know an African from a white, by his voice. I can pronounce what dishes are on table, and what flowers and fruits are in a garden, by the smell, and can judge of meat in the market, by the feeling. I can usually say how many persons are in a room, and what their sex may be; and how many horses are in a vehicle. I can pronounce whether a room is empty or furnished, or how full a cask or a large box is. I can feel any obstacle in my way before I touch it. Whether a hill or level ground is before me, I can judge, only by groping. I can distinguish different kinds of cloths and their quality, as well by touch as others do by sight.

I cannot read now, though I was in Dr. Howe's excellent institution for sightless persons nine months, and had an opportunity to have learned, which I regret that I did not improve. The fact is, there are so few books and maps printed in the raised characters, that it is scarcely an object for a man who already has the rudiments of education, to study them. Nevertheless it would have been an amusement; and I am confident I could have learned. Dr. Howe found no difficulty in teaching me the map of Boston; and so perfectly do I know it, that I have frequently acted as a guide to seeing men. The celebrated David Crocket was not a little astonished at being led by me from the Tremont House to the Blind school.

There is one thing that I have never been able to comprehend; and that is, it has been pretended that some blind men have been able to distinguish colors. If they could, they must have had some organs of perception of which I have no idea. I never could; and I do not believe it. I can as soon believe that the shell of an oyster feels as keenly as the tips of my fingers, or that a tortoise can outstrip a horse. There are other means by which they may be enabled to impose on credulity. They might learn the flowers by the scent and commit the colors to memory; and they must hear that the color of a sailor's jacket is usually blue.

I find my way with perfect ease and safety, by feeling for holes with my cane, by following the edges of the side walks, and by observing the general direction of the streets. The gas

light posts are my chief annoyances. I wait for horses and carriages to pass, and judge of their distance by the ear. I can foretell the weather by the feeling of the atmosphere. I can think of no other particulars likely to gratify the curiosity of the public.

To conclude; whoever buys this little book, will perhaps find in it an equivalent for his money, and if not, he will at least have the satisfaction of having aided one upon whom the divine hand has been laid heavily.

ANECDOTES OF THE BLIND.

THE REV. THOMAS BLACKLOCK.

THIS gentleman was born in 1721, at Annan, in the county of Dumfries, in Scotland. His parents were from Cumberland. His father was a bricklayer, and his mother the daughter of a dealer in cattle.

He was not born blind, but lost his sight by the small pox at the age of six months. He was, therefore, kept at home, and his father encouraged an extraordinary inclination for books, which he displayed at a very early age. The best authors of the age were read to him, and, with assistance, he gained some knowledge of the Latin tongue. Poetry was his chief delight, and Allan Ramsey was his especial favorite. As early as his twelfth year, he began to write poems himself, one of which here follows, and may shew whether or not blind boys may be able to acquire education.

"TO A LITTLE GIRL WHOM I HAD OFFENDED.

How long shall I attempt in vain

Thy smiles, my angel, to regain?

I'll kiss your hand, I'll weep, I'll kneel:

Will naught, fair tyrant, reconcile ?

That gold-finch with her painted wings,
Which gaily looks, and sweetly sings;
That, and if aught I have more fine,
All, all, my charmer, shall be thine.
When next mamma shall prove severe,
I'll interpose, and save my dear.
Soften, my fair, those angry eyes,

Nor tear thy heart with broken sighs:
Think, while that tender breast they strain,
For thee what anguish I sustain.

Should but thy fair companions view
How ill that frown becomes thy brow,
With fear and grief in every eye,
Each would to each astonished cry,

'Heavens, where is all her sweetness flown,
How strange a figure now she's grown!

Run, Nancy, let us run, lest we,

Grow pettish, awkward things as she.'

'Tis done, 't is done; my cherub smiles,

My grief suspends, my fear beguiles;

How the quick pleasure leaves my breast!

Ah! still be kind, and I'll be blest."

When he was nineteen, his father was killed by the fall of a malt kiln, but he found friends and protectors, who appreciated his uncommon genius. Some of his compositions being shown to Dr. Stevenson of Edinburgh, that gentleman took him to the capital, where he entered the University as a student of divinity, and there continued his studies four years. In the following year a volume of his poems was published. The rebellion then breaking out, he returned to Dumfries, where he remained with his brother-in-law, till the end of the troubles, when he returned to the University, and continued his studies six years longer. He became master of the learned languages, and of the French tongue; attained a knowledge of philosophy and theology, and a considerable fund of other information. In 1759 he passed his examination, and was licensed as a preacher by the Presbytery. He obtained a high reputation as an orator, divine and author, as will be seen by reading some volumes of his sermons, and his treatise on morals.

His manner of life was so uniform that the history of one week of it is the history of the whole. Reading, music, walking, conversing and disputation, occupied almost his every hour. In argument he kept his temper admirably-no angry word was ever heard to fall from him. He was, however, very sensitive of insult to himself or his friends, and would sometimes revenge himself by satirical verses, which, however, he would burn in a few hours.

He wrote, or rather dictated, with great readiness and rapidity, so that his amanuensis could scarcely keep up with him; but if he was at a loss for a rhyme or a word, he stopped altogether and left the piece unfinished. He could not compose sitting, and he acquired a vibratory motion of body, which increased in proportion as his fancy warmed, and he was pleased with his subject.

In 1762 he married a Miss Johnson, the daughter of a surgeon, and was truly blest in the connection. This was a few days before he was ordained minister of Kirkendbright, by presentation from the crown, which was obtained for him by the Earl of Selkirk. But, from whatever cause, the inhabitants of that parish were so unwilling to receive him, that after two years of legal disputation, he compromised the matter, and accepted a small annuity instead. He had been inclined

to this course from the first. With this little provision, he removed to Edinburgh, and to make up the deficiency of his means, he received a number of young gentlemen into his house as boarders, and assisted them in their studies. Thus he lived twenty-three years, when his declining health and age obliged him to discontinue the plan. In the mean while he had received the degree of Doctor of Divinity from the University of Aberdeen.

No person was ever more agreeable to his pupils, and inmates of his house, than Dr. Blacklock. His mildness, his gentleness, and the warmth of his heart secured him the love and respect of all. The good man would sit in the midst of his young circle, all eager to pay him attention and do him kind offices. He seemed to forget his deprivation, and entered into the amusements of those around him with all the sprightliness of a young man. Music he loved, and was himself no mean performer on the flute and flageolet. He sung well, and was not ill pleased to be asked to do so.

Late in life he was afflicted with deafness, which must of course have been a heavier calamity to him than to another. However, his gentleness never forsook him, and his confidence in divine goodness was not impaired. His hour arrived in the fulness of years. In summer, 1791, he was attacked by fever, and died after a week's illness. His wife survived him.

His works speak for themselves.

JAMES WADDELL.

BY WILLIAM WIRT.

It was one Sunday, as I travelled through the county of Orange, that my eye was caught by a cluster of horses tied near a ruinous old wooden house, in the forest, not far from the road side. Having frequently seen such objects before, in travelling through these states, I had no difficulty in understanding that this was a place of religious worship.

Devotion alone should have stopped me, to join in the duties of the congregation; but I must confess, that curiosity to hear the preacher of such a wilderness, was not the least of my motives. On entering, I was struck with his preternatural appearance. He was a tall and very spare old man; his head, which was covered with a white linen cap, his shrivelled hands, and his voice, were all shaking under the influence of a palsy; and a few moments ascertained to me that he was perfectly blind.