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her, and very good to her poor neighbours. Her uncle used to say jokingly, but most kindly, that she was 'cut out for a parson's wife;' but at present all Rose's hopes and wishes seemed to be centered in the home of her childhood. But ere long they began to stray, and it could not escape the notice of so observant a person as Mr Fenton, that a warm and mutual attachment was ripening between his usher and his niece.
At first this sorely grieved and perplexed him ; for he felt, naturally enough, the inequality of their stations; for, though bred up in a homely and domestic way, Rose Fenton had a right to look to a much higher marriage than one with the child of charity, the son of his charwoman, Susan. But when, again, he reflected on the youth's course of conduct even from his cradle until now; his unvarying integrity, industry, and docility; his good temper, his kind disposition, and the advance in station which his own unwearied perseverance had already achieved-he thought perhaps he might rather congratulate his niece than otherwise. He determined to let matters take their course.
But whatever hopes Thomas Multon might secretly cherish, he was too prudent as yet to give any expression to them. True, he had made his way wonderfully; but he felt he had yet much to achieve ere he dared to whisper his hopes to Miss Fenton, or seek the approbation of her uncle. His mother was yet drudging as a servant ; she, who had for years deprived herself of every superfluity, in order to procure him the necessaries of life whilst he was a school-boy-a mere burden on her hands. His first object must be to place her above want. He had, from the moment he received a fixed allowance as assistant-teacher, set aside a part of it for her ; but she, with the energy which had characterised her, placed it, with her other little savings, to accumulate. She did not need to rest yet,' she said. Nevertheless, her son hoped to see her rest before long.
So some years passed away, whilst he continued patiently toiling through his duties as usher, but devoting, unremittingly, his private hours to study, with a view to qualify himself for the function of a clergyman. Mr Fenton would fain have dissuaded him from the last step, as he saw little prospect of advancement for him ; but in this one instance Multon's wishes were too powerful to be persuaded away. Ordination at that time, and in that district, was easily obtained, without those fitting and decent preliminaries which are now indispensable; and being fortunate enough, through Mr Fenton's influence, to obtain a nomination to an adjoining curacy, the duties of which would not interfere with those of the school, he was ordained by the bishop of the diocese. And this great point being achieved, our errand-boy, now the Rev. Thomas Multon, asked and obtained Mr Fenton's consent to a union with Rose, so soon as he should have obtained the means to support her in respectability and comfort.
These came suddenly, as good-fortune generally does, and from an unlooked-for quarter. On entering the little parlour one day at tea-time, a few months after his ordination, Mr Multon was surprised to find an elderly gentleman whom he did not know and a young man in a military undress, whom he was some time in recognising as Edward Courtney, the youth to whose library and wardrobe he had himself been indebted for several years. The gentlemen had been making a tour in the northern counties, and at the earnest desire of the younger one, had turned aside to visit his old schoolfellow. His greeting to Mr Multon was frank and cordial, that of the old gentleman was kind and even respectful, for Mr Fenton had been preparing the way for his young friend's appearance.
No allusion whatever was made to his circumstances that night ; but a few weeks afterwards, a letter arrived from the elder Mr Courtney to Mr Multon, presenting him the rectory of Northerton, in shire, worth £200 a year, with a commodious parsonage house. And thus was the poor widow's son rewarded for his perseverance in welldoing.
A few years ago, a friend paid me a morning visit, bringing with her a young lady of most prepossessing appearance, and of gentle manners and speech; and who, I was informed, was Rose Multon, the daughter of the rector of Northerton-one of six children, united and affectionate, and as much respected as their parents,
And what of old Susan,' inquired I, 'as her old acquaintance here still call her?'
Old Mrs Multon,' replied my friend, 'lives happily in a small cottage near her son, which, partly from her own former savings, and partly from his liberality, she is able to keep in very comfortable order. I hear but of one dissatisfaction in the family.
What is that?' 'It is the rector himself, who complains that his children have quite superseded him in his mother's good graces, and that he really often fancies that she does not think half so much of him now as she did when he was an ERRAND-BOY.'
ALL knowledge is received through the medium of the
senses, usually reckoned five in number-seeing, hearing, taste, smell, and touch or feeling ; these, in fact,
being the agents by which the mind is excited to receive M S or communicate ideas. A deprivation of one or more of the senses, as is well known, ordinarily leads to increased activity of the others, in consequence of the greater reliance placed upon them; nevertheless, it seems evident that any such deprivation must, less or more, cause a deficiency in the intellectual conceptions. A person who has been blind from earliest infancy can, by no process of feeling, hearing, or smelling, be made to have even moderately correct ideas of light or colours ; neither does it appear to us that any one who has been always deaf can attain to anything like a proper understanding of sound. Deprivation of hearing from birth may be considered a double calamity, for it is naturally attended with deprivation of speech; and hence the deaf-mute, whatever be his acquirements, always excites our warmest compassion.
Which of the senses could be most conveniently spared, has probably been with most persons a subject of occasional consideration, and it is only when their merits are severally compared that we have a thorough notion of their value. Had we never possessed eyes, then should we never have beheld the glories of the sun, moon, and stars; the beauteous earth we tread, fields, flowers, colours, the magnificent ocean, or the face of those we love. Had we been
deaf from birth, then should we never have heard sounds, music, language, nor have been able to hold communication by speech ; of the tones of affection we should never have been conscious. Had we been deficient in taste, we should have been exposed to injury in eating that which should be rejected as food; and along with a deprivation of the kindred sense of smell, we should have been constantly in a state of difficulty and danger. It would be needless to speculate on the deprivation of feeling, for we cannot conceive that life should exist for any length of time with such a deficiency. Greatly as we must deplore the misfortune of those who labour under an irremediable privation of any of the senses, we must in as great a degree admire that Providential care which provides a measure of compensatory happiness. Although those stricken with blindness are shut out from being spectators of nature's marvellous handiwork, how usually superior is their enjoyment of harmonious sounds, how exquisite their love of music! The deaf, too, have their enjoyments, and are at least blest with a pleasing unconsciousness of the loss which they sustain. Lamentable, indeed, is the fate of those who have been deprived of the two more important senses-seeing and hearing ; yet that even blind deaf-mutes, with no other senses to rely upon than smell, taste, and feeling, may enjoy a qualified happiness, and be susceptible of moral cultivation, has been shewn in several well-accredited instances. One of the most remarkable cases of the kind is that of James Mitchell, the story of whose blameless and interesting life we propose in the first place to lay before our readers.
JAMES MITCHELL was born in the year 1795 at Ardclach, a parish in the north of Scotland, of which his father was clergyman. He was the youngest except one of seven children, and neither his parents nor his brothers or sisters had any deficiency in the senses. Soon after birth, his mother discovered that he was blind, from his manifesting no desire to turn his eyes to the light. On inspection, it was observed that it was blindness caused by cataract; both the lenses were opaque, a cloudy pearl-like substance resting over the retina or seeing part of each eye. This was a sufficiently distressing discovery, but how much greater was the anguish of the poor mother when she soon after found that her infant was deaf as well as blind! Excluded from all ordinary means of direction, the child was guided only by feeling and natural impulse--an object so helpless as to require constant and careful attention. Fortunately, his constitution was otherwise sound : he learned to walk like other children, by being put to the ground and left to scramble to his feet, holding by
While between one and two years of age, he began to evince considerable acuteness in touch, taste, and smell, being able by these to distinguish strangers from the members of his own family, and any little article which was appropriated to himself from what belonged to others. As he advanced in years, various circumstances concurred to prove that neither the auditory nerves nor retina were entirely insensible to impressions of sound and light, and that though he derived little information from these organs, he received from them a considerable degree of gratification. A key having accidentally come into his hand, he put it to his mouth; it struck on his teeth. This was to him a most important discovery. He found that the blow communicated a vibration through his head, and this, the nearest approach to sound, was hailed with delight; henceforth the striking of a key on his teeth became a daily gratification. As great was the pleasure he derived from any bright or dazzling object being held to his eyes. One of his chief amusements was to concentrate the sun's rays by means of pieces of glass, transparent pebbles, or similar substances, which he held between his eye and the light, and turned about in various directions. There were other modes by which he was often in the habit of gratifying his desire of light. He would go to any outhouse or room within his reach, shut the windows and doors, and remain there for a considerable time, with his eyes fixed on some small hole or chink which admitted the sun's rays, eagerly catching them. He would also, during the winter nights, frequently retire to a corner of a dark room, and kindle a light for his amusement. Such indeed seemed to be the degree of pleasure which he received from feasting his eyes with light, that he would often occupy himself in this manner for several hours without interruption. In this, as well as in the gratification of the other senses, his countenance and gestures displayed a most interesting avidity and curiosity. His father often remarked him employing many hours in selecting from the bed of the river, which flows within a few yards of the house, stones of a round shape, nearly of the same weight, and having a certain degree of smoothness. These he placed in a circular form on the bank, and then seated himself in the middle of the circle. .
At the age of thirteen his father took him to London, where the operation of piercing the membrane of each tympanum of the ear was performed by Sir Astley Cooper, but without improving his hearing in the least. An operation was also performed on the left eye by Mr Saunders, but with little or no success. As there appeared still some hopes of restoring vision, his father a second time carried him to London in the year 1810, when fifteen years of age, and placed him under the charge of Mr Wardrop, an eminent surgeon. Mr Wardrop's account of the boy is so interesting that we shall give it in his own words. This poor boy,' says he, 'had the usual appearance of strength and good health, and his countenance