selves on this occasion. Mr Caswell, minister of the place, being a gentleman particularly curious, desired the whole company, in case the blindness should be cured, to keep silence, and let the patient make his own observations, without the direction of any thing he had received by his other senses, or the advantage of discovering his friends by their voices. Among several others, the mother, brethren, sisters, and a young gentlewoman, for whom he had a passion, were present. The work was performed with great skill and dexterity. When the patient first received the dawn of light, there appeared such an ecstasy in his action, that he seemed ready to swoon away in the surprise of joy and wonder. The surgeon stood before him with his instruments in his hands. The young man observed him from head to foot: after which he surveyed himself as carefully, and seemed to compare him to himself; and observing both their hands, seemed to think they were exactly alike, except the instruments which he took for parts of his hands. When he had continued in this amazement for some time, his mother could not longer bear the agitation of so many passions as thronged upon her; but fell upon his neck, crying out, " 'My son, my son!" The youth knew her voice, and could speak no more than "Oh me! Are you my mother?" and fainted. The whole room, you will easily conceive, were very affectionately employed in recovering him; but, above all, the young gentlewoman who loved him, and whom he loved, shrieked in the loudest manner. That voice seemed to have a sudden effect upon him as he recovered, and he showed a double curiosity in observing her, as she spoke and called to him; until at last he broke out, "What has been done to me? Whither am I carried? Is all this about me the thing I have heard so often of? Is this the light? Is this seeing? Were you always thus happy, when you said you were glad to see each other? Where is Tom, who used to lead me? But I could now, methinks, go any where without him!" He offered to move, but seemed afraid of every thing around him. When they saw his difficulty, they told him, that, until he became better acquainted with his new being, he must let the servant still lead him. The

boy was called for and presented to him. Mr Caswell asked him, "what sort of thing he took Tom to be, before he had seen him?" He answered, "he believed there was not so much of him as himself; but he fancied him the same sort of creature."-The noise of this sudden change made all the neighbourhood throng to the place where he was. As he saw the crowd thickening, he desired Mr Caswell to tell him, how many there were in all to be seen. The gentleman smiling, answered him, that "it would be very proper for him to return to his late condition, and suffer his eyes to be covered, until they had received strength: for he might remember well enough, that by degrees he had, from little and little, come to the strength he had at present, in his ability in walking and moving: and that it was the same thing with his eyes, which, he said, would lose the power of continuing to him that wonderful transport he was now in, except he would be contented to ay aside the use of them, until they were strong enough to bear the light, without so much feeling as he knew he underwent at present." With much reluctance he was prevailed upon to have his eyes bound; in which condition they kept him in a dark room, until it was proper to let the organ receive its objects without farther precaution. During the time of this darkness, he bewailed himself in the most distressed manner, and accused all his friends, complaining that "some incantation had been wrought upon him, and some strange magic used to deceive him into an opinion, that he had enjoyed what they called sight." He added that "the impressions then let in upon his soul would certainly distract him, if he were not so at that present." At another time, he would strive to name the persons he had seen among the crowd after he was couched, and would pretend to speak, in perplexed terms of his own making, of what he in that short time observed. But, after the lapse of some weeks, it was thought fit to unbind his head, and the young woman whom he loved was intrusted to open his eyes accordingly; as well to endear herself to him by such a circumstance, as to moderate his ecstasies by the persuasion of a voice, which had so much power over him, as hers ever had. When this beloved young woman began to take off the

binding of his eyes, she talked to him as follows: "Mr William, I am now taking the binding off, though, when I consider what I am doing, I tremble with the apprehension, that, though I have from my very childhood loved you, dark as you were, and though you had conceived so strong a love for me, you will find there is such a thing as beauty, which may take you away from me for ever." The young man answered, "Dear Lydia, if I am to lose by sight the soft pantings which I have always felt when I heard your voice; if I am no more to distinguish the step of her I love when she approaches me, but to change that sweet and frequent pleasure, for such an amazement, as I knew the little time I lately saw; or, if I am to have any thing besides, which may take from me the sense of what appeared most pleasing to me at that time, which apparition, it seems, was you: pull out these eyes, before they lead me to be ungrateful to you or undo myself. I wished for them but to see you: pull them out, if they are to make me forget you.” Steele.

ON SPEECH, WRITING, AND PRINTING, AS CONTRIBUTING TO THE PROGRESS OF CIVILISATION.

IF you consider the lower animals, you will find that they are, to every useful purpose, deprived of the means of communicating their ideas to each other. They have cries, indeed, by which they express pleasure or pain, fear or hope; but they have no formed speech by which, like men, they can converse together. God Almighty, who called all creatures into existence in such manner as best pleased him, has imparted to these inferior animals no power of improving that situation, or of communicating with each other. There is, no doubt, a difference in the capacity of these inferior classes of creation. But, though one bird may build her nest more neatly than one of a different class, or one dog may be more clever, and more capable of learning tricks than another, yet, as it wants language, to explain to its comrades the advantages which it may

to

possess, its knowledge dies with it. Thus birds and dogs continue to use the same general habits proper the species, which they have done since the creation of the world. In other words, animals have a certain degree of sense which is termed instinct, which teaches them to seek their food and provide for their safety, in nearly the same manner as their parents did before them since the commencement of time, but does not enable them to communicate to their successors any improvements, or to derive any increase of knowledge. Thus, you may remark, that the example of the swallow, the wren, and other birds, which cover their nests with a roof to protect them against the rain, is never imitated by other classes, who have continued to construct theirs in the same exposed and imperfect manner since the beginning of the world. If man, though possessed of the same immortal essence or soul, which enables him to choose and refuse, to judge and condemn, to reason and conclude, were to be void of the power of communicating the conclusions, to which his reasoning had conducted him, it is clear that the progress of each individual in knowledge could be only in proportion to his own observation, and his own power of reasoning. But the gift of SPEECH enables any one to communicate to others whatever idea of improvement occurs to him; which, instead of dying in the bosom of the individual by whom it was first thought of, becomes a part of the stock of knowledge proper to the whole community, which is increased and rendered generally and effectually useful, by the accession of further information, as opportunities occur, or men of reflecting and inventive minds arise in the state. This use of spoken language, therefore, which so gloriously distinguishes man from the beasts that perish, is the primary means of introducing and increasing knowledge in infant communities. But it is evident that society, when its advance is dependent upon oral tradition alone, must be liable to many interruptions. The imagination of the speaker, and the dulness or want of comprehension of the hearer, may lead to many errors; and it is generally found, that knowledge makes but very slow progress, until the art of WRITING is discovered; by which a fixed, accu

rate, and substantial form can be given to the wisdom of past ages. When this noble art is attained, there is a sure foundation laid for the preservation and increase of knowledge. The record is removed from the inaccurate recollection of the aged, and placed in a safe, tangible, and unperishable form; which may be subjected to the inspection of various persons, until the sense is completely explained and comprehended with the least possible chance of doubt or uncertainty. By the art of writing a barrier is fixed against those violent changes, so apt to take place in the early ages of society, by which all the fruits of knowledge are frequently destroyed, as those of the earth are by a hurricane. Suppose, for example, a case, which frequently happens in the early history of mankind, that some nation, which has made considerable improvement in the arts is invaded and subdued by another, which is more powerful and numerous, though more ignorant than themselves. It is clear, that, in this case, as the rude and ignorant victors would set no value on the knowledge of the vanquished, it would, if intrusted only to the individuals of the conquered people, be gradually lost and forgotten. But if their useful discoveries were recorded in writing, the manuscripts in which they were described, though they might be neglected for a season, would, if preserved at all, probably attract attention at some more fortunate period. It was thus that, when the empire of Rome, having reached the utmost period of its grandeur, was broken down and conquered, by numerous tribes of ignorant though brave barbarians, those admirable works of classical learning, on which such value is justly placed in the present day, were rescued from total destruction and oblivion, by manuscript copies preserved by chance in the old libraries of churches and convents. It may indeed be taken as an almost infallible maxim, that no nation can make any great progress in useful knowledge or civilisation, until their improvement can be rendered stable and permanent by the invention of writing.-Another discovery, however, almost as important as that of writing, was made during the fifteenth century. I mean the invention of PRINTING. Writing with the hand must be