more commonly, however, found in the debris or fragments near primary mountains. The emerald of Peru, the ruby, and corundum, seem to be derived principally from the granite, but, for obvious reasons, are more frequently sought for among the gravel formed by its decay. Less attractive, but more valuable, are the mines for which these rocks are justly celebrated. The granite of Cornwall contains those stores of tin which drew to its shores Phoenician merchants, centuries before the Roman legions had crossed the channel. In Sweden, the gneiss contains the richest mines of copper and iron. Gold and silver are also found in it in that land, but in less abundance than in the Ural chain which bounds the eastern side of the great plain of northern Europe. From the mines in these mountains, and in Siberia, the Russian government has obtained, in the twenty years before 1842, about 250,000 lb. troy of gold, besides silver and platina. But the expense, even in that country, where labour costs little, is enormous, and the profit far less than might be imagined. The rich mines of America are also in similar rocks, where igneous formations have disturbed and altered the regular beds. A speculative author of the seventeenth century maintained that the original form of the earth was a great plain, hills and mountains being the effects of that curse pronounced on the ground for the sin of man. This notion could only have originated in the mind of a native of a level country, who knew little of the true economy of nature. To an eye accustomed to a mountain land, few objects are more tiresome than a great extent of level ground with no inequalities, and such regions are seldom so fertile as those of more varied outline. In like manner, the igneous rocks, with the disruption, confusion, and alteration they produce on the connected beds, have been looked on as inconsistent with a system of perfect wisdom and beneficence. Yet this view undoubtedly arises merely from our ignorance and partial knowledge of the innumerable relations subsisting among the various portions of the universe. So far as we do see, we can perceive that this irregularity is productive of beauty and a higher harmony; that these igneous rocks decompose into a rich and fertile soil; and that these convulsions promote the natural drainage of the land, so essential to its salubrity, and give rise to springs, as these, by their union, to brooks and rivers; whilst the rocks in which change and alteration are most evident, are the most prolific of those minerals on which so much of the comfort and happiness of men depend. It is indeed rarely safe for man to propose amendments in that system which infinite wisdom has adopted. A VILLAGE STORY. their new residence, which was small but comfortable, with a plot of ground before the house tastefully laid out as a garden. Edward in a short time was much esteemed by the children and their parents for his uniform kindness, diligence, and attention, and found himself comfortable with his charge, and his father and sister; but the old man was rapidly sinking, and a beautiful evening in autumn saw him on a bed of sickness. Edward and Caroline knelt beside him, and finding that he was soon, in the course of nature, to pass into another world, he spoke to them of his youth, how he had revelled in the lap of luxury and given way to the vicious pleasures of the world, and having a quarrel with a friend, he had engaged in what was falsely styled an affair of honour,' and in conforming to the customs of society, had committed a breach of the law of God, which says Thou shalt do no murder,' and had robbed himself of peace of conscience, and a devoted family of one who was dearer to them than the whole material universe. For this he had fled from the home of his fathers, an outcast in the world, with one only who shared his sorrows and partook of his misfortunes. She was devoted and faithful, till she breathed her last, ere much of her fostering care had been felt, in the land of the stranger.-He was now becoming weaker and more weak, he gave his children his blessing, a fervent prayer was offered up to the throne of grace; he knew, though he had sinned, that his merciful Father had forgiven him, and his last hour was one of peace and comfort, and his eyes were closed in the hope of acceptance through that Saviour who had suffered death that he might be saved. This was a severe blow to the lonely orphans; but they had been taught, and the truth was treasured like precious jewels in their hearts, that 'Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord.' Human tears and mourning prevailed for a moment; but placid confidence and cheerful hope gradually wiped away the tears and turned the mourning into joy. Edward and Caroline were models of brotherly and sisterly love. He was of a thoughtful turn of mind, but it was refreshed with an ever-gushing cheerfulness and a manly bearing; and from his eyes, the windows of the soul,' streamed the light of an imaginative intellect and of a warm and generous spirit. His face was luminous with intelligence, and fair brown locks hung over and adorned his frank and open brow, like the golden clouds that soften the light of the departing sun, and clothe him with a milder glory. Caroline was a gentle, lovely, dutiful girl; a Saxon in form, mind, and heart. Her figure was rounded and yet sylph-like, and her plain and modest dress, from its very simplicity, heightened the charm of nature. Cheerfulness breathed around her. Her deep blue eyes, finely chiselled face, where the rival roses vied in mingling their harmonious tints; the clustering lock, SOME years ago, William Herbert, who was then in the born of the sun, that shaded her radiant brow, and the 'sere and yellow leaf' of age, became a resident in the Christian purity of her manners, made Caroline Herbert village of Lorton. His face was care worn, and his shrunk the grace of the village, and the affectionate pride of her figure bore evidence of his having felt much of the hard-humble but gifted brother; these charms, too, were the ships and misfortunes of the world; and now that many more admired from her own heedlessness or ignorance of years had passed over him, and left their impress on his them, for brow, it might be seen that he had, when young, possessed a noble form and graceful bearing. He seemed to have seen other and better days; to have been one who had mingled in the society of the wealthy and the great. Often did the village youths, who were companions of his son Edward, listen with delight as he recounted the travels of his life; he would speak of the East, of Mecca, of the tomb of Mahomet, and when, with innocent curiosity, the rosy-cheeked and lovely Caroline asked him why he had left the home of his kindred, he would turn aside in silence, and a tear started in his eye. That he lived in exile was believed by all the villagers, but the why and wherefore remained a mystery. Edward was young when he came to Lorton, where he received at school and from his father a respectable education, and a vacancy having occurred he was appointed the village schoolmaster. The little family removed to Though by all a woman owned, Household and professional duties occupied the day, and well and faithfully were they performed; for duty was to them the voice of God, and their hearts listened to it, and their hands were glad to perform its bidding. Instead of wasting the summer mornings in useless slumber, they saluted the lark, hymning his earliest matin song. Many a time and oft, they saw the purple morn rising from the eastern wave, toying with the breezes and dimpling the waters with innumerable smiles, when sleep was holding its quiet reign over the earth, and golden dreams, perchance, were making sweet visitings to young hearts and lighter heads. 'The breezy call of incense-breathing morn' hailed them on the heath, craggy mountain, or by the verdant banks of the river. Their little garden, also, was a source of great and pains-taking enjoyment. The first flowers of the spring blossomed there, and they were looked forward to and welcomed as the face of early friends. Yet, amid all these things, Edward found time to pursue his studies and fashion his mind for conversing aright with the mighty dead, and for the intellectual struggle which he was fond of dimly foreshadowing in the future. And not the least pleasing of all his occupations was to impart to the gentle Caroline his love of knowledge and its stores; and she soon became as rich in sound accomplishments and feminine pursuits as she was lovely. Three years had now passed away, and Caroline Herbert was about to become governess in a nobleman's family in the neighbourhood, for which her character well fitted her; and her brother, with all the ardour of an enthusiastic student, determined at the same time to proceed to the University. After taking farewell of his sister and friends, he set off on his journey and reached Edinburgh, where he matriculated as a student in arts. That he was not idle, the close of the session bore witness, for it was his proud and enviable privilege to come off with honours in each of his classes. During the summer he remained in Scotland, where, by private teaching and occasional contributions to the magazines, he was enabled to commence his second session in the following November. He entered the matriculation office, and when he saw the honourable position he occupied on the printed list of prizes before him, who can tell what thoughts swelled his bosom? He again applied himself with increased zeal and ardour to his studies, with a determination to fulfil the expectations of his friends. His time was not occupied with the childish frivolity or the vicious indolence of many of his fellows; and what to them were bitter and harassing difficulties, he overcame with ease. Yet he had his trials: his finances became low, and his last article, which he expected would replenish his empty exchequer, and over which he had spent much of the midnight oil,' was returned as 'unsuited to the columns' of a city magazine. Here was a noble soul, struggling with adversity, without a friend to assist him, or at least one of whom he would beg assistance, with a great part of the session before him, and without a shilling in the world. Wounded in spirit, and faint with thinking on his condition, he threw himself on his bed, but he slept not, his eyes never closed; and this man, daring to be great,' and having cast off the prevalent but strange delusion that to attempt to rise above mediocrity was evidence of hollow conceit and contemptible vanity, felt ready to sink into despair! Morning came, and with it came also a letter from his sister, at all times a welcome visiter, but more so at this trying moment; he read it and burst into tears. But they were tears of joy; the thoughtful girl had enclosed her half-year's salary for his use, which she knew would be acceptable. This was a proof of devotedness he little expected, much as he knew her worth and her affection for him. Edward accepted it, resolving that ere long it should be returned with interest. The session was now at a close, and Edward Herbert again distinguished himself; but in seeking to gain an honourable reputation, he had been unmindful of his health, and his frame gave evidence of the effects of hard and constant study. He left the 'Modern Athens' for Lorton, where he had been invited to spend a short time at the Parsonage to enjoy a 'learned leisure,' which he readily accepted, as he longed to see his amiable sister, who lived at a short distance, and to enjoy the scenes of youthful days, in order to invigorate his constitution. Caroline met him and greeted him affectionately; they talked of each other's happiness and prospects; he inquired of her how his little favourites at the school and the villagers were; he rejoiced that she was happy, and she was delighted that she held the hand of her only brother. As they passed, the men and women shook hands with the Herberts, the girls curtsied, and the little boys doffed their caps. The curate gave them a hearty welcome, and seemed to enjoy the company of Edward and his sister. The evening was approaching, and Caroline took leave of her brother and set out, accompanied by the cu rate, for Auckland Hall, which was a short distance from Lorton. The conversation which took place gave him an opportunity of appreciating her worth, and Sydney Lisle parted not from Caroline Herbert before he had felt the working of that mysterious principle which colours for ever after the thread of life-an inspiration that comes over the soul, at first like the soft breathings of the Roman harp, a sound from heaven shedding odours of paradise over the heart, and breathing a vital freshness and an instinctive beauty over the whole moral and intellectual being. A few weeks had passed away. Sydney Lisle attended to his sacred duties, upon which he had recently entered, and it is not too much to say that the respect of his parishioners was no more than he deserved, for he knew his duty and performed it. He was an elegant, pious, and laborious man; he was the friend of the poor and needy, and felt happy in comforting the widow and providing for the sick and helpless. Caroline often came to Lorton, and wandered with her brother by the river side and those spots they had haunted in their younger days. But Edward was weak and delicate, his cheeks were pale, and she felt a clammy moisture on his hand: a dark presentiment seized her, and she feared and trembled for his sake and hers. It was her sad lot to find that she was not deceived, for she was summoned in a few days to attend the sickbed of her brother. He felt his strength gradually failing, and he saw that those aspirations after fame which he had fondly indulged would never be realized. He thought of her who was so dear to him, who would ere long be left an isolated being among thousands, without one relative on earth. He knew he was about to die, and he kissed her and blessed her again and again; and, said he to the faithful pastor who had offered up a prayer for his dying friend, "Oh be a brother, a protector to the lonely orphan; think of my last wish when she shall be brotherless!' 6 The sandglass was nearly empty; yet as the candle, ere it expires, gives a bright flickering light, so was it with the dying Edward, who revived for a moment, and he read a few verses from the well-thumbed Bible which his scholars had given him when he left the village school. Oh, my dear sister,' said he, I am about to leave you, but you will not be alone; that Saviour who suffered for your sake and mine ascended not to his Father's mansions to leave you comfortless; be faithful, and He will be with you.' The minister again prayed; Edward clasped their hands, lay back on his pillow, and his spirit winged its flight to a better world. The funeral took place in a few days. It was a sad day in the village of Lorton, and his body was followed to the grave by the inhabitants, and the scholars who had profited by his precepts and example paid the last tribute of affection to his remains; and, as the priest repeated the solemn and affecting service of his church, every eye was suffused with tears, and they committed his body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in the sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life through their Lord Jesus Christ.' The sorrowing Caroline returned to Auckland Hall. She seemed almost a crushed flower beneath the hoof of death, but time and affectionate friends gradually revived the drooping rose, and dew-drops and sunshine again revisited it. The scholar's and the Christian's death sunk deeply in the young pastor's heart, but not more deeply than the loveliness and modest virtues of Caroline. He often sought the byways that led to Auckland Hall, where she was always treated as an elder daughter-an object of almost parental tenderness-so much had her gentle, loving heart and maidenly accomplishments won the affection of that warm-hearted English gentleman. At first she seldom failed to visit in lonely sadness the grave of Edward, but the ripening affection between the curate and Caroline made them less seldom, and the time was fast approaching when she might tend it at her own sweet will. On Sundays, at least, it was always visited, and the tear, not of repining sorrow, but a natural tribute of human love, never failed to dim her mild blue eyes, and add an inexpressible tenderness to her womanly graces. manner, to fix his attention and stimulate his curiosity. In the schools on the continent, we believe this is carried on to a much greater extent than in those of our own It was a bright and sunny day in June; the trees were country. L'Abbé l'Epée, who has pushed those signs full of leaves, and music was breathing from every bough. perhaps as far as they can be made to go, even endeavoured The village of Lorton was unusually alive and happy; by their use to communicate to his pupils an exact knowfaces were smiling everywhere, hastening to the church-ledge of their own deficiency. Unfortunately, we are yard, for the church doors were open and a bridal was to unable to place our hands upon his work, but we quote be held. The party was a gay and gladsome one, and an account of the manner in which he effected this, from seldom a lovelier couple repaired to God's altar to seal a British author. We do this, not only because it gives and sanctify their plighted troth. The maiden was ob- our readers a good specimen of the ingenuity which is served to cast a hurried glance at a well-known grave- made use of for this purpose, but because also it seems to for it was Caroline Herbert; and, even in the moment us to be a very striking example of the good result of when going to consummate her greatest earthly bliss, she truly scientific hypotheses. Did we know merely the could not forget her brother-a momentary thought of phenomena of sound, we could never, by means of signs how proud he would have been to be present, crossed her at least, teach acoustics to the mute; but by the use of mind, and a gush of tears came to her relief. The gene- an imperfect and perhaps incorrect theory, which yet rous lord of Auckland Hall led her to the altar, where, fully explains the phenomena so far as we know them, with no little affection and pride, he bestowed her upon we can instruct him in the elements of this science. the worthy pastor, with a dowry suitable to her own posi-Having collected his pupils round a large tub full of tion in his esteem. The parishioners crowded round them water, which was allowed to subside till perfectly at rest, when they came from the church, to testify their love. he let fall into it perpendicularly an ivory ball, directing It was a high day at the hall, where the villagers were their attention to the undulations of the water, which invited to repair to make merry and to drink to the struck against the sides of the vessel. He then moved health of Sydney and Caroline Lisle. · a hand-screen rapidly backwards and forwards in a room, so as to set in motion feathers or other light bodies floating in the air at some distance; and explained to them that the room is as full of air as the tub was of water, and that the air put in motion strikes the sides of the room, as the waves did those of the tub. He next took up a repeating watch, and, applying the fingers of his pupils to the hammer, made them feel the rapid succession" of strokes which it produced. He now informed them that the ear of every person contains an apparatus of the same kind; and that the air, in its passage from the body which has caused it to move, enters the ear and sets in motion the little hammer which is placed there. He gave his pupils to understand that the reason why they do not hear is because they have no such hammer in their ears, or because its motions are impeded, or the part on which it strikes is void of sensibility. Whenever,' says he, 1 have given this explanation, I have observed it to make very different impressions on different individuals. Some expressed great delight at having acquired the knowledge of what hearing consisted of; others became affected with profound melancholy on learning that either they were destitute of so useful an instrument as this hammer, or that the one they had could not be used. The first two girls to whom this information had been imparted, could not conceal their ill-humour on finding that the house-cat and canary bird had each their little hammers in their ears, while they themselves had none.' THE METHOD OF TEACHING THE In a short paper in our last number we attempted to The object of the teacher of the deaf and dumb is to impart to his pupil the power of communicating and receiving knowledge. The language taught him must of course be that ordinarily spoken by those with whom he mingles. Till the mute has learned common language he is, to use the happy illustration of a writer upon the subject, like an eagle whose unfledged wings have been clipped, and who walks upon the earth ignorant that another element is his birthright; but when he has once acquired a correct knowledge of the common medium of intercourse, his position is changed: he can learn any occupation, any art, any science, any profession which others can do. An ordinary child learns language by means of speech; and being familiar with the name of an object from constantly hearing it applied to that object, easily acquires and understands the different sounds and letters which go to form it; but the mute must acquire his knowledge of ordinary language entirely from written words, which are but the signs of the oral sounds of language, and not of the ideas which those sounds represent. Every one of us has great difficulty in remembering many words with which we have not been familiar; the names of the chiefs of the American Indians, for instance, or even the common expressions of a barbarous dialect. It would be a tedious task to commit to memory a proposition of Euclid without having the diagram before us; and yet it is still more difficult for the deaf and dumb to understand and remember that certain arbitrary signs represent certain objects or ideas. We know the use of sounds and syllables, and yet we cannot retain in our memory the name of a savage chief, with but four of them in it. We know that the A B C and B D E of the mathematical problem signify certain angles and figures; and yet we dare say some of us, when schoolboys, have felt certain disagreeable impressions upon our sense of touch, when, in our first plunge into mathematics, we endeavoured to prepare for our Euclid class in this manner. No wonder that our ancestors thought that the education of the deaf and dumb was a visionary enthusiasm! The natural language of the deaf and dumb is gesture or pantomime. The teacher first attempts to carry on as much conversation with his pupil as can be done in this In the British schools, however, an attempt is early made to instruct the deaf and dumb pupil in a knowledge of written language-to teach him that certain signs and combinations of signs of objects and ideas, always have the same meaning, and are universally so understood by people of education. He is first taught nouns, and at the commencement very familiar and short ones are selected. A short word, key, for instance, is written upon a board; there is a drawing of it, and, the object itself is produced. With attention, he soon begins to perceive that there is some connexion between this hieroglyphic and the actual object. Sometimes the picture of a key will be drawn and copied by the pupil. The name is written in the middle, and then the delineation is rubbed out. As soon as he has learned this word, others are taught him. He copies them. On the word being pointed out to him, he is made to fetch the object, or if it be not attainable, a picture it. On the other hand, the object is shown to him, and he is made to write its name upon the board. In this way he acquires a more or less complete vocabulary of specifie names. The next business is to teach him generic words. We believe that the most approved method of doing this is by exhibiting before him tables such as the followingChair, furniture, vegetable substance, thing, object Horse, beast, animal, being, object, &c. 1 We have seen it stated that, by these means, deaf and dumb children often acquire a clearer understanding of the nature of these words, than those who can speak. This would seem to be the proper time to teach the pupil that those words which his eye has learned are composed of a limited number of characters, and to familiarize him with these letters. Perhaps the best plan of doing so is by having each letter printed upon a separate bit of card or bone. He soon learns to form the words which he has acquired with these, and in doing so, necessarily perceives the office and use of the alphabet. After he has learned the names of objects, he is taught the use of the article, the formation of plurals, the office of the possessive and demonstrative pronouns and cardinal numbers. The teacher takes an object, a pea, for example, or a slate; he writes its name, a pea, upon the board, and holds up one finger. He then takes many peas, writes peas opposite to the singular, and holding up all his fingers, moves them backwards and forwards to indicate that there are many. This is soon understood. He then gives other instances, until the pupil perceives the difference between singular and plural; and learns how to form the plurals. At first they make very laughable mistakes in forming the irregular plurals. They see, for instance, that foot makes feet, and so some among them are almost sure to write the plural of boot, beet; they see mouse makes mice, and so make house, hice, &c. The use of the possessive and demonstrative pronouns is easily taught in the same manner. When they see my book, our book, their books, this book, that book, those books, written on a board, and the difference, by example, practically shown to them, they easily understand and remember them. In the same manner they learn numbers. In all these exercises great pains are taken that the pupil perfectly understands one lesson before he is allowed to proceed to the next, and each one is frequently repeated by both master and pupil, so as to render it almost impossible for the latter to forget them. Adjectives require next to be taught the pupil. Those denoting the sensible properties of substantives are first chosen, and written upon the board with a substantive: thus, blue paper, a round ball, a green bough, are written, while the objects are placed before him. He soon learns the use of these parts of speech, and requires nothing but practice to become master of a complete vocabulary of them. A The participle of the neuter verb is next taught him, and the verbs To be and To have being brought before his notice, he is now able to manage little sentences. knowledge of the active verb, and the other parts of speech, are communicated to him by means almost similar. The order in which various parts of speech are made to occur, differs in different institutions, those who preside over them not agreeing as to their natural order, which is, of course, the one which should be adopted. In the Doncaster Institution, which is, we believe, one of the best regulated in the kingdom, the agent with its modifiers is placed first, the object with its next, and the verb with its auxiliary, if present, last, so that a sentence is communicated at first thus Man tall that-dog little a-whipping is. Afterwards they are taught to form their sentences in the ordinary way. We have little doubt, however, that the above is the natural method of arranging words. The manner in which the various tenses are taught, is curious and deserves notice. They are explained by means of diagrams of something like the following description: Three days Two days Yesterday To-day is To-morrow Two days hence When this diagram is to be used, the name of the day of the week is written upon the division To-day is;' the pupil is required to write the name of yesterday. Probably he will write yesterday is Sunday. He is shown that it should be was. In the same manner with will. Then upon the compartments are put down little memoranda of occurrences, which are afterwards written out, first by the teacher, and then by the pupil. These sentences will be as follows: Yesterday was Tuesday. I went into the field, and saw John riding on a horse. If my master will give me leave, I will go again to-morrow.' They are, of course, all this time improving in the art of writing; and at periods, varying in different institutions, they are taught the manual alphabet, and, if it be thought necessary, articulation. When the pupil is instructed in language, and can express his sentiments, and understand those of others in return, he ceases to be under the tuition of the deaf and dumb master, specially as such. But experience has shown, that for communicating knowledge to him in the various branches of education which it is thought proper he should acquire, it is better that he remain under the guidance of his old instructor. One circumstance, mentioned by Mr Baker, is, if quite correct, curious. He says that the deaf and dumb, who, before instruction, of course have no knowledge of God, cannot be made to understand anything of revealed religion until they have first been instructed, and that amply, in the principles of natural religion.' use. The deaf and dumb should always be placed in schools to which no pupils who do not labour under a similar infirmity are admitted. Any child seeing others around him enjoying two senses of which he is deprived, naturally feels disheartened; besides, the employing the advanced pupil to instruct the one more ignorant or of slower apprehension, is practically found of the greatest The period allowed for instruction is in this country generally five years. A much longer period could be advantageously employed, but a large proportion of the pupils belong to the humbler classes, who cannot assist in their support for a longer time, and who have no wish that they should be qualified for the more liberal arts and trades. The following plan of education (sketched, we believe, by Mr Baker) for five years, may interest our readers. The first year would be generally devoted to instruction in language by means of natural signs, dactylology, or articulation and writing. Instruction in numbers, and their combination by sensible objects, by manual notation, by figures and by words. Occasional instruction in moral and religious duties by signs. Second year.-Instruction in language continued, by the same instruments as in the former year; in arithmetic; geography, commenced with ground plans of school-room, house, and neighbouring grounds, streets, roads, fields, &c. Lessons on form, introductory to geometry. Moral and religious duties. Composition, commenced by pupils writing down their own observations on facts and occurrences, in short sentences. Third year.-Language continued; the two former years are chiefly given to nomenclature: syntax will now more especially demand attention. Lessons continued in geometry, geography, arithmetic, physics, and composition. Scripture history and drawing commenced. Fourth year.-Language continued, and especially applied to composition. Direct instruction continued on all the subjects named for the preceding year. Fifth year.-In addition to bringing the branches of knowledge commenced to a close, abstract ideas and figurative; doctrinal religion; the human body, its parts and organs; the moral and social duties of man, his dispositions and faculties, should be brought under consideration during this year, and continued for as long a period as the pupil remains under instruction. Those parents who can afford to continue their children as private pupils, might have them instructed in every department of a sound English education, and, if they thought proper, qualified for the more liberal arts and professions; for there exists no insurmountable barrier to the acquisition of classical learning, mathematical and scientific attainments, and a knowledge of the modern languages.' In this slight sketch of the mode of education of the deaf and dumb, we have merely attempted to give an same fears. It is a desert without life, or fear, or hope account of the general manner in which their instruction-shadowless, soundless. But the grave, in our belief, is is carried on. A good deal of difference exists as to the populous: it is haunted by some intermediate nature manner in which the British and Continental institutions between flesh and spirit: or if not, what then is it? I are managed. In the latter we believe that articulation throw the question to the theologians. is seldom or never taught; and in many of them a much greater attention is paid to the language of natural signs than in this country. The instructors of the deaf and dumb here do not appear to think that their Continental, and especially their French neighbours, have succeeded at all in making it a general philosophical language, which has apparently been the intention of those who have most cultivated it. Again, in the details and order in which each part of language is taught to the pupil, our instructors differ considerably. Still this article will be found to contain an account of the elementary principles which guide them. The first institution in this country was established in London in the year 1792. It was supported by private subscription, and bas by successive donations become by far the most opulent in the kingdom. It was for many years under the very able superintendence of Dr Watson. He was succeeded by his son, who in 1839 was assisted by fourteen teachers. From the opening to 1839, nearly 1500 pupils had been educated within its walls. Nearly twenty years after its commencement a similar one was formed in Edinburgh, and placed under the care of one of the Braidwoods, a family who may be said to have a hereditary right to instruct the deaf and dumb. At his death Mr Kinniburgh succeeded, and by his skill and attention, this gentleman has obtained a distinguished rank among their instructors. This institution open to the public every Tuesday between one and two o'clock. There are similar academies at Birmingham, Dublin, Glasgow, Manchester, Liverpool, Exeter, and Doncaster, besides day schools in several other towns. One out of every fifteen hundred and eighty-five of the whole population of this country is a mute. The same proportion likewise exists in England. And yet our institutions for their education cannot receive the whole of the deaf and dumb children. The Edinburgh institution has had, from its commencement, to struggle with pecuniary difficulties. We can conceive no charity which calls more strongly upon Christian benevolence than that which teaches the dumb to speak, and the deaf to hear.' If every parent were to give for each of his children who had the power of speech but one penny, we do believe there would not be in this country one poor mute ignorant of God, and of that religion which he has given to mankind. THE DEATH OF FRIENDS. DEATH is the tyrant of the imagination. His reign is in solitude and darkness-in tombs and prisons-over weak hearts and seething brains. He lives, without shape or sound, a phantasm-inaccessible to sight or touch-a ghastly and terrible apprehension. The fear of death is common to all. There never was a man of such hardihood of nerve, but has, at one time or other, shrunk from peril. Death is a certain evil (if life be a good). Philosophy may welcome it, and passion may disregard its approach; but our instinct, which is always true, first commands us to fear. It is not so much the pain of dying, nor even the array of death (though the pompa mortis is sufficiently repelling); but it is that tremendous thought that vast impenetrable gloom, without depth, or breadth, or bound-which no reason can compass, and no intellect pry into, that alarms us. Our fancy is ripe with wonders, and it fills up the space between us and heaven. For my own part, I have, I confess, greatly feared death. Some persons dread annihilation. But to sleep for ever without a dream-what is it, if you feel it not? Let me not be understood as wishing for this state-this negation of being. I only say that it cannot generate the There is something very sad in the death of friends. We seem to provide for our own mortality, and to make up our minds to die. We are warned by sickness, fever, and ague, and sleepless nights, and a hundred dull infirmities; but when our friends pass away, we lament them as though we had considered them immortal. It is wise, I suppose it is wise, that we should attach ourselves to things which are transient; else I should say that it is a perilous trust when a man ties his hopes to so frail a thing as woman. They are so gentle, so affectionate, so true in sorrow, so untired and untiring; but the leaf withers not sooner, the tropic lights fade not more abruptly into darkness. They die and are taken from us; and we weep; and our friends tell us that it is not wise to grieve, for that all which is mortal perisheth. They do not know that we grieve the more, because we grieve in vain!' If our grief could bring back the dead, it would be stormy and loud-we should disturb the sunny quiet of day-we should startle the dull night from her repose. But our hearts would not grieve as they grieve now, when hope is dead within us. The few friends of my youth are dead-save only one. She survives: but I am reminded often, when I am alone, that she may die-nay, that she must die soon, and leave me to younger spirits (there is but one that cares for me) -to hopes which are half disappointed-to friends who have forgotten the merry days we once passed togetherto feverish and gnawing troubles-and, last, to infirmity, and old age, and death. It may beguile me a while from so sad a speculation, if I try to trace upon paper the recollection of friends who are gone. I may raise them, like phantasms before me-like the ghosts who mocked the murderer of Duncan-save that they sprang from the future, outstripping the speed of time, whereas mine are all from the past. Come forth, then, whatever ye are-shadows, or substances, or spirits-sublimed or transmuted natures! Fain would I recall ye for a time, and portray ye—your ‘exits,' not your entrances.' I may relieve, perhaps, the sad tedium of a wintry hour, or solace a heart that suffers. When my fifth was running into my sixth year, and I was busied with parables and Scripture history (the only food which nourished my infant mind), I was much noticed by a young person—a female. I was at that time living with an old relation in H-shire, and I still preserve the recollection of Miss R's tender condescension towards me. She was a pretty delicate girl, and very amiable; and I became (yes, it is true; for I remember the strong feelings at that time) enamoured of her. My love had the fire of passion, but not the clay which drags it downwards; it partook of the innocence of my years while it etherealized me. Whether it was the divinity of beauty that stung me, or rather that lifted me above the darkness and immaturity of childhood, I know not; but my feelings were anything but childish. By some strong intuition, I felt that there was a difference (I knew not what) that called forth an extraordinary and impetucas regard. She was the first object (save my mother) that I ever attached myself to. I had better have loved a flower-a weed. For when I knew her, she had the seeds of death within her. Consumption had caught her;' his sickly hand was upon her like the canker on the rose, and drew out a perilous unearthly bloom. The hues an vigour of life were flushing too quickly through her cheek (yet how pale she was at times); she wasted a month in an hour, a year in a month; and at last died in the stormy autumn time, when the breath of summer had left her. The last time I ever saw her was (as well as I can recollect) in October, or late in September. I was told that Miss R- was ill-was very ill-and that perhaps might not see her again. Death I could not (of course) comprehend; but I understood perfectly what was a per |