blind lecturer, who used it as the basis for his prelections, thereby doing as much as any other man in England to introduce it into general favor. Curiosity attracted crowds to hear what a man who had never seen could say concerning light and vision. The gape of idle wonder was exchanged for the tribute of applause. So ample and exact was the lecturer's comprehension of his subject; so admirable his method of treatment, his luminous style, his agreeable, unostentatious manner, that the multitude which came to stare, remained to learn. The course of lectures was a success; honest bread was earned by honest toil; the blind man had found his vocation.

Some years after this, the eccentric William Whiston, Sir Isaac Newton's successor in the Lucasian chair of mathematics at Cambridge, was ejected from his dignity. Newton was still alive, and was consulted as to the proper person to fill the place. His choice fell on Saunderson. The nomination was heartily accepted by the university. But it was necessary that a special order should be issued by the crown, to authorize the conferring the degree of M. A. on a non-graduate. The heads of colleges presented the petition, which was

graciously answered by the king, and our blind friend, at the age of nine and twenty, was inducted into the office which had been rendered illustrious by the discovery of gravitation. Nor was the honor unworthily bestowed. Saunderson did credit to the chair which had been filled by Newton.

Thenceforth he devoted himself to the service of his pupils, both as their instructor and companion. His labors as a preceptor were diversified by the composition of several mathematical works, which took a high rank among books of their class, and also by the invention of apparatus for his mechanical pursuits. Maintaining an uncheckered cheerfulness, his animated conversation and large sympathies made him the soul of every circle in which he chanced to move.

His other senses, and those intellectual faculties which seem to lie next the senses, afforded him an almost ample substitution for eyesight. The fine hearing and delicate touch of the blind have passed into an adage. These Saunderson possessed in their highest perfection. The sound of his footfall in a room enabled him to form a closely proximate notion of the dimensions and character of the apart

ment. Having once crossed a threshold, so distinct was his individualization of every locality, that he would always know it again, even after the lapse of many years. The reverberation of his tread enabled him to judge with wonderful accuracy as to the character of objects from five to twenty yards distant. Thus he was able to distinguish a tree from a post at the distance of five yards; of a fence from a house at fifteen or twenty yards. From my own experience I have never been able to decide, nor am I able to state upon the testimony of others deprived of sight, whether this intelligence be derived through the ear, or through the delicate nerves of the face, which thrilling through the vibrations of the atmosphere, receive and impart to the brain sensations unnoticed by those who use their eyes. I am, however, strongly inclined to the opinion that there is such a refined susceptibility of the skin and nerves as to amount almost to a supplemental sense. Whatever may be the ground for this opinion, it is certain that Saunderson was conscious of objects the perception of which by a blind man will seem quite incredible to many. It is related upon good authority that when out in the

garden with his pupils, they making observations of the heavenly bodies, he was able to tell quickly and certainly as they, when a cloud obscured a star or hid the disk of the

sun.

Though a rayless gloom encompassed him, he shed light upon the path of others. His ringing laugh it did one good to hear. Constant industry gave dignity to his days—to his nights, repose. Deprived of the imperial sense, he bore his loss with fortitude, and performed his part with courage; and when scarcely past the noon of life, went down to the grave lamented by all who knew him.

One can readily imagine that a man destitute of vision, through necessity and practice, should come to great readiness and power in the combination of numbers. Such of the blind as have been moderately endowed with capacity, and have been persevering in the efforts, have almost invariably shown great skill in the mathematics. Simply as regards distinction and great attainment in the pure science, I know not why its disciples might not as well all be blind. But when a man with darkened orbs passes from the realms of abstraction into nature, to become a student

of her marvels, to observe her cunning arts, to note and explain her mysteries, he sets himself a task, the performance of which seems to be hopeless. Such was the province selected by Francis Huber, a Genevese, born about 1750. At the age of seventeen he lost his sight by gutta serena. At first his misfortune threatened to crush him, because he had lost not only the light of the outer world, but as he feared, the light of his inner life-the woman he loved. The daughter of a Swiss syndic, Marie Aimée Lullin had not only station, but beauty, intelligence, wit, and accomplishments. Many were the suitors who thronged around her, and the father was bitterly opposed to her union with the blind youth; but what is parental hostility or toil, or privation, to a generous woman, when to the throb of affection is added the claim of sympathy? His infirmity insured him the prize, and that won, he was made happy for life. During the forty years of their married life, her love deepened and strengthened, her devotion knew not an hour's suspension. She was his reader, his sccretary, his observer. During the wars, she would make him aware of the position of the armies by sticking pins