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highly polished surfaces, especially if they are curved or undulating. Hard, rough surfaces, like those of sand-paper and unpolished metal, are extremely disagreeable to the touch. Angular figures, with fuzzy, glutinous, or adhesive surfaces, excite in the blind feelings of disgust, kindred, perhaps, to those experienced by the seeing, when the eye falls upon grim and dingy colored objects; while spherical bodies, with soft, smooth, or glossy exteriors, never fail to create the most pleasing sensations and impart ideas of fascinating beauty. Consequently, with these qualities, and sweet sounds, we associate our conceptions of beautiful colors.

"To those who see," says a distinguished writer, "a scarlet color signifies an unknown quality in bodies, that makes to the eye the appearance with which we are well acquainted. The blind man has not this appearance as the sign of that particular quality in bodies; but he can conceive the eye to be variously affected by different colors, as the nose is by different smells, or the ear by different sounds. Thus he can conceive scarlet to be different from blue, as the sound of a trumpet is different from that of a drum: or as the smell of an orange is from that of an apple." As regards our mode of inferring how different colors must appear to the eye, the writer is essentially corWe do, indeed, fancy a sort of analogy to exist between the sensations which light and color produce upon the eye, and those which sounds produce upon With almost every property of bodies that

rect.

the ear.

may address itself to our hearing, smelling, taste, etc., we associate, as we have before remarked, some ideai quality of color. But what is most singular, these qualities seem to have a separate existence in the imagination, and may be formed by fancy into new and various combinations, as may be seen in the highly colored lines above quoted.

Much more might yet be said in explanation of the methods by which we are enabled to gain a knowledge of extent by the effect of distant sounds upon the ear, and of height and magnitude, by multiply. ing many times in imagination, the size and elevation of bodies commensurate with our means of perception. But as we have nearly exhausted the space allotted to us in this section, and perhaps the pa tience of the reader, we shall proceed briefly to no tice, in conclusion, a few more favorites of the muses. The most ancient of these, and perhaps the first in merit, is HENRY the Minstrel, more commonly called Blind Harry. This poet was born in 1361, and lost his sight in infancy. He was the author of a historical poem, in ten books, narrating the achievements of Sir William Wallace. This poem continued for several centuries, to be in great repute, but afterwards sunk into neglect, until very lately, when it was recovered from obscurity, and a very neat and correct edition was published at Perth, under the inspection and patronage of the Earl of Buchan. As an example of the author's style, we subjoin the folLowing, which is, perhaps, one of the most lively, and

animated descriptions in the whole poem. It is fre quently remarked that those who have never seen, should not attempt descriptive verse. If facts can reach the mind by no other entrance than the eye, and if color is the only stuff out of which poets' dreams are made, then, perhaps, it may be true that the blind can neither feel deeply nor describe naturally. But whether our author succeeds in giving this scene its true coloring or not, we leave our read ers to judge:

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Now Bigger's plains with armed men are crown'd,
And shining lances glitter all around;

The sounding horn and clarion all conspire

To raise the soldier's breast, and kindle up his fire.
So Triton, when, at Neptune's high command,
He heaves the swelling surge above the land;
When with full breath, he bids the tempest roar,
And dash the sounding billows to the shore;
His angry waves the wrinkled seas deform,
They rise, they rave, and blacken to the storm,
Each eager soldier seized his ready shield,
Drew the fierce blade and strode along the field;
The black'ning wings extend from left to right,
Condense the war and gather to the fight!
Now rose the battle, there the warriors tend,
A thousand deaths on thousand wings ascend;
Swords, spears and shields, in mixed confusion glow
The field is swept, and lessens at each blow.
Wallace's helm, distinguished from afar,
Tempests the field, and floats amid the war;
Imperious death attends upon the sword,
And certain conquest waits her destined lord!
Wallace beheld his fainting squadron yield,
And various slaughter spread along the field;
Furious he hastes and heaves his orbid shield,

Resolved in arms to meet his enemy;
Before his spear they run, they rush, they fly
And now in equal battle met the foes,-

Long lasts the combat, and resound their blow
Their dreadful falchions brandishing on high,
In wary circles heighten to the sky.

Now all is death and wounds; the crimson plain
Floats round in blood, and groans beneath its slain;
Promiscuous crowds one common ruin share,
And death alone employs the wasteful war;
They trembling fly, by conquering Scots opprest,
And the broad ranks of battle lie defaced;

A false usurper sinks in every foe,

And liberty returns with every blow!

JOHN GOWER, another ancient poet, who flourished in the latter part of the fourteenth century, and died in 1402, deserves a place in this series. He lost his sight, it appears, at an advanced period in life, but from what cause we are not informed. Some have supposed from imbecility of age; but this does not appear probable, from the fact that after his misfortune he wrote several of his best Latin and English poems.

There is nothing more certain than the uncertainty of human events; nor is there a greater disability than human inertness, or a want of power to break away from the sinking wreck of condemned projects, and to bear up manfully against the tide of reverses and disappointments, until a foothold can be gained on safer and more feasible plans. Failures are the creatures of error and mismanagement, and not of fatuitous misfortune. The only way to battle success

fully with natural difficulties, is to meet the ills of life with fortitude, and if obliged to yield a desired point, to rally all the energies in another quarter of the field. Nor is triumph over difficulty the only achievement; the true moral hero is able to endure as well as contend.

Another encouraging example of the power of resolve over physical circumstances, is exhibited in the life of Dr. M. CLANCY, a dramatic poet, who flourished in the beginning of the eighteenth century. He was born in the county of Clare, Ireland, and was deprived of sight in 1737, by a severe cold, and was thus rendered incapable of following his profession as a physician. As the doctor in his earlier days had evinced a fondness for scribbling verse, he was advised by some friends to try his success as an author, and supposing the theater was open alike to all, his first attempt was in the dramatic line. His first. piece was a comedy, called the "Sharper," which was acted five times at the theater in Smock-alley, Dublin, and obtained for him the notice of Dean Swift. The dean having critically read a copy of this play, which had been secretly placed upon his table, was so highly pleased with it that, on learning the circumstances of its author, he immediately dispatched the following:

"To DR. CLANCY:

66

Sir,-Some friend of mine lent me a comedy, which, I was told, was written by you I read it

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