though a clap of thunder, or an explosion of ordnance, may be distinctly heard after they have traversed an immense region of space; yet, when the distance is uncommonly great, it ceases to be indicated by sound; and therefore the ideas, acquired by auricular experiment, of extension and interval, are extremely confused and inadequate. The living and comprehensive eye darts its instantaneous view over expansive valleys, lofty mountains, protracted rivers, illimitable oceans. It measures, in an indivisible point of time, the mighty space from earth to heaven, or from one star to another. By the assistance of telescopes, its horizon is almost indefinitely extended, its objects prodigiously multiplied, and the sphere of its observation nobly enlarged. By these means, the imagination, instructed to vast impressions of distance, can not only recall them in their greatest extent with as much rapidity as they were at first imbibed; but can multiply them, and add one to another, till all particular boundaries and distances be lost in immensity. Thus nature, by profusely irradiating the face of things, and clothing objects in a robe of diversified splendour, not only invites the understanding to expatiate on a theatre so extensive, so diversified, and so attractive; but entertains and inflames the imagination with every possible exhibition of the sublime or beautiful. The man of sight and colours beholds the objects of his attention and curiosity from far. Taught by experience, he measures their relative distances; distinguishes their qualities; determines the situations, positions, and attitudes; prefigures what these tokens may import; selects his favourites; traverses in security the space which divides them from him; stops at the point where they are placed; and either obtains them with ease, or immediately perceives the means by which the obstacles that intercept his passage to them may be surmounted. The blind not only may be, but really are, during a considerable period, apprehensive of danger in every motion towards any place from whence their contracted powers of perception can give them no intelligence. All the various modes of delicate proportion, all the beautiful varieties of light and colours, whether exhibited in the works of nature or art, are to them irretrievably lost. Dependent for every thing, but mere subsistence, on the good offices of others; obnoxious to injury from every point, which they are neither capacitated to perceive nor qualified to resist; they are, during the present state of being, rather to be considered as prisoners at large, than citizens of nature. The sedentary life, to which by privation privation of sight they are destined, relaxes their frame, and subjects them to all the disagreeable sensations which arise from dejection of spirits. Hence the most feeble exertions create latitude and uneasiness. Hence the native tone of the nervous system, which alone is compatible with health and pleasure, destroyed by in- activity, exasperates and embitters every disagreeable impression. Natural evils, however, are always sup- portable; they not only arise from blind and undefin- ing causes, but are either mild in their attacks, or short in their duration: it is the miseries which are inflicted by conscious and reflecting agents alone, that can de- serve the name of evils. These excruciate the soul with ineffable poignancy, as expressive of indifference or ma- lignity in those by whom such bitter portions are cruelly administered. The negligence or wantonness, there- fore, with which the blind are too frequently treated, is an enormity which God alone has justice to feel or power to punish.

Those amongst them who have had sensibility to feel, and capacity to express, the effects of their misfor- tunes, have described them in a manner capable of pe- netrating the most callous heart. The venerable father of epic poetry, who in the person of Demodocus the Phaeatian bard is said to have described his own situa- tion, proceeds thus:

"Tov περι Μυστ' επικον, δίδυ μ' ἀγαθῶν τε, κακῶν τε Οφθαλμον με αὐξάνεις, δίδυ δ' ὑπὸ νεᾶναι αἰωνίων."

Odys. 9

Dear to the muse, who gave his days to flow With mighty blessings mix'd with mighty woe, In clouds and darkness quench'd his visial ray, Yet gave him power to raise the lofty lay. Pope.

Milton, in his address to light, after a sublime descrip- tion of his arduous and gloomy journey from the re- gions of primeval darkness to this our visible diurnal sphere, thus continues to apostrophise the celestial beam:

"Taught by the heav'nly muse to venture down The dark descent, and up to reascend, Though hard and rare; thee I revisit safe, And feel thy sovereign vital lamp: but thou Revivest not these eyes, that roll in vain To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn; So thick a drop serene that quench'd their orbs, Or dim suffusion veil'd. Yet not the more Cease I to wander, where the muses haunt Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, Smit with the love of sacred song: but chief Thee, Sion, and the flow'ry brooks beneath, That wash thy hallow'd feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit; nor sometimes forget Those other two equall'd with me in fate, So were I equall'd with them in renown, Blind Thamyris, and blind Maeonides, And Tirestas and Phineus prophets old: Then feed on thoughts, that voluntary move Harmonious numbers; as the wakeful bird Sings darkling, and in shades covert hid Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year Seasons return; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, Or flight of vernal bloom, or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But cloud instead, and ever during dark,

Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a universal blank, Of nature's works to me expung'd and ras'd, And wildom at one entrance quite shut out.

Par. Lost, Book III.

The same inimitable author, in his tragedy of Sampson Agonistes, and in the person of his hero, deplores the misfortune of blindness with a pathos and energy suf- ficient to extort the deepest sighs from the most unfeel- ing hearts:

"But chief of all, O loss of sight, of thee I must complain! Blind among enemies, O worse than chains, Dungeon, or beggary, decrepit age. Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct, And all her various objects of delight Annul'd, which might in part my grief have eas'd, Inferior to the vilest now become Of man or worm. The vilest here excel me: They creep, yet see; I dark in light expos'd To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong, Within doors, or without, still as a fool, In power of others, never in my own; Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse Without all hope of day! O first created Beam, and thou great Word, Let there be light, and light was over all; Why am I thus bereav'd thy prime decree? The sun to me is dark, And silent, as the moon When she deserts the night, Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. Since light so necessary is to life, And almost life itself, if it be true That light is in the soul, She all in every part; why was the light To such a tender ball as th' eye confin'd? So obvious, and so easy to be quench'd? And not, as feeling, throughout all parts diffus'd, That she might look at will through ev'ry pore? Then had I not been thus exil'd from light, As in the land of darkness, yet in light To live a life half dead, a living death: And bury'd; but yet more miserable! Myself the sepulchre, a moving grave; Buried, yet not exempt By privilege of death and burial From worst of other evils, pains and wrongs, But made hereby obnoxious more To all the miseries of life.

Offian, the Caledonian bard, who lived before the authenticated history of his nation dates its origin, who in his old age participated the same calamity, has in more than one passage of his works described his situa- tion in a manner so delicate, yet so pathetic, that it pierces the inmost recesses and excites the finest feelings of the heart. Of these passages, take the following:

"O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of Offian, my fathers! whence are they beams, O sun! whence thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty, and the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon," moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone: who can be a companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows again; the moon herself is lost in heaven: but thou art for ever the same; rejoicing in the brightness of thy course. When the world is dark with tempests; when thunder rolls and lightning glances through the heavens; 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; and thy years will have an end: thou shalt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning.—Exult then, O sun, in the strength of thy youth! 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 howling blast of the north is on the plain, the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey.”

Thus dependent on every creature, and passive to every accident, can the world, the uncharitable world, be surprized to observe moments when the blind are at variance with themselves and every thing else around them? With the same instincts of self-preservation, the same irascible passions which are common to the species, and exasperated by a sense of debility either for retaliation or defense; can the blind be real objects of resentment or contempt, even when they seem peevish or vindictive? This, however, is not always their character. Their behaviour is often highly expressive, not only of resignation, but even of cheerfulness; and tho’ they are often coldly, and even unhappily, treated by men, yet are they rarely, if ever, forsaken of heaven.

The common Parent of nature, whose benignity is permanent as his existence and boundless as his empire, has neither left his afflicted creatures without consolation nor resource. Even from their lots, however oppressive and irretrievable, they derive advantages; not indeed adequate to recompense, but sufficient to alleviate, their misery. The attention of the foul, confined to these avenues of perception which she can command, is neither dissipated nor confounded by the immense multiplicity nor the rapid succession of surrounding objects. Hence her contemplations are more uniformly fixed upon herself, and the revolutions of her own internal frame. Hence her perceptions of such external things as are contiguous and obvious to her observation become more lively and exquisite. Hence even her instruments of corporeal sensation are more assiduously cultivated and improved, so that from them she derives such notices and preludes of approaching pleasure or impending danger as entirely escape the attention of those who depend for security on the reports of their eyes. A blind man, when walking swiftly, or running, is kindly and effectually checked by nature from rudely encountering such hard and extended objects as might hurt or bruise him. When he approaches bodies of this kind, he feels the atmosphere more sensibly resist his progress; and in proportion as his motion is accelerated, or his distance from the object diminished, the resistance is increased. He distinguishes the approach of his friend from far by the sound of his steps, by his manner of breathing, and almost by every audible token which he can exhibit. Prepared for the dangers which he may encounter from the surface of the ground upon which he walks, his step is habitually firm and cautious. Hence he not only avoids those falls which might be occasioned by its less formidable inequalities, but from its general bias he collects some ideas how far his safety is immediately concerned; and though these conjectures may be sometimes fallacious, yet they are generally so true, as to preserve him from such accidents as are not incurred by his own temerity. The rapid torrent and the deep cascade not only warn him to keep a proper distance, but inform him in what direction he moves, and are a kind of audible signposts to regulate his course. In places to which he has been accustomed, he as it were recognizes his latitude and longitude from every breath of varied fragrance that tingles the gale, from every ascent or declivity in the road, from every natural or artificial sound that strikes his ear; if these indications be stationary, and confined to particular places. Regulated by these signs, the blind have not only been known to perform long journeys themselves, but to conduct others through dangerous paths at the dark and silent hour of midnight, with the utmost security and exactness.

---

(a) We have read, in authors of good credit, of a very surprising blind guide who used to conduct the merchants through the sands and deserts of Arabia. Vide Leo Afric. Descri. Afr. lib. vi. p. 246, and Cafaub. Treat. of Enthuf. c. ii. p. 45.

An instance not less marvellous, exists at this present time, and in our own country. “John Metcalf, a native of the neighbourhood of Manchester, where he is well known, became blind at a very early age, so as to be entirely unconscious of light and its various effects. This man passed the younger part of his life as a waggoner, and occasionally 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 employment he has since undertaken is still more extraordinary: it is one of the last to which we could suppose a blind man would ever turn his attention. His present occupation is that of a 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 the roads over the Peak in Derbyshire, have been altered by his directions; particularly those in the vicinity of Buxton: and he is at this time constructing a new one between Wilmslow and Congleton, with a view to open a communication to the great London road, without being obliged to pass over the mountains.” Account by Dr Brew, published in the Transactions of the Manchester Society. It were endless to recapitulate the various mechanical operations of which they are capable, by their nicety and accuracy of touch. In some the tactile powers are said to have been so highly improved, as to perceive that texture and disposition of coloured surfaces by which some rays of light are reflected and others absorbed, and in this manner to distinguish colours. But the testimonies for this fact still appear to us too vague and general to deserve public credit. We have known a person who lost the use of his sight at an early period of infancy, who in the vivacity or delicacy of his sensations was not perhaps inferior to any one, and who had often heard of others in his own situation capable of distinguishing colours by touch with the utmost exactness and promptitude. Stimulated, therefore, partly by curiosity to acquire a new train of ideas, if that acquisition were possible; but still more by incredulity with respect to the facts related; he tried repeated experiments, by touching the surfaces of different bodies, and examining whether any such diversities could be found in them as might enable him to distinguish colours: but no such diversity could he ever ascertain. Sometimes, indeed, he imagined that objects which had no colour, or, in other words, such as were black, were somewhat different and peculiar in their surfaces; but this experiment did not always nor universally hold. His scepticism therefore still continues to prevail (b).

That their acoustic perceptions are distinct and accurate, we may fairly conclude from the rapidity with which they ascertain the acuteness or gravity of different tones, as relative one to another; and from their exact discernment of the various kinds and modifications of sound, and of sonorous objects, if the sounds themselves be in any degree significant of their causes. From this vivacity and accuracy of external sensation, and from the affusive and vigorous applications of a comprehensive and attentive mind alone, we are able to account for the rapid and astonishing progress which some of them have made, not only in those departments of literature which were most obvious to their senses and accessible to their understandings, but even in the abstractest, and (if we may be allowed the expression) in the most occult sciences.

What, for instance, can be more remote from the conceptions of a blind man than the abstract relations and properties of space and quantity? yet the incomprehensible attainments of Dr Saunderson in all the abstract branches of mathematics are now fully known and learning, firmly believed by the whole literary world, both from the testimony of his pupils and the publication of his works. But should the fact be still uncertain, it might be sufficiently verified by a living prodigy of this kind with which our country is at present honoured. The gentleman of whom we now speak, though blind from his infancy, by the ardour and assiduity of his application, and by the force of a genius to which nothing is impenetrable, has not only made incredible advances in mechanical operations, in music, and in the languages; but is likewise profoundly skilled in geometry, in optics, in algebra, in astronomy, in chemistry, and in all the other branches of natural philosophy as taught by Newton and received by an admiring world. We are sorry that neither the modesty of this amiable philosopher, nor the limits of this article, will permit us to delineate his character in its full proportions. All we can do is to exhibit his example, that by it the vulgar prejudice, which presumes to think blindness and learning incompatible, may be dissipated; and that an instance of success so noble and recent may inflame the emulation and encourage the efforts of such as have genius and opportunity to pursue the same laudable path (c). If these glorious attempts should neither be

(b) See, however, the extraordinary case subjoined to this article.

(c) As particular anecdotes of this astonishing genius have been, since the former edition of the Encyclopaedia, delivered to the Manchester Society by G. Bew, M. D. and afterwards published, we shall here take the liberty to transcribe them from the original volume in which they are inserted, as this freedom is authorized by a letter from Dr Bew's own hand.

"Dr Henry Moyes, who occasionally read Lectures on Philosophical Chemistry at Manchester, like Dr Saunderson, the celebrated professor of Cambridge, lost his sight by the small-pox in his early infancy. He never recollected to have seen: 'but the first traces of memory I have (says he), are in some confused ideas of the solar system.' He had the good fortune to be born in a country where learning of every kind is highly cultivated, and to be brought up in a family devoted to learning.

"Possessed of native genius, and ardent in his application, he made rapid advances in various departments of erudition; and not only acquired the fundamental principles of mechanics, music, and the languages, but likewise entered deeply into the investigation of the profounder sciences, and displayed an acute and general knowledge of geometry, optics, algebra, astronomy, chemistry, and in short of most of the branches of the Newtonian philosophy.

"Mechanical exercises were the favourite employments of his infant years. At a very early age he made himself acquainted with the use of edged tools so perfectly, that notwithstanding his entire blindness, he was able to make little wind-mills; and he even constructed a loom with his own hands, which still show the cicatrices of wounds he received in the execution of these juvenile exploits.

"By a most agreeable intimacy and frequent intercourse which I enjoyed with this accomplished blind gentleman, whilst he resided in Manchester, I had an opportunity of repeatedly observing the peculiar manner in which he arranged his ideas and acquired his information. Whenever he was introduced into company, I remarked that he continued some time silent. The sound directed him to judge of the dimensions of the room, and the different voices of the number of persons that were present. His distinction in these respects was very accurate; and his memory so retentive, that he seldom was mistaken. I have known him instantly recognize a person, on first hearing him speak, though more than two years had elapsed since the time of their last meeting." perceived nor rewarded by an unfeeling world, if human nature should forget to recognize its own excellence so nobly displayed in instances of this kind; yet besides the enjoyments resulting from a sublime and comprehensive understanding, besides the immortal and inexhaustible sources of delight which are the peculiar portion of a self-approving mind, these happy pupils and favourites of Nature are as it were indulged with her personal intercourse. They become more intimately acquainted with her laws, till by exploring the beneficence of her economy, the subltnity of her ends, the regularity of her procedure, and the beauties of her frame, they imbibe the spirit, and feel the presence, of her glorious Author:

By swift degrees the love of nature works, And warms the bosom; till at last, sublim'd To rapture and enthusiastic heat, We feel the present deity, and taste The joys of God to see a happy world.

Thomson.

Much labour has been bestowed to investigate, both from reason a priori and from experiment, what might be the primary effects of light and luminous objects upon such as have been born blind, or early deprived of sight, if at a maturer period they should instantaneously recover their visual powers. But upon this topic there is much reason to fear, that nothing satisfactory has yet been said. The fallacy of hypotheses and conjecture, when formed a priori with respect to any organ of corporeal sensation and its proper object, is too obvious to demand illustration. But from the nature of the eye, and the mediums of its perception, to attempt an investigation of the various and multiform phenomena of vision, or even of the varieties of which every particular phenomenon is susceptible according as the circumstances of its appearance are diversified, would be a project worthy of philosophy in a delirium. Nay, even the discoveries which are said to accrue from experiment, may still be held as extremely doubtful and suspicious; because in these experiments it does not appear to have been ascertained, that the organs to which visible objects were presented immediately after chirurgical operations, could be in a proper state to perceive them. Yet after all, it is extremely probable, that figure, distance, and magnitude, are not immediate objects of ocular sensation, but acquired and adjusted by long and reiterated experience (d). There are, however, many desiderata, which the perceptions of a man born blind might considerably illustrate, if his instruments of vision were in a right state, and assisted by a proper medium. Such a person might perhaps give a clearer account, why objects, whose pictures are inverted upon the retina of the eye, should appear to the mind in their real positions; or why, though each particular object is painted upon the retina of both our eyes, it should only be perceived as single. Perhaps, too, this new spectator of visible nature might equally amuse our curiosity and improve our theory, by attempting to describe his earliest sensations of colour, and its original effects upon his organ and his fancy. But, as we have already hinted, it is far from being certain, that trials of this kind have ever been fairly made. Such readers as may wish to see a more minute detail of these questions, may consult M. Diderot's Lettre sur les aveugles, a l'usage de ceux qui Diderot's voyent: "A letter concerning the blind for the use of Works, those who see." To these may be added, Mr Chefsel Vol. II., den's Anatomy, and Locke's Essay on the human understanding.

When we ruminate on the numberless advantages derived from the use of sight, and its immense importance,

He determined pretty nearly the stature of those he was speaking with by the direction of their voices; and he made tolerable conjectures respecting their tempers and dispositions, by the manner in which they conducted their conversation.

"It must be observed, that this gentleman's eyes were not totally insensible to intense light. The rays refracted through a prism, when sufficiently vivid, produced certain distinguishable effects on them. The red gave him a disagreeable sensation, which he compared to the touch of a saw. As the colours declined in violence, the harshness lessened, until the green afforded a sensation that was highly pleasing to him, and which he described as conveying an idea similar to what he felt in running his hand over smooth polished surfaces. Polished surfaces, meandering streams, and gentle declivities, were the figures by which he expressed his ideas of beauty: Rugged rocks, irregular points, and boisterous elements, furnished him with expressions for terror and disgust. He excelled in the charms of conversation; was happy in his allusions to visual objects; and discoursed on the nature, composition, and beauty of colours, with pertinence and precision.

"Doctor Moyes was a striking instance of the power the human soul possesses of finding resources of satisfaction, even under the most rigorous calamities. Though involved 'in ever during darkness,' and excluded from the charming views of silent or animated nature; though dependent on an undertaking for the means of his subsistence, the success of which was very precarious; in short, though destitute of other support than his genius, and under the mercenary protection of a person whose integrity he suspected, till Dr Moyes was generally cheerful, and apparently happy. Indeed it must afford much pleasure to the feeling heart to observe this hilarity of temper prevail almost universally with the blind. Though 'cut off from the ways of men, and the contemplation of the human face divine,' they have this consolation; they are exempt from the discernment and contagious influence of those painful emotions of the soul that are visible on the countenance, and which hypocrisy itself can scarcely conceal. This disposition likewise may be considered as an internal evidence of the native worth of the human mind, that thus supports its dignity and cheerfulness under one of the severest misfortunes that can possibly befall us."

(d) The gentleman crouched by Mr Chefsel, had no idea of distance; but thought that all the objects he saw, touched his eyes, as what he felt did his skin. It was also a considerable time before he could remember which was the cat and which the dog, though often informed, without first feeling them. ance, in extending the human capacity, or in improving and cultivating every faculty and every function of the mind, we might be strongly tempted to doubt the fidelity of those reports which we have heard concerning such persons as, without the assistance of light, have arrived at high degrees of eminence even in those sciences which appear absolutely unattainable but by the interposition of external mediums. It has, however, been demonstrated by a late ingenious author, that blind men, by proper instruction, are susceptible almost of every idea, and of every truth which can be impressed on the mind by the mediation of light and colours, except the sensations of light and colours themselves.

Yet there is one phenomenon of this kind which seems to have escaped the attention of that great philosopher, and for which no author either of this or any former period has been able to offer any tolerable account. Still, however, it seems to merit the attention of a philosopher. For though we should admit, that the blind can understand with great perspicuity all the phenomena of light and colours; though it were allowed, that in these subjects they might extend their speculations beyond their instructions, and investigate the mechanical principles of optics by the mere force of genius and application, from the data which they had already obtained; yet it will be difficult, if not impossible, to assign any reason why these objects should be more interesting to a blind man than any other abstract truths whatever. It is possible for the blind, by a retentive memory, to tell you, That the sky is an azure; that the sun, moon, and stars, are bright; that the rose is red, the lily white or yellow, and the tulip variegated. By continually hearing these substantives and adjectives joined, he may be mechanically taught to join them in the same manner: but as he never had any sensation of colour, however accurately he may speak of coloured objects, his language must be like that of a parrot; without meaning, or without ideas. Homer, Milton, and Ossian, had been long acquainted with the visible world before they were surrounded with clouds and ever-during darkness. They might, therefore, still retain the warm and pleasing impressions of what they had seen. Their descriptions might be animated with all the rapture and enthusiasm which originally fired their bosoms when the grand or delightful objects which they delineated were immediately beheld. Nay, that enthusiasm might still be heightened by a bitter sense of their loss, and by that regret which a situation so dismal might naturally inspire. But how shall we account for the same energy, the same transport of description, exhibited by those on whose minds visible objects were either never impressed, or have been entirely obliterated? Yet, however unaccountable this fact may appear, it is no less certain than extraordinary. But delicacy and other particular circumstances forbid us to enter into this disquisition with that minuteness and precision which it requires. We only mention the fact as one amongst the few resources for entertainment, and avenues to reputation, which are still referred for the blind. Whoever thinks the subject of sufficient consequence to merit a nicer scrutiny, may consult the

Preface to Blacklock's Poems, written by G. G. Esq., and printed at Edinburgh 1754; or the account of his life and writings by the Rev. Mr. Spence, prefixed to a quarto edition of his poems published at London in 1756.

It is hoped, however, that we shall not be suspected of partiality for inferring a character of the same author by one who was a foreigner, a stranger to his person, and professedly in his favour by his works alone.

"Blacklock will appear to posterity a fabulous character: even now he is a prodigy. It will be thought a fiction and a paradox, that a man quite blind since he was three years old (f), besides having made himself so good a master of various languages, of Greek, Latin, Italian, and French, should also be a great poet in his own; and without hardly ever having seen the light, should be so remarkably happy in description."

It is impossible to enter into a detail of particulars with respect to the education of the blind. These must be left to be determined by the genius, the capacity, the circumstances, of those to whom the general rules which may be given should be applied. Much therefore must depend on their fortunes, much on their temper and genius; for unless these particulars were the blind, known, every answer which could be given to questions of this kind must be extremely general, and of consequence extremely superficial. Besides, the talk is so much more arduous, because whoever attempts it can expect to derive no assistance from those who have written on education before him: And though the blind have excelled in more than one science; yet, except in the case of Saunderson, professor of mathematics in the university of Cambridge, concerning whom we shall afterwards have occasion to speak, it does not appear, that any of them have been conducted to that degree of eminence, at which they arrived, upon a premeditated plan. One should rather imagine, that they have been led through the general course and ordinary forms of discipline; and that, if any circumstances were favourable to their genius, they rather proceeded from accident than design.

This fact, if not supported by irrefragable evidence, should, for the honour of human nature, have been suppressed. When contemplated by a man of benevolence and understanding, it is not easy to guess whether his mortification or astonishment would be most sensibly felt. If a heart that glows with real philanthropy must feel for the whole vital creation, and become, in some measure, the benefactor of every suffering insect or reptile; how must our sympathy increase in tenderness and force, when the disfranchised individuals of our own species become its objects? Nor do the blind bear so small a proportion to the whole community, as, even in a political view, to be neglected. But in this, as in every other political crime, the punishment returns upon the society in which it is committed. Those abandoned and unimproved beings, who, under the influence of proper culture and discipline, might have successfully concurred in producing and augmenting the general welfare, become the nuisances and burdens of those very societies who have neglected them.

---

(f) The author is here mistaken: Dr Blacklock only saw the light for five months. There is perhaps no rank of beings in the sensible universe, who have suffered from nature or accident, more meritorious of public compassion, or better qualified to repay its generous exertions, than the blind. They are meritorious of compassion; for their sphere of action and observation is infinitely more limited than that of the deaf, the lame, or of those who labour under any other corporeal infirmity consistent with health. They are better qualified to repay any friendly interposition for their happiness; because, free from the distraction which attends that multiplicity of objects and pursuits that are continually obvious to the sight, they are more attentive to their own internal economy, to the particular notices of good and evil impressed on their hearts, and to that peculiar province in which they are circumscribed by the nature and cultivation of their powers.

It will easily occur to the reader, that, if the pupil should not be placed in easy circumstances, music is his readiest and most probable resource. Civil and ecclesiastical employments have either something in their own nature, or in the invincible prejudices of mankind, which renders them almost entirely inaccessible to those who have lost the use of sight. No liberal and cultivated mind can entertain the least hesitation in concluding, that there is nothing, either in the nature of things, or even in the positive institutions of genuine religion, repugnant to the idea of a blind clergyman. But the novelty of the phenomenon, while it astonishes vulgar and contracted understandings, inflames their zeal to rage and madness. Besides, the adventitious trappings and ceremonies assumed by some churches as the drapery of religion, would, according to these systems, render the sacred office painful, if not impracticable, to the blind.

We have, some years ago, read of a blind gentleman*, descended from the same family with the celebrated lord Verulam, who, in the city of Brussels, was with high approbation created doctor of laws; since that period we have been honoured with his correspondence. He was deprived of sight at nine years of age by an arrow from a cross-bow whilst he was attempting to shoot it. When he had recovered his health, which had suffered by the shock, he pursued the same plan of education in which he had been engaged: and having heard that one Nicasius de Vourde, born blind, who lived towards the end of the 15th century, after having distinguished himself by his studies in the university of Lovain, took his degree as doctor of divinity in the university of Cologne; this motive prevailed with him to make the same attempt. But the public, cursed with prejudices for which the meanest sensitive nature might blush, prejudices equally beneath the brutality and ignorance of the lowest animal instinct, treated his intention with ridicule: even the professors were not far from being of that sentiment; and they admitted him into their schools, rather from an impression that it might amuse him, than become of any use to him. He had the good fortune, however, contrary to their expectations, to obtain the first places among his confreres. It was then said, that such rapid advances might be made in the preliminary branches of his education; but would soon be effectually checked by studies of a more profound and abstracted nature. This, it seems, was repeated from school to school, through the whole climax of his pursuits; and when, in the course of academical learning, it became necessary to study poetry, it was the general voice that all was over, and that at length he had reached his ne plus ultra. But here he likewise confronted their professions, and taught them the immense difference between blindness of body and blindness of soul. After continuing his studies in learning and philosophy for two years more, he applied himself to law, took his degree in that science, commenced pleading counsellor or advocate in the council of Brabant, and has had the pleasure of terminating almost every suit in which he has been engaged to the satisfaction of his clients.

Had it not been for a fact so striking and so well authenticated, though there could have been no doubt that a blind-man might discharge the office of a chamber-counsellor with success; yet, as a barrister, his difficulties must have appeared more formidable, if not absolutely insuperable. For he should remember all the sources, whether in natural equity or positive institutions, whether in common or statutory law, from whence his argument ought to be drawn. He must be able to specify, and to arrange in their proper order, all the material objections of his antagonists; these he must likewise answer as they were proposed, extempore.

When, therefore, it is considered how difficult it is to temper the natural associations of memory with the artificial arrangements of judgment, the deftly flights of imagination with the calm and regular deductions of reason, the energy and perturbation of passion with the coolness and tranquillity of deliberation; some idea may be formed of the arduous task which every blind man must achieve, who undertakes to pursue the law as a profession. Perhaps affinities might be drawn from Cicero's treatise on Topics and on Invention; which if happily applied and improved, might lessen the disparity of a blind man to others, but could scarcely place him on an equal footing with his brethren. And it ought to be fixed as an inviolable maxim, that no blind man ought ever to engage in any province in which it is not in his power to excel. This may at first sight appear paradoxical; but it is easily explained. For the blind, the consciousness of the obvious advantages possessed naturally by others, habitually predisposes a blind man to despondency; and if he ever gives way to despair (which he will be too apt to do when pursuing any acquisition be stimulated where others have a better chance of success than himself), adieu, for ever adieu, to all proficiency. His attainable foul sinks into irretrievable depression; his abortive attempts incessantly prey upon his spirit; and he not only loses that vigour and elasticity of mind which are necessary to carry him through life, but that patience and serenity which alone can qualify him to enjoy it.

In this recapitulation of the learned professions, we have intentionally omitted physic; because the obstructions which a blind man must encounter, whether practical in the theory or practice of that art, will be more easily conceived by our readers than described in detail. From this, therefore, let us pass to more general subjects.

It has been formerly hinted, that the blind were objects of compassion, because their spheres of action and observation were limited: and this is certainly true. For what is human existence, in its present state, if you deprive it of action and contemplation? Nothing then remains but the distinction which we derive from form or from sensitive and locomotive powers. But for these, unless directed to happier ends by superior faculties, few rational beings would, in our opinion, be grateful. The most important view, therefore, which we can entertain in the education of a person deprived of sight, is to redress as effectually as possible the natural disadvantages with which he is encumbered; or, in other words, to enlarge, as far as possible the sphere of his knowledge and activity. This can only be done by the improvement of his intellectual, imaginative, or mechanical, powers; and which of these ought to be most affluently cultivated, the genius of every individual alone can determine. Were men to judge of things by their intrinsic natures, less would be expected from the blind than others. But, by some pernicious and unaccountable prejudice, people generally hope to find them either possessed of supernatural talents, or more attentive to those which they have than others; For it was not Rochester's opinion alone,

That if one sense should be suppress'd, It but retires into the rest.

Hence it unluckily happens, that blind men, who in common life are too often regarded as rarities, when they do not gratify the extravagant expectations of their spectators, too frequently sink in the general opinion, and appear much less considerable and meritorious than they really are. This general diffidence of their powers at once deprives them both of opportunity and spirit to exert themselves; and they descend, at last, to that degree of insignificance in which the public estimate has fixed them. From the original dawning, therefore, of reason and spirit, the parents and tutors of the blind ought to inculcate this maxim, That it is their indispensible duty to excel, and that it is absolutely in their power to attain a high degree of eminence. To impress this notion on their minds, the first objects presented to their observation, and the first methods of improvement applied to their understanding, ought, with no great difficulty, to be comprehensible by those internal powers and external senses which they possess. Not that improvement should be rendered quite easy to them, if such a plan were possible: For all difficulties, which are not really or apparently insuperable, heighten the charms and enhance the value of those acquisitions which they seem to retard. But care should be taken that these difficulties be not magnified or exaggerated by imagination; for it has before been mentioned, that the blind have a painful sense of their own incapacity, and consequently a strong propensity to despair continually awake in their minds. For this reason, parents and relations ought never to be too ready in offering their assistance to the blind in any office which they can perform, or in any acquisition which they can procure for themselves, whether they are prompted by amusement or necessity. Let a blind boy be permitted to walk through the neighbourhood without a guide, not only though he should run some hazard, but even though he should suffer some pain.

If he has a mechanical turn, let him not be denied the use of edge-tools; for it is better that he should lose a little blood, or even break a bone, than be perpetually confined to the same place, debilitated in his frame, and depressed in his mind. Such a being can have no employment but to feel his own weaknesses, and become his own tormentor; or to transfer to others all the malignity and peevishness arising from the natural aversions, or imaginary evils which he feels. Scars, fractures, and dislocations in his body, are trivial misfortunes compared with imbecility, timidity, or fretfulness of mind. Besides the sensible and dreadful effects which inactivity must have in relaxing the nerves and consequently in depressing the spirits, nothing can be more productive of jealousy, envy, peevishness, and every passion that corrodes the soul to agony, than a painful impression of dependence on others, and of our insufficiency for our own happiness. This impression, which, even in his most improved state, will be too deeply felt by every blind man, is redoubled by that utter incapacity of action which must result from the officious humanity of those who would anticipate or supply all his wants, who would prevent all his motions, who would do or procure everything for him without his own interposition. It is the course of nature, that blind people, as well as others, should survive their parents; or, it may happen, that they should likewise survive those who, by the ties of blood and nature, are more immediately interested in their happiness than the rest of mankind. When, therefore, they fall into the hands of the world in general, such exigences as they themselves cannot redress will be but coldly and languidly supplied by others. Their expectations will be high and frequent, their disappointments many and sensible; their petitions will often be refused, seldom fully gratified; and, even when granted, the concession will be so ungraceful, as to render its want infinitely more tolerable than its fruition. For all these reasons, we repeat it once more (because it can never be too frequently reiterated), that, in the formation of a blind man, it is infinitely better to direct than supercede his own exertions. From the time that he can move and feel, let him be taught to supply his own exigences; to dress and feed himself; to run from place to place, either for exercise, or in pursuit of his own toys or necessaries.

In these excursions, however, it will be highly proper for his parent or tutor to superintend his motions at a distance, without seeming to watch over him. A vigilance too apparent, may impress him with a notion that malignity or some other selfish motive may have produced it. When dangers are obvious and great, such as we incur by rivers, precipices, &c. those who are entrusted with the blind will find it neither necessary nor expedient to make their vigilance a secret. They ought then to acquaint their pupil, that they are present with him; and to interpose for his preservation, whenever his temerity renders it necessary. But objects of a nature less noxious, which may give him some pain without any permanent injury or mutilation, may with design be thrown in his way; providing, however, that this design be always indistinctly concealed. For his own experience of their bad effects will be an infinitely more eloquent and sensible monitor, than the abstract and frigid counsels of any adviser whatever.

When the volatile season of puerile amusement is expired, expired, and the impetuous hurry of animal-spirits subsides, through the whole demeanour of his pupil the tutor will probably observe a more sensible degree of timidity and precaution, and his activity will then require to be stimulated more than restrained. In this crisis, exercise will be found requisite, rather to preserve health, and facilitate the vital functions, than merely for recreation. Of all the different kinds of exercise, riding, not in a machine, but on horseback, is by far the most eligible, and most productive of its end. On these occasions, however, care must be taken that the horses employed may neither be capricious nor unmanageable; for on the manufacture of the creature which he rides, not only his safety, but his confidence, will entirely depend. In these expeditions, whether long or short, his companion or attendant ought constantly to be with him; and the horse should always either be taught implicitly to follow its guide, or be conducted by a leading rein besides the bridle which he himself holds. Next to this mode of exercise, is walking in walking. If the constitution of the blind boy be tolerably robust, let him be taught to endure every vicissitude of weather which the human species can bear with impunity. For if he has been bred with too much delicacy, particular accidents may supercede all his former scruples, and subject him to the necessity of suffering what will not only be severe in its immediate sensation, but dangerous in its future consequences. Yet, when the cold is so intense, or the elements so tempestuous, as to render air and exercise abroad impracticable, there are methods of domestic exercise, which, though not equally salutary, may still be eligible; such as dumb-bells, or the bath-chair. The first of these are made of lead, consisting of a cylinder, the middle of which may either be rectilinear or arcuated for the convenience of holding, and terminates at each end in a fenestrated bulbous mass. Their weight should be conformable to the strength and age of the person who uses them. The method of employing them is to take one in each hand, and swing them backwards and forwards over his head, describing a figure somewhat like a parabola. This not only strengthens the arms, and opens the chest, but promotes the circulation of the fluids. The bath-chair is a deal of 12 feet in length, as free from knots and as elastic as possible, supported by a fulcrum at each end, upon which may be placed two rolling cylinders to give it greater play; when seated upon this, by alternately depressing it with his own weight, and suffering it to return to its natural situation, he gives himself a motion, though not equal in its energy, yet somewhat resembling the trot of a horse. There are other elastic seats of the same kind constructed with steel springs, but one of this simple fabrication may answer the purpose.

The spring deal here recommended by the author, was preferred, as being suitable to the blind in all spheres or conditions of life; but he has since been taught by experience, in a valetudinary state, that the elastic chair is of infinitely greater utility. It consists of three false bottoms, and one real, which is the basis of the whole. The lowest is by far the most extensive. The highest is stuffed to render it an easy seat, and covered with plush, baize, or duffle. Between each of the false bottoms, at either end, behind and before, are placed steel springs, fixed above and below to the boards; not with nails, but staples, and curved in a spiral or serpentine form, each consisting of seven spires or volumina. The volumina are formed in such a manner, that one of them can pass through another, and thus give the springs full play in rising or descending. The lowest bottom or basis of the whole is prolonged about four inches; which assists you to mount the seat with more facility, and serves as a support for your feet when you ride. This operation is performed by alternately depressing or raising yourself upon the seat, so that the springs yielding to your weight as you descend, and resisting as you rise, may give you a motion like that of the deal above described, but more violent, more rapid, and consequently more salutary. The whole frame of the seat is surrounded with leather, having different apertures to admit or eject the air occasioned by the motion. These general hints are sufficient to give any ingenious artisan an idea of the nature and structure of the machine, which he may alter or improve as convenience shall dictate.

To these modes of domestic exercise may be added that of a swing, which is formed by a rope suspended from two screws, which ought to be strongly fixed, at proper distances, in the joints of a capacious chamber, with a board and a cushion for a seat, and cords fastened behind and before, lest the impetuosity of the motion should shake the patient out of his position. But this instrument of health is so often formed by children for their amusement, and depends so much upon the form and extent of the area where it vibrates, that a more minute detail of its nature and office would here be unnecessary.

His meals should be temperate, his diet light and diet of easy digestion. If the tone of his stomach be vigorous, vegetables should be preferred to animal-food, particularly those vegetables which are most farinaceous and least acidulent. Fermented liquors and ardent spirits should never be given him but to gratify the real demands of exhausted nature; for though they exhilarate the spirits, they at the same time corrode the vessels and relax the nerves; a misfortune doubly pernicious to sedentary life. The safest and most wholesome beverages are milk and water. If he should be tired with these, he may be indulged with the variety of chocolate, balm, sage, or ground-ivy. Coffee may sometimes be taken with impunity; but tea should be interdicted with inflexible severity; for no vegetable juice under heaven is more noxious to sedentary people. Let him also, for similar reasons, be prohibited the use of tobacco in all its forms. In the observations of diet and exercise, let him neither be mechanically regular, nor entirely eccentric. In the one case, he will be a slave to habit, which may create some inconvenience; in the other, he will form no habits at all, which may still be productive of greater.

We have more than once hinted, during the course of this article, that the blind, as liable to all the inconveniences of sedentary life, are peculiarly subjected to that disorder which may be called *tedium vitae* or low spirits. This indisposition may be said to comprehend in it all the other diseases and evils of human life; because, by its immediate influence on the mind, it aggravates the weight and bitterness of every calamity to which we are obnoxious. In a private letter, we have heard it described as a formidable precipice; in the regions of misery, between the awful gulfs of suicide on the one hand and phrenzy on the other; into either of which, a gentle breeze, according to the force of its impulse and the line of its direction, may irrecoverably plunge the unhappy victim; yet from both of which he may providentially escape. Though the shades of the metaphor may, perhaps, be unnaturally deepened, yet those who have felt the force of the malady will not fail to represent it by the most dreadful images which its own feelings can suggest.

Parents and tutors therefore, if they have the least pretence to conscience or humanity, cannot be too careful in observing and obviating the first symptoms of this impending plague. If the limbs of your blind child or pupil be tremulous; if he is apt to start, and easily susceptible of surprise; if he finds it difficult to sleep; if his slumber, when commenced, are frequently interrupted, and attended with perturbation; if his ordinary exercises appear to him more terrible and more insuperable than usual; if his appetites become languid and his digestion slow; if agreeable occurrences give him less pleasure, and adverse events more pain than they ought to inspire;—this is the crisis of vigorous interposition. The regimen and exercise above preferred are the best preventatives of this evil, and perhaps its best remedies when unhappily incurred. But if the symptoms should escape your attention till the patient is actually seized with the distemper, you may then, according to its depth and permanency, apply the cold bath, vitriolic acid, and Peruvian bark. Magnesia alba will, from time to time, be found useful to lenify the fever and corrosive acid generated in the stomach; it is preferable to chalk, to crab's eyes, or to any of the other absorbents, because of its laxative tendency. The tincture or infusion of wild valerian, pills of afaeetida, and white mustard-seed, are likewise preferred. Care should be taken that the patient may never be suffered to remain alive, otherwise the function of digestion will be impeded. Gentle cathartics should therefore be administered; but with caution, that their operation may clear the bowels without weakening nature. Emetics may sometimes give the patient a temporary relief, by exerting and bracing the fibres of the stomach; but if used too frequently, they will have a contrary effect: previous to the use of bark, however, they should always be taken to prepare the vessel for its reception. The symptoms above enumerated would seem to indicate the origin of the distemper from extreme weakness or relaxation of nerves: that relaxation may be caused by fever and intemperate thought; by supine indolence; by excessive or habitual drinking; and above all, by venereal gratifications prematurely and frequently indulged, by which the approaches of this evil are accelerated, its continuance insured, and its poignancy augmented. Parents and tutors, therefore, as they value the welfare of their charge, and would answer to God for their conduct, should be scrupulously careful to observe when any of these illegitimate propensities inflame the youthful mind, to check, or rather elude them; not so much by severe reprehension and solemn interdict, as by endeavouring to preoccupy the soul, and engage the intention with other favourite amusements. Against every act of arbitrary power, the mind strongly and naturally revolts. She should therefore be rather allured to wisdom and virtue, by rational motives and gentle methods, than by cruel menaces and stern commands. Those who are afflicted with low spirits may be said to be doubly unfortunate; for they have not only their own internal sufferings to sustain, but the contempt and ridicule of a thoughtless and unfeeling world, by whom their complaints are thought to be imaginary; and their depression affected. Should the sarcastic or sceptical reader apologize for his want of humanity, by asking in what these internal sufferings consist; it will be easy to give him a clear and solid answer: They arise from a fever and acute feeling of nature's incapacity to discharge the vital functions with tolerable ease; from the sharp and constant irritation inflicted on the stomach and lower intestines by every thing not sweet or inipid that passes through them; and from a degree of sensibility too exquisite for the precarious and fluctuating state of our nature: these are the vindictive, inexorable demons that arm every thought with the stings of scorpions, and render the sense of existence itself insupportable. We have heard of hypochondriacs who thought themselves made of glass; and of others who believed their persons grown to a size so enormous, that they could not enter into any door: but it has never been our fortune to be personally acquainted with any of these fantasies. Those with whom we have conversed were rather inclined to exaggerate real, than to create imaginary, evils; rather to anticipate gloomy possibilities, than to dwell upon improbable or chimerical catastrophes: the tender parent, therefore, or the faithful guardian, will beware of treating them with neglect or levity. He will suit his conversation, as much as possible, to the present tone of their feelings; he will avoid all innovations in their management, except such as are absolutely necessary for their cure.

Be careful never to reason nor expostulate with your patient on the nature of his malady. Tell him not that his uneasy feelings, far from being real, are the fictitious impositions of a depraved fancy. His disagreeable sensations will be more than sufficient to demonstrate the fallacy of your affections: thus your argumentative and persuasive powers will not only be exerted in vain, but may considerably retard, if not finally prevent, his recovery; and may leave such indelible prejudices against you, in his mind, as no length of time, no vicissitudes of life, will ever be able to efface. Opium has also been recommended; but excepting desperate cases, it will be found a fallacious and dangerous remedy:—fallacious, because the case it gives is only temporary, and infallibly succeeded by sharper paroxysms:—dangerous, because it may be rendered habitual, and subject the patient to unmixed torment when omitted. Though we have already inculcated a regimen and exercise which appeared proper for the blind in general, and not incompatible with peculiar situations, it still seems necessary to add a few results of painful experience upon these subjects, as being particularly conducive to the present ease and future amendment of such as labour under the diseases now in question. And first, let it be observed, that animal food is their proper nutriment, as being of easiest digestion; better too, if well done upon the spit or gridiron: for instead of being allowed to imbibe adventitious adventitious fluids, it should be as much as possible drained of its own; neither should it be too fat: beef, mutton, or fowls, arrived at maturity, give the stomach least labour; veal, lamb, chickens, and every other kind of young meat, answer the purposes of nature with more difficulty, as the parts are not only too succulent, but prevented by their softness and lubricity from acting forcibly one upon another to facilitate the efforts of the stomach in digestion. Of all vegetable substances, white bread is perhaps the only ingredient which they can eat with the greatest impunity; and even this would still be safer were the paste formed with as little water as possible, and prepared without fermentation. Whether eggs are vegetable or animal substances, let physicians determine; but this we know, that by people in low spirits they may be eaten, even at supper, with great impunity. Every other herb or root is not only extremely flatulent, but productive of that sharp and intense acid for which we have formerly preferred magnesia as the best remedy. Patients of this description should rather be frequent than liberal in their meals, and scrupulously careful of all heterogeneous mixture. Their most eligible beverage, except simple water, if they can afford it, is port wine, as being least convertible into that poignant fluid; porter likewise, if not stale, may, by its strength and bitterness, assist the action of the stomach. Neither of these fermented liquors should be taken in large quantities at once: let the clamours of nature be satisfied, and no more; for if the spirits are unnaturally elevated, they will be certain to sink proportionably when the stimulus ceases to operate. The moderate use of genuine rum or brandy, properly diluted, when the other liquors cannot be had, may be productive of good effects, but should never be used at or near natural periods of repose; because, even when diluted, they occasion a febricity or pyrexia, incompatible with sound and refreshing sleep. Care should likewise be taken that the patient may never be too much warmed, either by cloaths or exercise, especially when in bed. Exertions of body, particularly in the open air, are indispensably necessary for promoting digestion and acquiring strength; but should never be carried to fatigue. The mind should likewise be diverted from attention to itself and its disorder, by reading and conversation. But there is an uncommon degree of discernment and delicacy requisite in the topics, that they may neither be too cheerful nor too serious, for the state of the mind, when they are applied. Neither let these injunctions be esteemed trivial: such little attentions, uniformly and tenderly exerted for their satisfaction, will contribute in no small degree to their present tranquillity, and of consequence to their future restoration. We have thought it necessary to expatiate thus far, on a subject gloomy and forbidding in itself, but of sufficient importance to demand particular attention; and, besides, what we have said may not only be useful to the blind in particular, but applicable to all those who labour under the same depression. It only remains to add, that the order, the periods, and the quantities, in which the remedies above enumerated should be applied, must be determined by wisdom and experience, or regulated by the advice of a skilful and vigilant physician. We are sorry that truth obliges us to acknowledge, that we have found the faculty less intelligent in this disease, and less attentive to its various aspects, than could be wished, or than its malignancy requires.

The natural curiosity of children renders them extremely and indefatigably inquisitive. This disposition is often peculiarly prevalent in the blind. Parents and tutors, therefore, should gratify it whenever their answers can be intelligible to the pupil; when it is otherwise, let them candidly confess the impossibility or impropriety of answering his questions. At this period, if their hearts be tender and their powers inventive, they may render his amusements the vehicles, and his toys the instruments, of improvement: why, for instance, may not the centrifugal and centripetal forces be illustrated from the motion of a top, or the nature and power of elasticity by the rebound of a ball. These hints may lead to others, which, if happily improved and applied, may wonderfully facilitate the progress of knowledge. Nor will the violence of exercise, and the tumult of play, be productive of such perils and accidents as may be apprehended.

For the encouragement of such parents as choose to take these advices with regard to exercise, let us inform them, that though, till the age of twenty, some blind persons were on most occasions permitted to walk, to run, to play at large, they have yet escaped without any corporeal injury from these excursions.

Parents of middle, or of higher rank, who are unfortunate as to have blind children, ought, by all possible means, to keep them out of vulgar company. The herd of mankind have a wanton malignity, which eternally impels them to impose upon the blind, and to enjoy the painful situations in which these impositions place them. This is a stricture upon the humanity of our species, which nothing but the love of truth and the dictates of benevolence could have extorted from us. But we (1) have known some who have suffered so much from this diabolical mirth in their own persons, that it is natural for us, by all the means in our power, to prevent others from becoming its victims.

Blind people have infinitely more to fear from the levity and ignorance, than from the selfishness and ill-nature, of mankind. In serious and important negotiations, pride and compassion suspend the efforts of knavery or spleen; and that very infirmity, which so frequently renders the blind defenceless to the arts of the insidious, or to the attempts of malice, is a powerful incentive to pity, which is capable of disarming fury itself. Villany, which frequently piques itself more upon the arts by which it prevails, than upon the advantages which it obtains, may often with contempt reject the blind, as subjects beneath the dignity of its operation; but the ill-natured buffoon considers the most malicious effects of his merriment as a mere jest, without reflecting on the shame or indignation which they inspire when inflicted on a sensible temper.

But vulgar credulity and ignorance are no less dangerous... gerous to those who want sight, than the false and mechanical wit so universally practised in common life. We know, we sympathetically feel, the strong propensity of every illiterate mind, to relate or to believe whatever is marvellous and dreadful. These impositions, when early imbibed, can scarcely be eradicated by all the conspiring efforts of mature reason and confirmed experience. Those philosophers who have attempted to break the alliance between darkness and spectres, were certainly inspired by laudable motives. But they must give us leave to assert, that there is a natural and essential connection betwixt night and horror. Were we endued with senses to advertize us of every noxious object before its contiguity could render it formidable, our panics would probably be less frequent and sensible than we really feel them. Darkness and silence, therefore, have something dreadful in them, because they supersede the vigilance of those senses which give us the earliest notices of things. If you talk to a blind boy of invisible beings, let benevolence be an inseparable ingredient in their character. You may, if you please, tell him of departed spirits, anxious for the welfare of their surviving friends; of ministering angels, who descend with pleasure from heaven to execute the purposes of their Maker's benignity; you may even regale his imagination with the sportive gambols and innocent frolics of fairies; but let him hear as seldom as possible, even in stories which he knows to be fabulous, of vindictive ghosts, vindictive fiends, or avenging furies. They seize and pre-occupy every avenue of terror which is open in the soul; nor are they easily dispossessed. Sooner should we hope to exorcise a ghost, or appease a fury, than to obliterate their images in a warm and susceptible imagination, where they have been habitually impressed, and where these feelings cannot be dissipated by external phenomena. If horrors of this kind should agitate the heart of a blind boy (which may happen notwithstanding the most strenuous endeavours to prevent it), the stories which he has heard will be most effectually discredited by ridicule. This, however, must be cautiously applied, by gentle and delicate gradations. If he is inspired with terror by effects upon his senses, the causes of which he cannot investigate, indefatigable pains must be taken to explain these phenomena, and to confirm that explication, whenever it can be done, by the testimony of his own senses and his own experience. The exertion of his locomotive and mechanical powers (the rights of which we have formerly endeavoured to assert) will sensibly contribute to dispel these terrors.

His inventive faculties ought likewise to be indulged with the same freedom. The data which they explore may be presented in such a manner, as to render discoveries easy: but still let invention be allowed to co-operate. The internal triumph and exultation which the mind feels from the attainment and conviction of new truths, heightens their charms, impresses them deep on the memory, and gives them an influence in practice of which they could not otherwise have boasted.

There are a fort of people in the world, whose views and education have been strictly confined to one province, and whose conversation is of consequence limited and technical. These, in literary intercourse, or fashionable life, are treated with universal contempt, and branded with the odious name of mere men of business. Nor is it any wonder that the conversation of such should prove nauseous and disgusting. It would be arrogance in them to expect, that indifferent persons should either enter into their private interests, or the peculiarities of their craft, with a warmth equal to their own. We have known the intrusion of such a person involve a numerous company in gloom, and terminate the freedom and vivacity of agreeable discourse in lazy yawning and discontented silence. Of all innocent characters, this ought to be avoided by the blind; because, of all others, it is the character which they run the greatest hazard of adopting. The limitation of their powers naturally contracts their views and pursuits, and, as it were, concentrates their whole intellectual faculties in one, or at best in few objects. Care should therefore be taken to afford the mind a theatre for its exertions, as extensive as possible, without diverting it from one great end, which, in order to excel, it ought for ever to have in prospect.

There are few sciences in which the blind have not distinguished themselves: even those whose acquisition seems essentially to depend upon vision, have at last yielded to genius and industry, though deprived of that advantage. Mr Sanderson, whom we formerly mentioned, has left behind him the most striking evidences of astonishing proficiency in those retired and abstract branches of mathematics which appeared least accessible to persons of his infirmity. Sculpture (a) and painting are not, perhaps, the most practicable arts for a blind man; yet he is not excluded from the pleasing creation and extensive regions of fancy. However unaccountable it may appear to the abstract philosopher, yet nothing is more certain in fact, than that a blind man may, by the inspiration of the muse, or, to strip the figure of its mythological dress, may, by the efforts of a cultivated genius, exhibit in poetry the most natural images and animated descriptions, even of visible objects, without either incurring or deserving the imputation of plagiarism.

In the finer art of music, there are, at present, living and noble instances how far the blind may proceed.

If we look into former periods, we shall find illustrious and pregnant examples, how amply nature has capacitated the blind to excel both in the scientific and practical departments of music. In the 16th century, when the progress of improvement both in melody and harmony was rapid and conspicuous, Franciscus Salinas was eminently distinguished. He was born A.D. 1513, at Burgos in Spain; and was son to the treasurer of

---

(a) Yet there are instances of persons who have been enabled to take the figure and idea of a face by the touch, and mould it in wax with the utmost exactness; as was the case of the blind sculptor mentioned by De Piles, who thus took the likeness of the Duke de Bracciano in a dark cellar, and made a marble statue of King Charles I., with great elegance and justness. Vid. De Piles Cours de Peint. p. 329. and Wolf: Psychol. Rat. § 162. of that city. Tho' afflicted with incurable blindness, he was profoundly skilled both in the theory and practice of music. As a performer, he is celebrated by his contemporaries with the highest encomiums. As a theorist, his book, if we may believe Sir John Hawkins, is equal in value to any now extant in any language. Tho' he was deprived of sight in his earliest infancy, he does not content himself to delineate the various phenomena in music, but the principles from whence they result, the relations of sound, the nature of arithmetical, geometrical, and harmonical ratios, which at that period were esteemed essential to the theory of music, with a degree of intelligence which would have deserved admiration though he had been in full possession of every sense requisite for these disquisitions. He was taken to Rome in the retinue of Petrus Sarmentus archbishop of Compostella; and having passed twenty years in Italy, he returned to Salamanca, where he obtained the professorship of music, an office at that time equally respectable and lucrative. Having discharged it with reputation and success for some time, he died at the venerable age of 77.

In the same period flourished Caspar Crombhorn, blind from the third year of his age: yet he composed several pieces in many parts with much success, and performed both upon the flute and violin so exquisitely, that he was distinguished by Augustus elector of Saxony. But preferring his native Silesia to every other country, he returned thither, and was appointed organist of the church of St Peter and Paul in the city of Lignitz, where he likewise had often the direction of the musical college, and died June 11th 1621.

To these might be added Martini Pefenti of Venice, a composer of vocal and instrumental music almost of all kinds, though blind from his nativity; with other examples equally worthy of public attention. But if vulgar prejudice is capable of blushing at its own contemptible character, or of yielding to conviction, those already quoted are more than sufficient to show the musical jugglers of our time, who are generally as absolute strangers to learning and taste as to virtue, that their art is no monopoly with which those alone who see are invested by the irreversible decree of heaven.

For Sanderson's method of calculation, both in arithmetic and algebra, see the account prefixed to his own treatise on that subject. But there is a much fuller and more circumstantial detail both of its nature and its various uses, given by Mr Didoret in his "Letter concerning the Blind, for the use of those who see," which we shall here translate.

"It is much easier (says that author) to use signs already invented, than to become their inventor; as one is forced to do, when engaged in circumstances for which he is not provided. Of what advantage might not this be to Sanderson to find a palpable arithmetic already prepared for him at five years of age, which he might otherwise have felt the necessity of inventing for himself at the advanced period of twenty-five? This Sanderson, Madam, is an author deprived of sight, with whom it may not be foreign to our purpose to amuse you. They relate prodigies of him; and of these prodigies there is not one, which his professors in the belles lettres, and his mathematical attainments, do not render credible.

"The same instrument served him for algebraical calculations, and for the construction of rectilineal figures. You would not perhaps be sorry that I should give you an explication of it, if you thought your mind previously qualified to understand it; and you shall soon perceive that it presupposes no intellectual preparations of which you are not already mistress; and that it would be extremely useful to you if you should ever be seized with the inclination of making long calculations by touch.

"Imagine to yourself a square, such as you see Pl.XCVIII., fig. 1, divided into four equal parts by perpendicular lines at the sides, in such a manner, that it may present you the nine points 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. Suppose this square pierced with nine holes capable of receiving pins of two kinds, all of equal length and thickness, but some with heads a little larger than the others.

"The pins with large heads are never placed anywhere else but in the centre of the square; those with smaller heads never but at the sides, except in one single case, which is that of making the figure 1, where none are placed at the sides. The sign of 0 is made by placing a pin with a large head in the centre of the little square, without putting any other pin at the sides." See fig. 2.

The number 1 is represented by a pin with a small head placed in the centre of the square, without putting any other pin at the sides; the number 2, by a pin with a large head placed in the centre of the square, and by a pin with a small head placed on one of the sides at the point 1; the number 3, by a pin with a large head placed in the centre of the square, and by a pin with a small head placed on one of the sides at the point 2; the number 4, by a pin with a large head placed in the centre of the square, and by a pin with a small head placed on one of the sides at the point 3; the number 5, by a pin with a large head placed in the centre of the square, and by a pin with a small head placed on one of the sides at the point 4; the number 6, by a pin with a large head placed in the centre of the square, and by a pin with a small head placed on one of the sides at the point 5; the number 7, by a pin with a large head placed in the centre of the square, and by a pin with a small head placed on one of the sides at the point 6; the number 8, by a pin with a large head placed in the centre of the square, and by a pin with a small head placed on one of the sides at the point 7; the number 9, by a pin with a large head placed in the centre of the square, and by a pin with a small head placed on one of the sides at the point 8.

Here are plainly ten different expressions obvious to the touch, of which every one answers to one of our ten arithmetical characters. Imagine now a table as large as you please, divided into small squares, horizontally ranged, and separated one from the other at similar distances, as you see it in fig. 3. Thus you will have the instrument of Sanderson.

"You may easily conceive that there is not any number which one cannot express upon this table; and, by consequence, no arithmetical operation which one cannot execute upon it.

"Let..." Let it be proposed, for instance, to find the sum, or to work the addition of the nine numbers following.

\[ \begin{array}{cccc} 1 & 2 & 3 & 4 \\ 2 & 3 & 4 & 5 \\ 3 & 4 & 5 & 6 \\ 4 & 5 & 6 & 7 \\ 5 & 6 & 7 & 8 \\ 6 & 7 & 8 & 9 \\ 7 & 8 & 9 & 0 \\ 8 & 9 & 0 & 1 \\ 9 & 0 & 1 & 2 \\ \end{array} \]

"I express them on the table in the order as they are dictated to me; the first figure at the left of the first number, upon the first square to the left of the first line; the second figure, to the left of the first number, upon the second square to the left of the same line; and so of the rest.

"I place the second number upon the second row of squares, units beneath units, and tens beneath tens, &c.

"I place the third number upon the third row of squares, and so of the rest. Then with my fingers running over each of the rows vertically from the bottom to the top, beginning with that which is nearest to my right, I work the addition of the numbers which are expressed, and mark the surplus of the tens at the foot of that column. I then pass to the second column, advancing towards the left; upon which I operate in the same manner; from thence to the third; and thus in succession I finish my addition.

"We shall now see how the same table served him for demonstrating the properties of rectilineal figures. Let us suppose this proposition to be demonstrated, 'That parallelograms which have the same basis and the same height are equal in their surfaces.' He placed his pins as may be seen fig. 4. He gave names to the angular points, and finished his demonstration with his fingers.

"If we suppose that Sanderfon only employed pins with large heads to mark the limits of his figures, around these he might arrange his pins with small heads in nine different manners, all of which were familiar to him. Thus he scarcely found any embarrassment but in those cases where the great number of angular points which he was under a necessity of naming in his demonstration obliged him to recur to the letters of the alphabet. We are not informed how he employed them.

"We only know, that his fingers ran over the board with astonishing agility; that he undertook with success the longest calculations; that he could interrupt the series, and discover his mistakes; that he proved them with the greatest ease; and that his labours required infinitely less time than one could have imagined, by the exactness and promptitude with which he prepared his instruments and disposed his table.

"This preparation consisted in placing pins with large heads in the centres of all the squares; having done this, no more remained to him but to fix their values by pins of smaller heads, except in cases where it was necessary to mark an unit; then he placed in the centre of a square a pin with a small head, in the place of a pin with a large head with which it had been occupied.

"Sometimes, instead of forming an entire line with these pins, he contented himself with placing some of them at all the angular points, or points of intersection; around which he tied silk threads, which finished the formation of the limits of his figures." See fig. 4.

It may be added by way of improvement, that for the division of one series of numbers from another, a thin piece of timber in the form of a ruler with which lines are drawn, having a pin at each end for the holes in the squares, might be interposed between the two series to be distinguished.

This geometrician left other instruments behind him; but as we do not know their uses, we need not add their descriptions.

It must be owned, that by the notation here exhibited every modification of number may be expressed, and of consequence every arithmetical operation successfully performed; but we have been recently favoured with another form of palpable arithmetic, which appears to us equally comprehensive and much more simple than that of Sanderfon. It was originally invented, and is still used in calculation, by Dr Henry Moyes; a gentleman whom we had formerly occasion to mention with merited applause in this article, and whose character and attainments we have endeavoured more fully to illustrate than had been done in the former edition, as well from personal knowledge as from the anecdotes of Dr Bew, as the most eligible introduction to the account of his notation, given in the words of his own letter, and exemplified in a figure copied from a drawing directed by himself.

"To the Editor of Encyclopaedia Britannica."

Sir, In compliance with your request, I send you a form of the following brief account of a palpable notation, which I have generally used for these 20 years to assist my memory in numerical computations. When I began to study the principles of arithmetic, which I did at an early period of life, I soon discovered to my mortification, that a person entirely deprived of sight could scarcely proceed in that useful science without the aid of palpable symbols representing the ten numerical characters. Being at that time unacquainted with the writings of Sanderfon, in which a palpable notation is described, I embraced the obvious, though, as I afterwards found, imperfect expedient of cutting into the form of the numerical characters thin pieces of wood or metal. By arranging these on the surface of a board, I could readily represent any given number, not only to the touch, but also to the eye; and by covering the board with a lamina of wax, my symbols were prevented from changing their places, they adhering to the board from the slightest pressure. By this contrivance, I could solve, though slowly, any problem in the science of numbers; but it soon occurred to me, that my notation, consisting of ten species of symbols or characters, was much more complicated than was absolutely necessary, and that any given number might be distinctly expressed by three species of pegs alone. To illustrate my meaning, let A, B, C, D, (fig. 5.), represent a square piece of mahogany a foot broad and an inch in thickness; let the sides A B, B C, C D, D A, be each divided into 24 equal parts; let every two opposite divisions be joined by a groove cut in the board sufficiently deep to be felt with the finger, ger, and let the board be perforated at each intersection with an instrument a tenth of an inch in diameter.

"The surface of the board being thus divided into 576 little squares, with a small perforation at each of their angles, let three sets of pegs or pins, resembling those represented in the plate at figures 6, 7, 8, be so fitted to the holes in the board, that when stuck into them they may keep their positions like those of a fiddle, and require some force to turn them round. The head of each peg belonging to the first set is a right-angled triangle about one-tenth of an inch in thickness; the head of each peg belonging to the second set differs only from the former in having a small notch in its sloping side or hypotenuse; and the head of each peg belonging to the third set is a square of which the breadth should be equal to the base of the triangle of the other two. These pegs should be kept in a case consisting of three boxes or cells, each cell being allotted to a set, and the case must be placed close by the board previous to the commencement of every operation. Each set should consist of 60 or 70 pegs (at least when employed in long calculations), and when the work is finished, they should be collected from the board and carefully restored to their respective boxes.

Things being thus prepared, let a peg of the first set be fixed into the board, and it will acquire four different values according to its position respecting the calculator. When its sloping side is turned towards the left, it denotes one, or the first digit; when turned upwards, or from the calculator, it denotes two, or the second digit; when turned to the right, it represents three; and when turned downwards, or towards the calculator, it denotes four, or the fourth digit. Five is denoted by a peg of the second set, having its sloping side or hypotenuse turned to the left; six, by the same turned upwards; seven, by the same turned to the right; and eight, by the same turned directly down, or towards the body of the calculator. Nine is expressed by a peg of the third set when its edges are directed to right and left; and the same peg expresses the cipher when its edges are directed up and down. By three different pegs the relative values of the ten digits may therefore be distinctly expressed with facility; and by a sufficient number of each set the steps and result of the longest calculation may be clearly represented to the senses of feeling. It seems unnecessary to illustrate this by an example; suffice it to express in our characters the present year of the Christian era 1788: Take a peg of the first set and fix it in the board with its sloping side turned towards the left equal to one; take now a peg of the second set and fix it in the next hole in the same groove, proceeding as usual from left to right, with its sloping side turned to the right equal to 7; next take a peg of the same set and fix it in the next hole, with its sloping side turned downwards, equal to 8; lastly, take another peg of the same set and place it in the next hole in the same position, equal to 8; and the whole will express the number required.

"When it is necessary to express a vulgar fraction, I place the numerator in the groove immediately above, and the denominator in that immediately below the groove in which the integers stand; and in decimal arithmetic an empty hole in the integer-groove represents the comma or decimal point. By similar breaks I also denote pounds, shillings, pence, &c., and by the same expedient I separate in division the divisor and quotient from the dividend.

"This notation, which supplies me completely with coefficients and indices in algebra and fluxions, seems much superior to any of the kind hitherto made public in the west of Europe. That invented and described by Mr Grenville, having no less than ten sets of pegs, is by much too complicated for general practice; and that which we owe to the celebrated Sanderson is apt to puzzle and embarrass the calculator, as the pegs representing the numerical digits can seldom or never be in the same straight line. If you agree with me that the above notation may promote the knowledge, and therefore the happiness, of persons denied the benefit of sight, you have my consent to give it a place in the present edition of your valuable work. I am, Sir, with respect, your obedient servant,

HENRY MOYES."

We have seen the machine above mentioned, which was exhibited to the society for the improvement of polite arts, &c., by Mr Grenville, who is himself also deprived of sight. But though this has met with the approbation of Mr Stanley, we cannot forbear to think it less simple in its structure than that of Dr Moyes's, more multiform in its apparatus, and of consequence more laborious and complex in the process of its operation: for where every single peg has only one power, and acquires no diversity of value from its position, their forms must be indefinitely varied and their numbers prodigiously multiplied; which must cost both the memory and judgment of the pupil numberless painful and fatiguing exertions before he contracts a habit of using the instrument with promptitude and success. On these accounts, a particular description of it is omitted in this place.

In the higher parts of mathematics, such as conic A new mathematical sections, the same solid figures which are mediums of perception to those who see, may perform the same useful office to the blind. But, for the structure of superficial figures, we should imagine, that a kind of matter might be found, soft enough to be easily susceptible of impressions, yet hard enough to retain them till effaced by an equal pressure. Suppose, for instance, a table were formed, four feet broad and eight in length; for the figures, that they may be the more sensible to the touch, ought to be larger than ordinary. Suppose this table had brims, or a moulding round it, rising an inch above the surface; let the whole expanse, then, be filled with beeswax, and the surface above pressed extremely even with a polished board, formed exactly to fit the space within the mouldings. This board will always be necessary to efface the figures employed in former propositions, and prepare the surface for new ones. We think we have pondered the minutest inconvenience that can arise from this method of delineating and conceiving geometrical truths; and, after all, the table appears to us the best and the least troublesome apparatus which a blind man can use. We can see no reason why general ideas of geography or topography might not be conveyed to him in the same manner, by spheres composed of or covered with the same imperishable matter. Such were the mediums that occurred to the author, when this article was originally written, for conveying to persons deprived of sight those remote and complicated truths which vision alone was thought capable of representing; but a work has been lately published at Paris which supercedes every former attempt to promote or facilitate the improvement of the blind. The invention of a plan so arduous in its appearance and so practicable in its execution, demanded the highest exertions of the noblest genius to produce it, and the most strenuous efforts of indefatigable humanity to render it effectual. It is intitled, "An Essay on the Education of the Blind." Its object is to teach them, by palpable characters impressed on paper, not only the liberal arts and sciences, but likewise the principles of mechanical operation, in such a manner, that those who have no genius for literary improvement may yet become respectable, useful, and independent members of society, in the capacity of common artisans. By these tangible signatures they are taught to read, to write, and to print; they are likewise instructed in geometry, in algebra, geography, and, in short, in every branch of natural philosophy. Nor are their efforts circumscribed by mere utility; a taste for the fine arts has likewise been cultivated among them. They have been taught to read music with their fingers as others do with their eyes; and though they cannot at once feel the notes and perform them upon an instrument, yet are they capable of acquiring any lesson with as much exactness and rapidity as those who enjoy all the advantages of sight. But we shall give a more particular account of the wonderful topics contained in this essay. In his first chapter the author discovers the end proposed by that delineation of culture which he offers to the blind; it is to enlarge their sphere of knowledge, and of consequence to increase their capacities and improve their powers of action, so that they may become happy and independent in themselves, and useful and agreeable to others. The second chapter contains an answer to the objections urged against the general utility of this institution. These objections are candidly stated, and answered in the most satisfactory manner; but were we to recapitulate them in detail, it would protract this article to a length much beyond its due proportion, even upon the extended plan of the Encyclopedia. The third chapter treats of reading as adapted to the practice of the blind. The fourth chapter consists of answers to various objections against the method of reading proposed for the blind; but these, for reasons formerly given, we cannot with propriety delineate in this article. In the fifth chapter is shown the art of printing as practiced by the blind for their peculiar use. In the sixth chapter is described the manner of teaching the blind the art of printing for those that see. In the seventh is represented the manner of teaching the blind to write. The eighth chapter explains the method of teaching the blind arithmetic; the ninth, geography; the tenth, music. The eleventh, contains an account of the mechanic arts in which the blind are employed, and of the way by which they are formed for such occupations. The twelfth shows in general the proper manner of instructing the blind, and draws a parallel between their education and that of the deaf and dumb. Chapter thirteenth treats of the method of instructing them in the languages, mathematics, history, &c. What remains of the book is taken up with notes which illustrate each particular chapter; a short historical account of the rise, the progress, and the present state, of the academy for the formation of the blind; an ode on the cultivation of the blind, by one that laboured under that affliction; an extract from the register of the royal academy of sciences; opinion of the printers; models of the various pieces which blind children are capable of printing; and an account of the exercises performed by blind children in presence of the king, queen, and royal family, during the Christmas festivities 1786. Thus having given a cursory view of the various topics contained in the essay, we proceed to give some account of the manner in which the blind print and write.

The blind compositor, then, has a box for every alphabetical character in use; on the outside of these performed boxes are palpably marked the peculiar character be longing to each; they are filled with types, which he chooses and sets as they are called for, but not in the position in which they are to be read; on the contrary, they are inverted as objects are seen painted on the retina of an eye by an optician. Having thus fixed and arranged his types, he chooses a page of the strongest paper that can be found, which he gently moistens in a degree sufficient to render it more easily susceptible of impressions, without being dilacerated or worn by the shock which it must afterwards undergo. He then lays it upon the types; and by the cautious operation of the press, or by the easy strokes of a little hammer, which are frequently repeated over the whole expanse, he causes the impression of the type to rise on the opposite side of the paper, where, when dry, it continues not only obvious to the sight but the touch, and is far from being easily effaced. On the upper side of the paper the letters appear in their proper position, and by their sensible elevation above the common surface render it practicable for the blind to read them with their fingers. Their manner of writing is analogous to this operation; the pupil, nor of writing by repeated experiments, having familiarized himself fitting, &c., to the forms of the letters, both in their inverted and in their proper position, gradually learns to delineate them upon paper, moistened as before, with the point of an iron pen, which has no split, and which is just sharp enough to impress without piercing the paper; thus, on the side next to the writer's hand, the letters are formed sunk and inverted; but when the paper is turned they appear right and in relief. Thus the blind are enabled to form and decipher, not only the characters required in common language, but also mathematical diagrams, arithmetical and geographical processes, and all the characters used in the written language of music. If this account should appear incredible to any of our readers, let him be informed, that the author of this article has conversed with two gentlemen of learning and veracity who saw the blind perform all the wonders here recapitulated with astonishing success, to the universal satisfaction of numberless spectators whom curiosity and compassion impelled to visit the academy, that they might behold with their own eyes a spectacle so interesting to humanity. Let the incredulous be also informed, that the composer of the article has in his own hands a copy of this work now reviewed, which is printed and bound by... by the blind themselves. They exhibit at their own academy every Wednesday and Saturday between one and two o'clock at noon, to crowds of charitable admirers, by whose liberal donations the institution is now chiefly supported.

The knowledge of astronomy might likewise be of infinite use, both by enlarging the blind person's ideas of the universe, and by giving him higher and more confirmed impressions of that energy by which the stars are moved, and of that design by which their motions are regulated. But these objects are too vast; their distances, their magnitudes, their periods of revolution, are too complex to be comprehended in the mind, or impressed in the memory, without sensible mediums. For this purpose, an orrery, or some machine of a similar construction, will be indispensible requisite.

The science of causes and effects might likewise yield him the most sublime and rational entertainment of which an intelligent being, in his present state, is susceptible. By this he might enter into the laws, the vicissitudes, the economy, of nature. Nor is it absolutely necessary that he should be an ocular witness of the experiments by which these laws are detected and explained. He may safely take them for granted; and if, at any time, a particular experiment should prove false, he may, from general principles, be able to discover its fallacy, whether in the nature of the subject, the insufficiency of the instruments, or the process of the execution. The laws of motion, the various ratios or proportions of forces whether simple or compound, he may calculate and ascertain by the same means and in the same method so happily used by Sanderon.

Moral and theological knowledge he may easily obtain, either from books, or instructions delivered vivace. The last, if communicated by one who understands and feels the subject, with a proper degree of perspicuity and sensibility, are infinitely the most eligible. By morals, we would not merely be underlaid to mean a regular and inculcable series of actions, but the proper exertion and habitual arrangement of the whole internal economy, of which external actions are no more than mere expressions, and from which the highest and most permanent happiness alone can proceed. By theology, we do not mean that systematical or scholastic jargon, which too frequently usurps its venerable name; but those sublime and liberal ideas of the nature and government of a Supreme Being, whether discoverable by nature or revealed in scripture, which enforce every moral obligation, which teach us what is the ultimate good of our nature, which determine our efforts and animate our hopes in pursuing this most important of all objects. What Cicero says of the arts and sciences may with great propriety be applied to religion: Nam cetera neque temporum sunt, neque atotion omnium, neque locorum; et hæc studia adolescentiam alunt, senectutem oblitant, fecundas res ornant, adverfis perfugium ac fationem praebent: delectant domi, non impediant foris; perniciant nobifcum, perig inanituri, rufificantur. Translated thus: "For other studies are not suited to every time, to every age, and to every place: but these give strength in youth, and joy in old age; adorn prosperity, and are the support and consolation of adversity; at home they are delightful, and abroad they are easy; at night they are company to us; when we travel, they attend us; and in our rural retirements, they do not forsake us."

To this may be added, that the joys of religion are for ever adequate to the largest capacity of a finite and progressive intelligence; and as they are boundless in extent, so they are endless in duration. We have already, more than once, observed, that the soul of a blind man is extremely obnoxious to melancholy and dejection. Where, therefore, can he find a more copious, intimate, permanent, and efficacious source of comfort than in religion? Let this then be inculcated with the utmost care and affiduity. Let the whole force of the soul be exerted in showing him that it is reasonable. Let all the noblest affections of the heart be employed in recommending it as amiable; for we will venture to assert, that the votary of religion alone is the man,

Quem si fractus illabatur orbit, Impavidum ferient ruine:

Thus translated;

Whom, though with nature's wreck opprest'd, Unmanly fears could ne'er infect.

When the situation of the blind, and its natural effects upon their characters, are considered; when we reflect how exquisite their distresses, how pungent their disappointments, how sensible their regrets, how tedious and gloomy their periods of solitude; we must be wretches indeed, if we can grudge either labour or expense in procuring them every source of entertainment, which, when procured, remains in their own power, and yields what may be in some measure termed self-derived enjoyment. These amusements are prolific of numberless advantages: they afford us at once entertainment and exertion; they teach us to explore a thousand resources for preservation and improvement, which would otherwise have escaped our attention; they render us awake and sensible to a thousand notices both of external and intellectual objects, which would otherwise have passed unobserved.

Thus far we proceeded without mentioning philological learning; though we know it to be attainable by the blind in a high degree, and though we are conscious of its importance both to their use and ornament. But as it is not indispensable, and as its acquisition is tedious and operose, we thought it less necessary to be early and minutely specified. We cannot doubt, that learning different languages adds to the treasure of our ideas, and renders those which we possess more clear and definite. It must be acknowledged, that the possession of other languages elucidates our own. The technical terms of almost every science are exotic; and without clearly understanding those, we cannot properly possess the ideas of which they are the vehicles. But these motives are common to every candidate for philological improvement with the blind.

The paths of grammar, however, are dry and rugged; and it will be necessary for the pedagogue, whoever he is, to take all the opportunities that offer of enlightening the darkness and polishing the aperities of the road. When, therefore, the intellect of the pupil begins to open and exert its penetration, it will be proper to show him how the nature, the forms, and arrangements, of words, flow from our ideas and their relations. Every substance must naturally be in some state; it must either act, or be acted upon. The actions which it performs or suffers must be performed or suffered in some definite manner or degree. It must likewise have some qualities, whether temporary and accidental, or natural and permanent. These qualities must likewise be susceptible of degrees. When different substances are considered in the same state, its common participation forms a connection: when regarded in different states, that difference forms an opposition. The constant repetition of the names of substances and qualities produces a disagreeable monotony in language. They must therefore be implied in other words, which likewise in some cases serve to connect the parts of a sentence. There is a difference between such words as imply the connection of sentences, and such as imply the connection of states or circumstances. Actions to be performed or suffered may be either positively affirmed of any substance, or merely attributed to them. Living and percipient substances have immediate sensations of pain or pleasure, which likewise are productive of desire and aversion. To these sentiments particular sounds are adapted, whether immediately inspired by nature, or resulting from association and tacit convention.

Thus we have a foundation for all the different parts of speech; and from their natures and offices their forms and arrangements may be deduced, according to the analogy of every language.

The art of reasoning, the knowledge of history, and a taste for the belles lettres, are easily attainable by the blind; and as they are copious funds of entertainment, they should be inculcated, though at the expense of care and labour.

The relations of persons subjected to this misfortune should tune, if in easy circumstances, will find it highly convenient to devolve to the improvement of their charge, to select some one among his coevals, of a sound understanding, by more than the ties of a sweet and patient temper, a docile mind, a warm heart, and a communicative disposition. These two should be taught to find their interest and happiness in their connection one with another. Their bed, their board, their walks, their entertainments, their lessons, should be common. These are the best eyes with which art can endow a blind man: and if properly selected, they will on some occasions yield very little, in utility and perfection, to those of nature; nay, at some junctures they may be preferable.

If the blind must depend upon the exercise of their own powers for bread, we have already pointed out proper employments as their easiest and most obvious province; but let it at the same time be remembered, that mediocrity in this art may prove the bitterest and most effectual curse which a parent can inflict upon his offspring, as it subjects them to every vicious impression or habit which may be imbibed or contracted from the lowest and most abandoned of mankind. If your pupil, therefore, be not endowed with natural talents exquisitely proper both for the theory and practice of this art, suffer him by no means to be initiated in it. If his natural genius favours your attempts, the spinet, harp, or organ, are the most proper instruments for him to begin; because by these instruments he may be made more easily acquainted with the extent of musical scales, with the powers of harmony, with the relations of which it is constituted, and of course with the theory of his art. It would be not only unnecessary, but impracticable, to carry him deep into the theory, before he has attained some facility in the practice. Let, therefore, his head and his hands (if we may use the expression), be taught to go pari passu. Let the one be instructed in the simplest elements, and the others conducted in the easiest operations, first: contemplation and exercise will produce light in the one and promptitude in the other. But as his capacity of speculation and powers of action become more and more mature, discoveries more abstract and retired, tasks more arduous and difficult, may be assigned him. He should be taught the names and gradations of the diatonic scale, the nature and use of time, the diversity of its modes whether simple or mixed. He should be taught the quantity or value of notes, not only with respect to their pitch, but to their duration. Yet, let him be instructed not to consider these durations as absolutely fixed, but variable according to the velocity of the movements in which they are placed. Thus we reckon a semibreve equal to 4 vibrations of a pendulum; a minim to 2; a crotchet to 1, &c. But if the number of aliquot parts, into which a semibreve is divided, be great, and consequently the value of each particular part small, the minim, crotchet, quaver, &c. will increase in their intrinsic durations, though they must always preserve the same proportions relatively one to another. He should never be habituated to take a piece of music, either from the sound of a voice or an instrument. His companion ought to read the music by the names and values of its characters, with the same exactness as the words in any other language. When he becomes a considerable adept in the art, tangible signs may be invented, by which he may not only be enabled to read, but even to set, music for himself. Such exercises will render him infinitely more accurate, both in his principles and practice, than he would otherwise be.

There is a hint of such tangible signs given in Turenne's musical grammar, p. 93, and which, though (like the rest of the book) obscure and indigested, may be improved and applied with advantage.

For the sake of those in whose hands it may not be, we quote the passage at length.

"As it is the pleasure of the Almighty, that some persons are destitute of eye-sight; in like manner it is his infinite goodness to make them a double amends another way, by giving them a greater share of memory, &c. whereby they become very dexterous in playing on musical instruments, mathematics, &c. as we may observe by Dr Stanley organist of St Andrew's Holburn in London, the blind professor of mathematics in the university of Cambridge, and many others too tedious here to mention, who were born blind, and never saw the least glance of light; yet God gave them such a light in knowledge, that they became the wonder of all such as had the benefit of seeing, &c.

"And as blind persons, at first, cannot possibly have so clear an idea of notes and musical characters as they that see them, until they are taught by a master or tutor; I have (for the good-will I bear to such unfortunate persons) contrived the following table:

A New Music-Table for such as are Blind.

| A | G | F | E | D | C | B | A | |---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---| | Treble | When | Bafé | B | When | Bafé | B | Treble |

Explanation.

Let A—B be a smooth board, 3 or 4 feet long, 1 inch thick, and 9 inches wide, with 5 square ledges glued thereon, each being half an inch afunder, half an inch wide, and half an inch high; which rising ledges represent our 5 lines of music, and their spaces: and the two outward lines, being made a little lower, may serve as leger lines, on occasion. The cyphers represent so many holes bored into every line and space, half an inch afunder; wherein pegs of different shapes are to be set, to represent the several sorts of notes and characters of the tune: which pegs the blind person may know by feeling, as well as he does his keys of the organ or harpsichord: so that, by keeping his fingers on the 5 lines, he feels the several pegs as they come on, and are set to represent the several sorts of notes, on both line and space; whilst his right hand strikes the respective key, &c. he first knowing the names of all his keys, his lines, spaces, and the mark of every peg. Let each peg be about half an inch high, when set in very fast. [N.B. The blind person must first be taught the names of the above lines and spaces in both the treble and bass cliffs; and that he must feel his treble with his right hand, and his bass with the left hand; each being contrary, as you may see by the letters of the above table, A and B; and must learn each part separately.]

Of pegs, he must have a great number of every sort, to set the tune with, which he may mark as follows:

For a Semibreve, 4 top-notches. Minim, 2 top-notches. Crotchet, 1 top-notch. Quaver, one corner cut off. Semiquaver, 2 corners cut off. Demisemiquaver, all 4 corners cut off. Rest, a notch in the corner. A Flat, 1 notch on the side. Sharp, 2 notches on the side. Point, 3 notches on the side. Bar, a flat thin top. Repeat, a sharp-pointed top, &c. &c. &c.

But it is best for every performer to make and mark his own pegs; and deliver them one by one as they are called for by the person that sets his tune."

Thus far our author. We have already complained, that Tanfure's Musical Notation is imperfect; and perhaps every table or instrument of the same kind may be liable to the same censure, as not being comprehensive of all the characters in the written language of music, so that the blind reader may find no deficiency in acquiring any lesson: yet as the cushion of Mr Cheefe appears to have more powers than any other instrument for the same purpose that has hitherto occurred to our observation, though attended with many formidable objections, we here insert it. It may possibly, however, be best for every blind adept in the musical art, after being sufficiently instructed in its theoretical and practical principles, to invent for himself a table, by which may be expressed all the various phenomena of music, in which, by varying the forms and positions of his pegs, he may habitually associate them with sounds, durations, rests, intervals, chords, cadences, da capos, repeats, and all the various graces which give animation and expression to musical sounds: for thus, being the immediate creatures of his own imagination, they will more easily become familiar to his memory, and be more strongly and readily associated with the phenomena which they are intended to signify, than if he had assumed the inventions of any other.

Mr Cheefe's description of his machine for teaching Cheefe's music to people deprived of sight, and to enable them to machine, preserve their compositions, in the act of composing, without the assistance of a copyist.—"That part of the machine which represents the book, or paper, is a small cushion stuffed, on a little frame; along which, is sewed a number of pack thread strings at equal distances from each other; these represent the lines in a music book: the five which compose the stave, are made of large twine; and those which represent the leger or occasional lines, drawn through the heads of the notes, where the music exceeds the compass of the established stave, are made of small twine, and are on this machine of the same length as the others.

"If the practitioner only wishes to write harpsichord music, the cushion may be what length he pleases, and about five or six inches wide: the strings must be sewed in the following order; beginning with the first..." or lowest, near the edge of the cushion; four small ones, which correspond with the notes in the base of the instrument ff, rr, cc, ee: Next five large ones, for the flave which correspond with the lines in the book, or notes in the instrument, g, b, d, f, r; one final one, which represents the occasional line between the base and treble, or middle c; five large ones for the treble flave, which make the notes e, g, b, d, f; three small ones, which represent the leger lines when the music goes in alt. These provide for the note a in alt, c in alt, and e in alt; in the space above which, next the edge of the cushion, the f in alt is wrote, when it is wanting, which completes the compass of the instrument.

Those who only sing or play on single instruments, such as violins, &c. should have their cushions not above half the width of those before-mentioned, upon which there should be but one flave, and that in the following order:—Two small lines at bottom, five large ones in the middle, and three small ones at top. Neither of the outside lines of these small cushions should be sewed close to the edge, as there are notes supposed above and below. At either end of these small cushions, there should be a small wire staple, in order that any number of them may be combined together at pleasure, by running a rod through the staples: this will enable the practitioner to write what musicians call Score, in any number of parts he pleases; and by this means a thorough knowledge of the great works of Handel, and all other classical authors, may be acquired as well without fight as with it.

The characters used to write on this machine are pins; some with two, three, or more heads; others bent in different forms—some, the heads taken off and the top beat flat; some of these are split; others the heads taken off, and placed near the middle. The bars are pieces of wire crooked at each end; a double bar is made by placing two single ones close together; a double sharp and double flat in the same manner.

The characters are kept in a box in the same style as the printer keeps his types; each different compartment of which must be marked with a character in writing, signifying what each, contained in the several compartments, is intended to represent. That the matter may be acquainted with them, the student must be taught to distinguish each of the characters contained in the box by the feel, as well as the names of each line and space upon the cushion. When he can do this readily, some music should be read to him, which it will be well for him to copy on the cushion; and when that is filled, let it be laid on the desk of the harpsichord before him; and then by feeling over a passage or sentence at a time, and afterwards playing it, his playing always commencing with the beginning of the piece, or at some particular part of it, this will soon enable him to recollect the whole, when the hands are taken off the cushion, to play what has been last felt. One of these characters, called a direct, must be placed against the note to be next felt: This will enable the student to go on again, after playing, without any difficulty. The person who reads the music, must be instructed not to call the lines or spaces by the letters which distinguish them, lest confusion may ensue, every eighth being the same; but must read in the following manner: first the name of the character must be mentioned, whether minim, crotchet, or quaver, &c. then the line or space; as for example, minim on the first line, crotchet on the first space, quaver on the second, &c. &c. When the music exceeds the compass of the flave, it must be particularly mentioned whether above or below, first calling the character, then the leger line or space.

The technical term at the beginning of each piece, is better remembered than wrote down on the machine: The accidental terms, which are best marked by placing some character, not much used, either above or below the note on which it happens, the ingenious mind will find out a method of doing for itself.

This machine will not only teach music; but, calling the characters letters, any one will be enabled to spell, read, or write down his sentiments on any subject, and even convey them to his friend without the affluence of a secretary. Arithmetic may be also taught upon this machine; as by calling the dot t, and the pause o, a complete set of figures will be formed.

Explanation of the figures. A, B, C, D, the form of the cushion, which in its full size is about three feet long, and five inches and three quarters wide, having thereon a representation of musical notes, shown by different pins stuck on it. The lines a, b, c, d, e, are of large packthread; and the lines, f, g, h, are of small twine.

Pins, No. 1. A semibreve. 2. A semibreve rest. 3. A minim. 4. A minim rest. 5. Dots. 6. A crotchet. 7. A crotchet rest. 8. A quaver. 9. A quaver rest. 10. A sharp. 11. A semiquaver. 12. A semiquaver rest. 13. A demiquaver. 14. A demiquaver rest. 15. A flat. 16. A demi-semiquaver. 17. A demi-semiquaver rest. 18. A demi-semiquaver. 19. A demi-semiquaver rest. 20. A natural. 21. Bars. 22. A direct. 23. A tie. 24. Ba. 25. Tenor cliff. 26. Treble cliff. 27. A repeat. 28. Pause. 29. This character placed on any line or space, signifies as many notes on that line or space as there are doubles on the pins; if turned upwards, it implies the same number ascending; if downward, that number descending. 30. A beat or inverted shake. 31. A shake; and where there is a dot placed over it, signifies a turned shake. Two dots placed over each other, above the notes, without this character, signify a turn only. 32. This character is used over the note to signify forte; and if a dot is placed above it, forzato; if the dot is placed above the note and below the character, it implies crescendo; if the character is placed below the note, it signifies piano; and if a dot is placed under it, pianissimo; but if the dot is above the character, and below the note, it signifies diminuendo. In concertos, the inventor uses the same character placed above the note in the same manner, with two dots over it to signify forte; and below the notes, with two dots under it to signify febo: in vocal music, the same character above the notes, with three dots over it, signifies symphony; and below the notes, with three dots under it, signifies song.”

It is certain, that when playing concertos, or, if you please, when performing in score, the blind must depend upon memory, and upon memory alone: but happily their retentive powers are remarkably strong; and there are few pieces in music which will be found either too intricate to be acquired, or too long to be remembered, by a person deprived of sight. Mr Stanley, the gentleman gentleman formerly mentioned by Tanfure, performs what is still more astonishing. If our information, which we cannot doubt, be true, he accompanies any lesson with a thorough bass, though he never has heard it before. We have never yet heard of any person, though blest with the full use of sight, and with all the advantages accruing from it, who could thus anticipate harmony before the chords were sounded, and accompany it in a manner suitable to its nature.

When he becomes a more profound theorist, if he has adopted the notion that music and geometry are congenial and inseparable (which, however, in our judgment is frivolous), he may peruse Malcom's Essay on Music, and Tredyell's Theory and Practice of Music. But if he chooses to hear the same principles delivered without that unnecessary parade and ostentation of profundity, let him be instructed by D'Alembert (see the article Music in this Dictionary); by Rameau, in his principles of composition; and by Rousseau's Musical Dictionary (the substance of which is engrossed in the present Work, either under the respective detached articles, or in the notes added to the article Music). It is true, that the forms and proportions of instruments, the thickness, length, and tension of musical strings, may be mathematically adjusted; their relations one to another may be determined by the coincidence of their vibrations, or by the number and velocity of these vibrations when dissonant; but experience and a good ear are amply sufficient for these purposes. Yet, if the necessity of geometry in music should still remain an indelible article in his creed, he may peruse Dr Smith's Philosophical Principles of Harmony. There has also lately been published an explication of Tartini's theory, intitled, The Principles and Power of Harmony; which, after he has made considerable progress, may be read to him with sensible improvement.

Thus we have endeavoured to form an estimate of the inconveniences suffered, and the advantages possessed, by the blind; we have attempted to show, of what kind of culture their remaining faculties are susceptible, and what appeared to us the safest and properest means of their improvement. We have illustrated not only its possibility, but its certainty, by incontrovertible facts, which demonstrate, even in the eyes of skepticism and incredulity, to what degrees of eminence, both in the mechanical and liberal arts, the blind may be carried. It now remains to demand a categorical answer from society, Whether it is more humane and eligible, that such unhappy persons should be suffered to languish out their lives in torpid and miserable obscurity, wretched in themselves and burdensome to others; or to cultivate and improve their powers in such a manner, as that they may be qualified for internal enjoyment and public utility? Surely there is not a human being, who does not disgrace the works of God, that can be at any loss in answering this question. Have we not then a right to call the world to an account? have we not a right to demand, why rational beings susceptible of felicity in themselves, and capable of transmuting happiness through the societies with whom they are connected, should be abandoned to a state of insignificance and misery? Is it possible that men who are every moment subjected to the same contingencies with which they behold their fellow-creatures afflicted, should not with all their souls endeavour to alleviate the misfortunes of their suffering brethren? Is the native and hereditary portion of human wo so light and supportable in itself, that we should neglect and despise those to whom it is embittered by accidental circumstances of horror and distress? You who are parents, who feel the strong and powerful pleadings of nature, do not, by a brutal negligence and insensibility, render the existence which you have given a curse to its possessors. Do not give them reason to upbraid your memory; and to answer those who ask what patrimony you have left them, that their sole inheritance was ignorance, incapacity, and indigence. You men of wealth and eminence, you whom Providence has rendered conspicuous on the theatre of nature, to whom it has given the noblest opportunities of participating the divine beatitude by the exercise of universal benevolence and genuine patriotism; yours is the glorious province of bringing neglected merit from obscurity, of healing the wounds inflicted by adverse fortune, and of cultivating these talents which may be exerted for your own advantage and the honour of your species. Thus you shall rise in the heraldry of heaven, and your names diffuse a lustre through the extent of space and the archives of eternity. Otherwise the temporary glare and parade of your situation can produce nothing else but a deplorable mimicry of real and intrinsic greatness, and are no more than a splendid mask to cover what in itself is infamous or detestable.

By way of appendix to the preceding article, we shall add one or two very singular histories, with which it is hoped our readers will not be disappointed.

An account of some remarkable particulars that happened to a lady after having had the confluent kind of small-pox.] "In the course of this disease, during which the lady was attended by the late Sir Hans Sloane, several threatening symptoms appeared, which however were at length overcome; and the patient being thought out of danger, took several doses of such purgative medicines as are usually administered in the decline of the disease, without any bad consequence.

"But in the evening of the day on which she had taken the last dose that was intended to be given her on that occasion, she was suddenly seized with pains and convulsions in the bowels; the pain and other symptoms became gradually less violent as the force of the medicine abated, and by such remedies as were thought best adapted to the case, they seemed at length to be entirely subdued.

"They were, however, subdued only in appearance; for at eleven o'clock of the forenoon of the next day they returned with great violence, and continued some hours; when they went off, they left the muscles of the lower jaw so much relaxed, that it fell down, and the chin was supported on the breast. The strength of the patient was so much exhausted during this paroxysm, that she lay near two hours with no other signs of life than a very feeble respiration, which was often too difficult to be discerned, that those about her concluded she was dead.

"From this time the fits returned periodically every day, at about the same hour. At first they seemed to affect her nearly in the same degree; but at length all..." the symptoms were aggravated, the convulsions became more general, and her arms were sometimes convulsed alternately; it also frequently happened, that the arm which was last convulsed remained extended and inflexible some hours after the struggles were over. Her neck was often twisted with such violence, that the face looked directly backwards, and the back part of the head was over the breast; the muscles of the countenance were also so contracted and writhed by the spasms, that the features were totally changed, and it was impossible to find any resemblance of her natural aspect by which she could be known. Her feet were not less distorted than her head; for they were twisted almost to dislocation at the instep, so that she could not walk but upon her ankles.

"To remove or mitigate these deplorable symptoms, many remedies were tried; and, among others, the cold bath; but either by the natural effect of the bath, or by some mismanagement in the bathing, the unhappy patient first became blind, and soon afterwards deaf and dumb. It is not easy to conceive what could increase the misery of deafness, dumbness, blindness, and frequent paroxysms of excruciating pain; yet a very considerable aggravation was added; for the loss of her sight, her hearing, and her speech, was followed by such a stricture of the muscles of her throat, that she could not swallow any kind of aliment either solid or liquid. It might reasonably be supposed that this circumstance, though it added to the degree of her misery, would have shortened its duration; yet in this condition she continued near three quarters of a year; and during that time was supported in a very uncommon manner, by chewing her food only; which having turned often, and kept long in her mouth, she was obliged at last to spit it out. Liquors were likewise gargled about in her mouth for some time; and then returned in the same manner, no part of them having palled the throat by an act of deglutition; so that whatever was conveyed into the stomach, either of the juices of the solid food, or of liquids, was either gradually imbibed by the spongeines of the parts, which they moistened, or trickled down in a very small quantity along the sides of the vessels.

"But there were other peculiarities in the case of this lady, yet more extraordinary. During the privation of her sight and hearing, her touch and her smell became so exquisite, that she could distinguish the different colours of silk and flowers, and was sensible when any stranger was in the room with her.

"After she became blind, and deaf, and dumb, it was not easy to contrive any method by which a question could be asked her, and an answer received. This however was at last effected, by talking with the fingers, at which she was uncommonly ready. But those who conversed with her in this manner, were obliged to express themselves by touching her hand and fingers instead of their own.

"A lady who was nearly related to her, having an apron on, that was embroidered with silk of different colours, asked her, in the manner which has been described, if she could tell what colour it was? and after applying her fingers attentively to the figures of the embroidery, she replied, that it was red, and blue, and green; which was true. The same lady having a pink coloured ribbon on her head, and being willing still further to satisfy her curiosity and her doubts, asked what colour that was? her cousin, after feeling some time, answered that it was pink colour; this answer was yet more astonishing, because it showed not only a power of distinguishing different colours, but different kinds of the same colour; the ribbon was not only discovered to be red, but the red was discovered to be of the pale kind called a pink.

"This unhappy lady, conscious of her own uncommon infirmities, was extremely unwilling to be seen by strangers, and therefore generally retired to her chamber, where none but those of the family were likely to come. The same relation, who had by the experiment of the apron and ribbon discovered the exquisite sensibility of her touch, was soon after convinced by an accident, that her power of smelling was acute and refined in the same astonishing degree.

"Being one day visiting the family, she went up to her cousin's chamber, and after making herself known, she treated her to go down, and sit with her among the rest of the family, assuring her, that there was no other person present; to this she at length consented, and went down to the parlour door; but the moment the door was opened, she turned back, and retired to her own chamber much displeased; alleging, that there were strangers in the room, and that an attempt had been made to deceive her; it happened indeed that there were strangers in the room; but they had come in while the lady was above stairs, so that she did not know they were there. When she had satisfied her cousin of this particular, she was pacified; and being afterwards asked how she knew there were strangers in the room, she answered, by the smell.

"But though she could by this sense distinguish in general between persons with whom she was well acquainted and strangers, yet she could not so easily distinguish one of her acquaintance from another without other assistance. She generally distinguished her friends by feeling their hands; and when they came in, they used to present their hands to her, as a mean of making themselves known: the make and warmth of the hand produced in general the differences that she distinguished; but sometimes she used to span the wrist, and measure the fingers. A lady, with whom she was very well acquainted, coming in one very hot day, after having walked a mile, presented her hand as usual; she felt it longer than ordinary, and seemed to doubt while it was; but after spanning the wrist, and measuring the fingers, she said, 'It is Mrs M. but she is warmer to-day than ever I felt her before.

"To amuse herself in the mournful and perpetual solitude and darkness to which her disorder had reduced her, she used to work much at her needle; and it is remarkable, that her needle-work was uncommonly neat and exact; among many other pieces of her work that are preserved in the family, is a pin-cushion, which can scarce be equalled. She used also sometimes to write; and her writing was yet more extraordinary than her needle-work; it was executed with the same regularity and exactness; the character was very pretty, the lines were all even, and the letters placed at equal distances from each other: but the most astonishing particular of all, with respect to her writing, is, that she could by some means discover when a letter had by some mistake been omitted, and would place it over that part..." of the word where it should have been inserted, with a caret under it. It was her custom to fit up in bed at any hour of the night, either to write or to work, when her pain or any other cause kept her awake.

"These circumstances were so very extraordinary, that it was long doubted whether she had not some faint remains both of hearing and sight, and many experiments were made to ascertain the matter; some of these experiments she accidentally discovered, and the discovery always threw her into violent convulsions. The thought of being suspected of insincerity, or supposed capable of acting so wicked a part as to feign infirmities that were not inflicted, was an addition to her misery which she could not bear, and which never failed to produce an agony of mind not less visible than those of her body. A clergyman who found her one evening at work by a table with a candle upon it, put his hat between her eyes and the candle, in such a manner that it was impossible she could receive any benefit from the light of it if she had not been blind. She continued still at her work, with great tranquillity; till, putting up her hand suddenly to rub her forehead, she struck it against the hat, and discovered what was doing; upon which she was thrown into violent convulsions, and was not without great difficulty recovered. The family were by these experiments, and by several accidental circumstances, fully convinced that she was totally deaf and blind; particularly by fitting unconcerned at her work, during a dreadful storm of thunder and lightning, though she was then facing the window, and always used to be much terrified in such circumstances. But Sir Hans Sloane, her physician, being still doubtful of the truth of facts which were scarce less than miraculous, he was permitted to satisfy himself by such experiments and observations as he thought proper; the issue of which was, that he pronounced her to be absolutely deaf and blind.

"She was at length sent to Bath, where she was in some measure relieved; her convulsions being less frequent, and her pains less acute: but she never recovered her speech, her sight, or her hearing in the least degree.

"Many of the letters dated at Bath, in some of which there are instances of interlineations with a caret, the writer of this narrative hath seen, and they are now in the custody of the widow of one of her brothers, who, with many other persons, can support the facts here related, however wonderful, with such evidence as it would not only be injustice, but folly, to disbelieve."

An account of a French lady, blind from her infancy, who can read, write, and play at cards, &c.]

"A young gentlewoman of a good family in France, now in her 18th year†, lost her sight when only two years old, her mother having been advised to lay some pigeons blood on her eyes, to preserve them in the small-pox; whereas, so far from answering the end, it ate into them. Nature, however, may be said to have compensated for the unhappy mistake, by beauty of person, sweetness of temper, vivacity of genius, quickness of conception, and many talents which certainly much alleviate her misfortune.

"She plays at cards with the same readiness as others of the party. She first prepares the packs allotted to her, by pricking them in several parts; yet so imperceptibly, that the closest inspection can scarcely discern her indexes. She sorts the suits, and arranges the cards in their proper sequence, with the same precision, and nearly the same facility, as they who have their sight. All she requires of those who play with her, is to name every card as it is played; and these she retains so exactly, that she frequently performs some notable strokes, such as show a great combination and strong memory.

"The most wonderful circumstance is, that she should have learned to read and write; but even this is readily believed on knowing her method. In writing to her, no ink is used, but the letters are pricked down on the paper; and by the delicacy of her touch, feeling each letter she follows them successively, and reads every word with her finger ends. She herself in writing makes use of a pencil, as she could not know when her pen was dry; her guide on the paper is a small thin ruler and of the breadth of her writing. On finishing a letter, she wets it, so as to fix the traces of her pencil, that they are not obscured or effaced; then proceeds to fold and seal it, and write the direction: all by her own address, and without the assistance of any other person. Her writing is very straight, well cut, and the spelling no less correct. To reach this singular mechanism, the indefatigable cares of her affectionate mother were long employed, who accustomed her daughter to feel letters cut in cards or paste-board, brought her to distinguishing an A from a B, and thus the whole alphabet, and afterwards to spell words; then, by the remembrance of the shape of the letters, to delineate them on paper; and, lastly, to arrange them so as to form words and sentences.

"She has learned to play on the guitar, and has even contrived a way of pricking down the tunes as an assistance to her memory. So delicate are her organs, that in fingering a tune, though new to her, she is able to name the notes.

"In figured dances she acquires herself extremely well, and in a minuet with inimitable ease and gracefulness. As for the works of her sex, she has a masterly hand; she sews and hem perfectly well; and in all her works she threads the needles for herself however small.

"By the watch her touch never fails telling her exactly the hour and minute."

From this account, however, it would appear, that except reading and writing, the French lady has nothing to boast of in which she is not excelled by Mr Stanley already mentioned, if we may credit all that is reported of him. The works peculiar to her sex are gained mechanically; but the distinguishing colours, telling the precise time by a watch, naming the notes in music, and many other things depending upon the ear and touch, are said to be so familiar to him, that his friends cease to think them extraordinary. Attainments still more wonderful are ascribed to him; as, the naming the number of persons in a room on entering it; the directing his voice to each person in particular, even to strangers when they have once spoken; the missing any person absent, and telling who that person is; and, lastly, his being able to form just conceptions of youth, beauty, symmetry, and shape. Blindness

Povv-Blind, or Pur-blind. A person who is very short-sighted is said to be pur-blind.

Moon-Blind, denotes horses that lose their sight at certain times of the moon. See Farriery.

Blind-Harry. See Henry the Minstrel.

Blind-Worm. See Auguis.

Blinde, among mineralists, a species of lead-marcasite, by our miners called mock-ore, mock-lead, and wild lead, &c. The German mineralists call it blende, whence our denomination blinde. It answers to what in Agricola is called Galena inanis.

It usually lies immediately over the veins of lead-ore, in the mines which produce it, for it is not found in all. When the miners see this, they know the vein of ore is very near.

Blinds, or Blindees, in the art of war, a fort of defence commonly made of oziors, or branches interwoven, and laid across between two rows of stakes, about the height of a man, and four or five feet asunder, used particularly at the heads of trenches, when they are extended in front towards the glacis; serving to shelter the workmen, and prevent their being overlooked by the enemy.