fancy, as may be seen in the poem entitled, "Visit to a Fixed Stai." And more particularly is she happy in the choice of euphonic words, and in the construc tion of musical and well rounded sentences, which is said to be a characteristic of the blind. In the preface of her first work, the writer of it observes: "That one who, from the earliest period of infancy, has been deprived of sight, and whose entire knowledge of externa. objects, from which to paint with the imaginative pencil, has been derived from oral description, should be able thus faithfully to present scenes from nature, and in colors so vivid and true as to render the reader incredulous as to the originality of the production, is a subject of surprise, as well as admiration.

As an evidence that Miss Crosby is in some degree a reasoner, as well as poetess, we copy the following ines from her last work, entitled, "Monterey and other Poems:

TIME CHRONICLED IN A SKULL.

Wny should I fear it! Once the pulse of life
Throbbed in these temples, pale and bloodless now ?

Here reason sat enthroned, its empire held

O'er infant thought and thought to action grown

A flashing eye in varying glances told

The secret workings of immortal mind.

The vital spark hath fled, and hope, and love

Thoughts suggested to our authoress on placing her watch in a human skull hich was one day put into her hands.

H

And hatred-all are buried in the dust:
Forgotten, like the cold and senseless clay
That lies before me: such is human life.
Mortals, behold and read your destiny!
Faithful chronometer, which now I place
Within this cavity, with faltering hand,
Tell me how swift the passing moments fly!
I hear thy voice, and tremble as I hear;
For time and death are blended-awful thought
Death claims his victim. Time that once was his,
Bearing him onward with resistless power,
Must in a vast eternity be lost.

Eternity! duration infinite!

Ages and ages roll unnumbered there;
From star to star the soul enraptured flies,
Drinking new beauties, transports ever new,
Casting its crown of glory at His feet,

Whose word from chaos to existence called

A universe; whose hand omnipotent

Controls the storms that wake the boundless deep,
"And guides the planet in its wild career."

The novel circumstance which formed the subject of this poem, though trivial in itself, was well calculated to inspire our authoress with deep and sublime emotions, and at once suggest to her a train of met ancholy reflections.

"Why should I fear it! Once the pulse of life

Throbbed in these temples, pale and bloodless now.

What terror must she have felt, on placing her hands on the dry, hard bones, which once formed the prison-house of an immortal mind! How reluctantly must she have placed her watch in the dark cavity where once sat enthroned a reason, an ever-active in

telligence, that thinks, that wills, that knows, and yet knows not itself, or its own destiny!

"I hear thy voice, and tremble as I hear;
For time and death are blended--awful thought!"

Among her many creditable performances, this poem unquestionably excels in point of what we conceive to be true merit. It certainly stands unrivaled by any modern production of the blind we have yet seen. It not only possesses many intrinsic beauties, but discovers in the writer a depth of thought, and an appreciation of the sublime truly surprising.

Miss Frances Jane Crosby, an élève of the New York Institution for the Blind, was born in 1820. At the early age of six weeks she lost her sight, by a it of severe illness. Nor was this her only misfortune. Losing her father about this time, and her mother being left in indigent circumstances, scarcely able to provide for her own maintenance, the early education of her sightless daughter was entirely neglected.

Her unhappy condition at this period we cannot better describe than she herself has done in the ollowing:

"She sat beside her cottage door,
Her brow a pensive sadness wore;
And while she listened to the song
That issued from that youthful throng,
The tears, warm gushing on her cheek,
Told what no language e'er could speak;

While their young hearts were light and gay,
The hours passed heavily away.

A mental night was o'er her thrown,
She sat dejected and alone.

Yet, no; a mother's accents dear,
Came softly on that blind girl's ear.
While all were lock'd in dreamy sleep,
That mother o'er her couch would weep,
And as she knelt in silence there,
Would breath to God her fervent prayer:
That he all merciful and mild,

Would bless her sightless, only child.'"

This is a sad but no doubt true picture of her childhood. Possessing from her infancy a poetical temperament, quick perceptions, and a sensitive nature, she perhaps felt more deeply her privation. This is not the case, however, with all blind children; their inventive genius soon suggests methods for joining other children in their sports. Parents should be careful to encourage their little sightless charges, who seem to them so helpless, in healthful and playful exercises; allow them to run at will about the yards where they are not exposed to danger, and devote at least a small portion of their time each day to their mental training. In this way they would soon become as active and vigorous, both physically and mentally, as seeing children, and be guilty ɔf quite as many mischievous pranks.

Strange notions have been entertained, by writers of all ages, in relation to blindness. Some suppose it to be not only the greatest calamity that can befai one, but to preclude the possibility of a strong and

vigorous constitution. As an instance, we offer the following from the Encyclopedia Britanica: "The sedentary life to which they are doomed, relaxes the frame, and subjects them to all the disagreeable sensations which arise from dejection of spirits; hence the most feeble exertions create lassitude and uneasiness, and the natural tone of the nervous system, destroyed by inactivity, exasperates and embitters every disagreeable impression." This, so far from being true, is strikingly at variance with our own experience and numerous observations. The educated blind are commonly as cheerful as the seeing, and apparently much happier than the deaf mute, who has all his powers of locomotion, aided by perfect sight. He is annoyed by a thousand loathsome and disgusting objects, which, from us, are excluded. Possessing the sense of hearing, cultivated to an astonishing degree, and a delicacy of touch known only by those who look out from the ends of their fingers, we hear beauties in pleasant voices, sweet sounds, and even what may seem to others harsh discord, entirely hidden to the more obtuse senses of those who see. We derive great satisfaction from feeling over glossy surfaces, equivalent, perhaps, to the pleasurable emotions experienced by the seeing from the perception of brilliant colors. Indeed, this charge cзnnot be true, (though a hypothesis commonly assumed at the present day,) from the fact that the blind, in order to examine objects by their sense of touch, are necessarily compelled to travel over a space of ground