O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon Irrecoverably dark ; total eclipse, Wi:hout all hope of day !" The appeal which the same poet makes, in his own person, to the sympathy of his readers, in the sub lime address to light in-his Paradise Lost, is, perhaps, still more pathetic and affecting : Thus, with the year, Seasons return; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of ev'n or morn, Or sight 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 Cot ofl'; and, for the book of knowledge fair, Presented with a universal blank Of nature's works, to me expung'd and ras'd, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out." The following striking picture of the condition of the blind, is delineated by one who had the misfor tune to be completely deprived of his eye-sight at the early age of five months,—the well-known and much esteemed Dr T. Blaeklock of Edinburgh.
" 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 pro ductive of disadvantages or calamities so multiform, 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 enquiring soul, as by the glorious and 'delightful medium of light. For this not only re veals 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 on which he stands, or to which his extremities can reach. Sound, indeed, gives him some ideas of dis tant objects ; but those ideas are extremely obscure and indistinct. They are obscure, because they con sist alone of the objects whose oscillations vibrate io his ear ; and do not necessarily suppose any other bodies with which the intermediate space may be oc cupied, except that which gives the sound alone : they are indistinct, because sounds themselves are frequently ambiguous, and do not uniformly and ex clusively 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 indi cated 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 indivi sible point of time, the mighty space from earth to heaven ; or from one star to another. By the assist ance 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, inured to vast impres sions of distance, can not only recal 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 diversi fied splendour, not only invites the understanding to expatiate on a theatre so extensive, so diversified, and so attractive ; but enterlains and inflames the imagi nation with every possible exhibition of the sublime ' or beautiful. The man of light and colours beholds the objects of his attention and curiosity from afar. Taught by experience, he measures their relative dis tances ; distinguishes their qualities ; determines their situations, positions, and attitudes ; presages what these tokens may import ; selects his favourites ; tra verses, in security, the space which divides them from him ; stops at the point where they are placed; and either obtains them with case, or immediately perceives the means by which the obstacles that in tercept his passage to thein,may be surmounted. The blind not only may be, but really are, during a con siderable period, apprehensive of danger, in every motion towards any place from whence their con tracted power of perception can give them no intelli gence. All the various modes of delicate propor tion ; 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 of sight they are destined, relaxes their frame, and subjects them to all the disagreeable sen sations which arise from dejection of spirits. Hence the most fteble exertions create lassitude and uneasi ness. Hence the native tone of the nervous system, which alone is compatible with health and pleasure, destroyed by inactivity, exasperates and embitters every disagreeable impression. Natural evils, how. ever, are always supportable ; they not only arise from blind and undesigning 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 deserve the name of evils. These excoriate the soul with ineffable poig nancy, as expressive of indifference or malignity in those by whom such bitter potions are cruelly admi niitered. The negligence or wantonness, therefore, with which the blind are too frequently treated, is an enormity which God alone has justice to feel, or power to punish."
That this affecting appeal should be somewhat too querulous and gloomy, will not excite the wonder of those who are aware that its author, though endow ed with a powerful mind, was liable to frequent fits of despondency and extreme depression of spirits ; in consequence of which, the natural evils of his situation occasionally presented themselves to his ima gination, in too aggravated and distorted a form. For this, he seems anxious to apologise ; when, in a subsequent part of his appeal, he exclaims : " Thus dependent on every creature, and passive to every accident, can the world, the uncharitable world, be surprised to observe moments when the blind are at variance with themselves, and with every thing else around them ? With the same instincts of self pre servation, the same irascible passions which are com mon to the species, and exasperated by a sense of debility, either by retaliation or defence ; can the blind be real objects of resentment or contempt, even when they seem pv:evish or vindictive ?" The blind, however, are not without sources of consolation peculiar to themselves ; of which, no one was more conscious than the amiable Blacklock, or more capable of forcibly detailing. " Their beha viour," says he, " is often highly expressive, not only of resignation, but even of chearfulness ; and though they are often coldly, and even inhumanly 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 em pire, has neither left his afflicted creatures without consolation or resource. Even from their loss, how ever oppressive and irretrievable, they derive advan tages ; not, indeed, adequate to recompense, but suf ficient to alleviate their misery. The attention of the soul, confined to those avenues of perception .which she can command, is neither dissipated nor confounded by the immense multiplicity, nor the ra pid succession of surrounding objects. Hence her contemplations are more uniformly fixed upon her .self, 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 instru ments of corporeal sensation are more assiduously cultivated and improved ; so that from them she de rives such notices and presages of approaching plea sure or impending danger, as entirely escape the at tention 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 atmo sphere more sensibly resist his progress ; and, in proportion as his motion is accelerated, or his dis tance 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 dan gers 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 con cerned ; and though these conjectures may be some times 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 at a proper distance, but inform him in what direction he moves ; and are a kind of audible cynosures to regulate his course. In places to which he has been accustomed, i he, as it were, recognises his latitude and longitude from every breath of varied fragrance that tinges the gale ; from every ascent or declivity in the road ; from every natural or artificial sound that strikes his ear : if these indications he 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 mid night, with the utmost security and exactness." The perfection to which the blind are capable of t arriving in the use of those senses of which they re- t main in possession, is indeed truly admirable ; and strongly manifests the bounty of nature, in providing new resources and enjoyments to for any accidental deficiency. In the delicacy of their hear ing and touch, the blind excel those who see, to a degree which is almost incredible ; and renders them, in some respects, objects of envy. Their deli cacy of ear renders them particularly susceptible of the enjoyment of music, and capable of attaining to the most consummate excellence in the practice of that delightful art. Of this, every age has afforded abundant proofs ; from the rude period when blind ness and minstrelsy were usually conjoined, to the present time. In the 16th century, Franciscus Sa linas, a native of Burgos in Spain, who was afflicted. with incurable blindness, obtained the Freatest cele brity for his skill, not only in the practice, but also in the theory of music. His treatise on the scientific principles of harmony, according to Sir John Haw kins, is equal in value to any that is yet extant. Caspar Crumbhorn,. a native of Silesia, and Martini Pesenti of Venice, who flourished not long after, were also blind musicians that excelled' all their co temporaries in their exquisite performance ; and in their compositions both for instruments and the voice. To these we may add the well-known English or ganist, Stanley ; who obtained the greatest celebrity in his day, both for his performance and his compo sitions. So delicate and susceptible was this gentle man's ear, that he was able to accompany any lesson with a thorough bass, though he had never heard it before ; thus anticipating the harmony before the chords were sounded, and accompanying it in a man ner suitable to its nature.