the sun began to break, and a splendid scene opened upon us. The insulated mountain, rising up into a peak of 7,420 feet above the level of the sea, flanked on one side by lofty ranges, and on the other by a champagne country, stretching to the shore, that formed the margin of one immense expanse of ocean. I could not see this glorious sight with the visual orbs, but I turned toward it with indescribable enthusiasm. I stood upon the suminit of the Peak, and felt all its beauties rushing into my heart of hearts."

It is to be regretted that Mr. Holman did not give to the world, more of his own observations and reflections. As a writer, he might have been useful to the world in a two-fold sense. Having possessed perfect sight during the early part of his life, his vivid recollections of light and shade, nature's smiles and frowns, and the various combinations of color, enabled him to draw, with an imaginative pencil, every scene that could be described to him. The knowledge which he gained of new and interesting objects, by adroitly managing the eyes of others, was as correct, no doubt, as though they had been painted upon his own mind. He, therefore, found no difficulty in describing all that other travelers describe, or in gathering as much useful information as other travelers collect. To him, phases of the human character were presented, which are commonly hidden from the seeing. We allude to those higher feelings of wild and savage nature, that only the misfortunes of others can sometimes bring out. Wild,

sweet flowers are sometimes found among brambles, and the crudest nature has in it something refined. Most blind persons find the study of character a source of unbounded satisfaction. Our author's peculiar situation, and comparative helplessness, might have opened up to him, among the numerous tribes he visited, an endless field of useful labor. We are, however, not disposed to find much fault with the course Mr. Holman pursued. His writings have amused and interested the public, and have gained for their author a high character in the literary world.

LIFE OF JAMES WILSON, THE BLIND BIOGRAPHER.

"I go, I go! And must mine image fade

From the green spots wherein my childhood played
By my own streams?

Must my life part from each familiar place,

As a bird's song that leaves the woods no trace

JAMES WILSON was born May 24th, 1779, in Richmond, Virginia. His father, John Wilson, was a native of Scotland, who emigrated to this country when eighteen years of age, to manage the estate of his uncle, which he afterward inherited. After the death of his uncle, he married Elizabeth Johnson, of Baltimore. But, unfortunately for him, at the com mencement of the revolutionary war, he found his predilections for monarchy too strong to relish the doctrines of liberty or death, and joined the roya cause. In consequence of this, a band of enraged incendiaries attacked and burned his dwelling, and laid waste his plantation. He served during five campaigns, in a detachment under the command of Lord Cornwallis, and was taken prisoner at Yorktown, where General Washington gave the finishing stroke to the war.

On being released, he found his health much impaired, and being perhaps much grieved to see the

star spangled banner, which he strove so hard to humble in the dust, now wave in proud triumph over the Colonies, he decided to take his family and re turn to England. Bound for Liverpool, the vessel set sail under the guidance of Captain Smith. But they had scarcely lost sight of land, when Mr. Wilson was attacked with severe illness, and twenty days after the ship had left New York harbor, he died.

Mrs. Wilson, being at this time in delicate health, was so shocked by this sad event, that she expired in twenty minutes after. They were both wrapped in one hammock, and committed to a watery grave! And James Wilson, their only surviving offspring, at the tender age of four years, was left a poor, friendless, fortuneless orphan. Nor was this the end of his misfortune; seized by the small pox, and for want of a mother's care and proper medical aid, this most loathsome disease deprived him of his sight. After a long and tedious voyage, the captain was compelled to put into Belfast harbor for repairs. Young Wilson, having not yet recovered from his illness, was immediately sent to the city and placed in charge of the church warden; and to prevent him from becoming a charge to the parish, the benevolent Captain Smith put in the warden's hands a sum of money suf ficient to defray his expenses for five years.

When about seven years of age, his right eye was couched by Surgeon Wilson, and restored to partial sight, But shortly after, on crossing the street ɔne day, he was attacked and badly bruised by

an ill-natured cow, which nearly cost him his life, and deprived him of the sight he had recovered. He early manifested great mental as well as physical activity, and was held in high esteem by his youthful associates, for daring exploits and inventive genius. So perfect a knowledge did he acquire of every street, nook, and principal building in Belfast, that he was not unfrequently a guide to strangers, with perfect sight, who groped about in midnight darkness, unable again to find their lodgings.

His first effort for self-maintenance, when about twelve years of age, was in carrying letters to and from the different offices of merchants and professional gentlemen, and was afterward employed by Mr. Gordon, editor of the Belfast News Letter, to deliver the papers to subscribers on the days of publication. While in this employment, he was often compelled to call at the residences of gentlemen four or five miles out of the city. But having a perfect knowledge of the surrounding country, he was enabled to execute his business with correctness and dispatch. His indigent circumstances and friendless condition, rendered his opportunities for acquiring knowledge exceedingly limited. But his native genius soon suggested plans to overcome these embarrassments, which his indomitable perseverance at length carried into full effect.

It seems to be indispensably necessary, that a mind destined to be truly great should be first disciplined in the school of rigid self-denial, and its progress