surface not cognisable by vision may be discerned by the touch. When the movement of the fingers is called into play, in the recognition of the forms of objects, such as the larger plants, animals, and shells,-still more in ascertaining the dimensions and shapes of rooms, &c.,-the muscular sense aids the merely tactile perceptions. * "The world of the blind," says Mr. Prescott, "is circumscribed by the little circle which they can span with their own arms. All beyond has for them no real existence" (Essays, p. 47). This remark is by no means true even of the blind who are confined to touch for their knowledge of the outer world. It is still less so of those who can hear also, as we shall show when we come to speak of the sense of hearing. Blind guides, like Metcalf and Simon Moyser, and indeed all those who are able without eyes to find their own way from place to place, must, it is obvious, have some perception of objects lying beyond the "little circle which they can span with their own arms.' The currents of air as they meet the face report with exactitude the direction, the proximity, the size, and the character of the objects which partially intercept and modify them, enabling the blind traveller to recognise, as he passes them, houses, trees, hedgerows, gates, posts, bridges, and other objects to be avoided or approached. Dr. Bull, who became blind in mature life, states that this faculty developed itself in him after his blindness to a degree which astonished himself, though far inferior to that in which it exists in those born blind. 66 Sight and hearing," says Mr. Morell, "have been termed by some the objective, by others the theoretic, senses. These names are merely employed to designate the fact, that they stand more closely connected than others do with the intellectual powers; that they fix the mind's attention more directly upon the object affecting them; and that they make us less sensible than the rest of the corporeal affection apart from the objective cause."+ The associated feelings of touch and movement have surely an equal claim to be ranked among the theoretic and objective sensations. By their means alone, as the cases of Saunderson, of Moyse, and of Gought prove, the entire "Simon Moyser, who was born among the alps of Tyrol, lost his sight at two years of age; he devoted himself to so patient an exploration of the surrounding mountain-tops, that he was soon capable of directing thither the steps of all those who visited them. Carried away by a sort of passion for travelling, he pushed his excursions further and further, betook himself to Gratz, and became a messenger, carrying letters and money in these mountainous countries, in which scarcely any other method of communication is possible. In 1818, when he was thirty-three years of age, he perished in a torrent in which several seeing persons had lost their lives before him" (Dufau, p. 97). Elements of Psychology, part i. p. 112. We do not refer to the still more distinguished names of Euler and Huber, circle of studies which are included in a knowledge of the external universe may be mastered. The mathematical and physico-mathematical sciences, chemistry, and natural history in its various branches, were respectively cultivated by these philosophers, the first of whom lost his sight before he was a year old, and the two last when they were only three years of age. None of them retained the slightest memory of ever having seen, or any conception derived from sight. It is impossible for us to realise the world in which they lived, a world consisting of harder or softer, rougher or smoother impressions on the skin, and of more or less resistance offered to the muscles. The degree in which the impressions of any sense can be made to serve the purposes of intelligence and knowledge depends on the facility and distinctness with which it is possible to revive the idea of them in the absence of the object which first occasioned them. This it is easy to do in the case of sight—“ our eyes see visions when they are shut;" easy also in the case of sounds, though not so easy,— "Music, when soft voices die, almost impossible to most persons with regard to muscular or tactile feelings. The idea of an absent weight or touch does not generally body itself forth as a living reality to the imagination, hanging a load on the muscles, or exciting a tingling in the finger-ends. Yet it must do so in the case of the blind, or comparison, the clear discernment of resemblances and differences, and the knowledge which depends upon it, would be impossible. "If," says Diderot, "the memory [of tactile sensations] is very transient in us, if we can scarcely form an idea of the manner in which the man born blind fixes, recalls, and combines the sensations of touch, it is in consequence of our habit, adopted from the eyes, of realising every thing in our imagination by means of colours. It has nevertheless happened to myself, in the agitation of violent passion, to experience a frissonnement all over my hand, to feel the impression of bodies which I had touched a long time since revive as vividly as if they had been still present to my grasp, and to perceive very distinctly that the limits of the sensation coincided precisely with those of the absent bodies." "We cannot," he says again, "make the blind man understand how the ima because the former, who lost his sight when he was fifty-nine years of age, no doubt made use of conceptions derived from sight in his subsequent mathematical investigations; and because the latter, who became blind at seventeen, availed himself of the eyes of others in his studies of bees, directing their observations, and forming his own conclusions from their reports, and did not employ any of his remaining senses. gination presents absent objects to us as if they were present; but we may very well recognise in ourselves the faculty of feeling at the end of a finger a body which is no longer there. For this purpose, press the index-finger against the thumb; close your eyes; separate your fingers; examine immediately after this separation what passes within you, and tell me if the sensation does not last some time after the compression has ceased." We have only to suppose this power of recalling a perished, and perpetuating a present sensation of touch, indefinitely extended by cultivation and brought into dependence upon the will, in order to realise the physical conceptions of the blind. The success of the blind as geometers sufficiently disproves Mr. Johns's preposterous assertion, that they have no idea whatever of space; and even the more qualified doctrine of Sir William Hamilton, that sight is necessary to the prompt and precise perception of the relations of extension, magnitude, and figure. To enter upon this question, however, would involve a discussion of one of the most controverted points of mental philosophy: we will only say, that the confusion which has arisen from unskilful questioning of the blind, and from the difficulty which they naturally experience in translating ideas derived from one sense into the language of another, has been the cause of a mistake of which the theoretic refutation may be found in many treatises on psychology, and to which the labours of Saunderson afford a practical answer like that with which the cynic controverted the proof of the impossibility of motion. Cases of the restoration of the blind to sight are interesting in connection with many controverted points of the theory of vision, but do not fall within the limits of our present subject. We have seen that the scientific acquirements of the blind are gained principally by touch. To the peculiar conditions under which this sense operates, some of the peculiarities of their intellectual character may be traced. The prevailing analytic tendency of their minds, and the slowness, caution, and accuracy of their procedure, are thus explained by M. Dufau: "In fact, their means of arriving at a knowledge of objects, if more certain, are also, it is evident, less prompt and rapid than our own; only by observing objects with care, by studying them part by part, in short, by analysing them, can they attain to a knowledge of them. To convince oneself of the justice of this distinction, we need only compare the mode in which the blind and the seeing acquire their knowledge of any object; for example, of a plant. The former casts a glance upon it, embraces it as a whole, envelops it with a look, and his task is done; he has a general idea of it, with which he usually contents himself, because it is sufficient to enable him to recognise and to name the object. The blind man, on the contrary, is obliged to examine, to touch with the utmost care, the stalk, the branches, the leaves; to acquire, in short, a complete and detailed idea of the plant, without which it would be impossible for him to distinguish it from others. Thus it is that necessity makes analysis a habit to him, which retards his acquisition of knowledge, but at the same time renders it more positive and more certain."* We come now to the sense of hearing; to which principally, though not exclusively, the blind owe their conception of objects which lie beyond the "narrow circle which they can span with their own arms." "Dr. Saunderson, by the reverberation of his tread, could judge with wonderful accuracy as to the character of objects from five to twenty yards' distance. Thus he was enabled to distinguish a tree from a post at the distance of five yards, a fence from a house at fifteen or twenty yards. The sound of his footfall in a room enabled him to judge of the dimensions and character of the apartment. Having once crossed a threshold, so distinct was his individualisation of every locality, that he would at once know it again, even after the lapse of many years."+ Dr. Moyse had the same faculty. "A person," says Dr. Kitto, "who knew him relates, that whenever he entered a room he remained for some time silent. The sound directed his judgment as to the dimensions of the room, and the different voices and number of persons in it. His distinctions in these respects were very accurate; and his memory so retentive, that he was seldom mistaken."+ "A young blind man told me one day," says M. Dufau, "that in his walks . . . he at once perceived a wall, a hedge, a mountain, any obstacle, in short, which might be before him. 'When I find myself in a vast plain,' he added, raising his hand to his ear, with a very expressive gesture, it seems to me that I am à perte d'ouïe.' This remarkable expression, imitated from our à perte de vue in an analogous situation, enlightened me much as to the importance of this sense to the blind."§ By means of a light cry, or a gentle tap with the foot, at the entrance of an apartment, the blind are able to tell whether any one is present in it or not, its extent, the nature of, and any alteration in, the furniture. "There is now living in the city of York," says Mr. Johns," a gentleman of fortune, who, though totally blind, is an expert archer; so expert," says our informant (who knows him well), "that out of twenty shots with the long-bow, he was far my superior. His sense of hearing was so keen, that when a boy behind the target rang a bell, the blind archer knew pre *Dufau, p. 43. Kitto, p. 209. Ibid. + Bull, p. 208. cisely how to aim the shaft." Diderot tells a tale of the blind man of Puisaux, who, in anger at one of his brothers, occasioned by some boyish dispute, threw a stone at him with such exact aim, that it struck him in the middle of the forehead, and levelled him with the ground.† As a practical guide through the dark ways of their life, hearing is more valuable to the blind than touch, though inferior to it as an instrument of scientific research. It is, perhaps, most important to them as the basis of their judgments in regard to character. Their personal prepossessions and prejudices are founded on the tones and cadences of the voice, and are at least not oftener unjust than those which we derive from the general appearance and physiognomy of men. Their judgment of the physical characteristics of a speaker, his age, height, health, &c. are wonderfully exact. "The blind easily recognise hump-backed people" (as M. Rodenbach, himself blind, avers) "by the sound of their voices. He relates that at a soirée in Brussels, a blind man succeeded in stating with precision, according to their voices, the ages of all the persons present. His only mistakes were with regard to some ladies, who were not displeased at his inexactitude." The ability which the blind possess of recognising a voice once heard after an interval of years, in spite of attempted disguise, is as well attested as any of their peculiar powers. As a medium of social intercourse, hearing is to the blind much what it is to the seeing; or rather, it is more to the blind than it is to us, since they seek in the tones of the voice that commentary on the bare meaning of the words which we find in the play of features and gesture. But it is most important as being the sole inlet of emotion which they possess. Feelings of solemnity and awe, of grief and joy, of physical pleasure and pain, can only be conveyed to them through the modulation of sound. This is one reason, no doubt, of their passionate attachment to music. Notwithstanding the ingenious distinction of a German philosopher, who, with some show of truth, characterises "sight as the clearest, and hearing as the deepest of the senses," the one appealing to intellectual conviction, the other penetrating to the heart, and more deeply stirring the entire nature, it is a fact, that the understanding of the blind is far better developed than their emotional nature. They excel in science; but no blind man has ever attained eminence in poetry.§ Blind Harry, Dr. Blacklock, Miss Frances Brown, among English writers, and one or two French and Italian * Johns, p. 103. + Diderot, p. 136. Dufau, p. 69. § Poets have become blind, as Milton; but this is very different from a blind man becoming a poet. |