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It is always interesting to obtain the history of a mind eminent for any quality above that of the common mass, but particularly so in the case of an individual such as Frances Brown, who, with one of the noblest avenues to knowledge quite shut out," has yet, by the native vigour of her mind and under the most unfavourable external circumstances, enriched and cultivated that "inner light" which a kind Providence has, as it were, bestowed to compensate the absence of the outer. In a recent number we gave some account of the deaf and dumb; the following statement of Miss Brown, drawn up with great simplicity and feeling, by herself, and prefixed to a volume of her poetry lately published, cannot, we should think, be read without interest.

"I was born," she writes, "on the 16th of January 1816, at Stranorlar, a small village in the county of Donegal. My father was then, and still continues to be, the postmaster of the village. I was the seventh child in a family of twelve; and my infancy was, I believe, as promising as that of most people; but, at the age of eighteen months, not having received the benefit of Jenner's discovery, I had the misfortune to lose my sight by the small pox, which was then prevalent in our neighbourhood. This, however, I do not remember; and, indeed, recollect very little of my infant years. I never received any regular education; but very early felt the want of it; and the first time I remember to have experienced this feeling strongly was about the beginning of my seventh year, when I heard our pastor (my parents being members of the Presbyterian church) preach for the first time. On the occasion alluded to, I was particularly struck by many words in the sermon, which, though in common use, I did not then understand; and from that time adopted a plan for acquiring information on this subject. When a word unintelligible to me happened to reach my ear, I was careful to ask its meaning from any person whom I thought likely to inform me--a habit which was, probably, troublesome enough to the friends and acquaintances of my childhood; but by this method I soon acquired a considerable stock of words; and, when further advanced in life, enlarged it still more by listening attentively to my younger brothers and sisters reading over the tasks required at the village school. They were generally obliged to commit to memory a certain portion of the Dictionary and English Grammar, each day; and by hearing them read it aloud frequently for that purpose, as my memory was better than theirs, (perhaps rendered so by necessity), I learned the task much sooner than they, and frequently heard them repeat it.

most common in

"My first acquaintance with books was necessarily formed amongst those which are country villages. Susan Gray-The Negro ServantThe Gentle Shepherd—Mungo Park's Travels—and, of course, Robinson Crusoe—were among the first of my literary friends; for I often heard them read by my relatives, and remember to have taken a strange delight in them, when I am sure they were not half understood. Books have been always scarce in our remote neighbourhood, and were much more so in my childhood; but the craving for knowledge which then comnienced grew with my growth; and, as I had no books of my own in those days, my only resource was borrowing from the few acquaintances I had,-to some of whom I owe obligations of the kind that will never be forgotten. In this way, I obtained the reading of many valuable works, though generally old ones;-but it was a great day for me when the first of Sir Walter Scott's

works fell into my hands. It was The Heart of Midlothian, and was lent me by a friend, whose family were rather better provided with books than most in our neighbourhood.

"My delight in the work was very great even then; and I contrived, by means of borrowing, to get acquainted, in a very short time, with the greater part of the works of its illustrious author,-for works of fiction, about this time, occupied all my thoughts. I had a curious mode of impressing on my memory what had been read-namely, lying awake in the silence of the night, and repeating it all over to myself. To that habit I probably owe the extreme tenacity of memory which I now possess; but, like all other good things, it had its attendant evil, for I have often thought it curious that, whilst I never forget any scrap of knowledge collected, however small, yet the common events of daily life slip from my memory so quickly that I can scarcely find anything again which I have once laid aside. But this misfortune has been useful, in teaching me habits of order.

"About the beginning of my thirteenth year, I happened to hear a friend read a part of Baines's History of the French War. It made a singular impression on my mind; and works of fiction, from that time, began to lose their value, compared with the far more wonderful romance of history. But books of the kind were so scarce in our neighbourhood, that Hume's History of England, and two or three other works on the same subject, were all I could reach, -till a kind friend, who was then the teacher of our village-school, obliged me with that voluminous work, The Universal History. There I heard, for the first time, the histories of Greece and Rome, and those of many other ancient nations. My friend had only the ancient part of the work; but it gave me a fund of information which has been subsequently increased from many sources;-and at present I have a tolerable knowledge of history.

"My historical studies made a knowledge of geography requisite; but my first efforts to acquire it had been made even in childhood, by inquiring from every person the situation and locality of distant places which they chanced to mention. As I grew older, and could understand the language of books, the small abridgments of Geography, which were used by my brothers and sisters at the village school, were committed to memory by a similar process to that by which I had learnt the Dictionary and Grammar. In order to acquire a more perfect knowledge of the relative situations of distant places, I sometimes requested a friend, who could trace maps, to place my finger upon some well-known spot, the situation of which I had exactly ascertained, and then conduct the fingers of the other hand, from the points thus marked, to any place on the map whose position I wished to know,-at the same time mentioning the places through which my fingers passed. By this plan, having previously known how the cardinal points were placed, I was enabled to form a tolerably correct idea, not only of the boundaries and magnitude of various countries, but also of the courses of rivers and mountain-chains.

"The first geographical problem that I remember, occurred to me on hearing, in an account of the discovery of America, that Columbus at first intended to reach the coasts of Asia by sailing to the west; and, as I knew that Asia was in the eastern portion of the world, as laid down on our maps, the statement puzzled me much. At length, however, hearing our village teacher explain to my elder brothers and sisters the globular figure of the earth, that problem was solved; but to comprehend it cost me the study of a sleepless night!

"As I increased in years and knowledge, the small

school-books already mentioned were found insufficient; and I had recourse to my old method of borrowing. By this I obtained some useful information; and increased 5t by conversation with the few well-informed persons who came within the limited sphere of my acquaintance. In the pursuit of knowledge, my path was always impeded by difficulties too minute and numerous to mention; but the want of sight was, of course, the principal one,-which, by depriving me of the power of reading, obliged me to depend on the services of others; and as the condition of my family was such as did not admit of much leisure, my invention was early taxed to gain time for those who could read. I sometimes did the work assigned to them, or rendered them other little services; for, like most persons similarly placed, necessity and habit have made me more active in this respect than people in ordinary circumstances would suppose. The lighter kinds of reading were thus easily managed; but my young relatives were often unwilling to waste their breath and time with the drier but more instructive works, which I latterly preferred. To tempt them to this, I used, by way of recompense, to relate to them long stories, and even novels, which perhaps they had formerly read but forgotten; and thus my memory may be said to have earned supplies for itself.

"About the end of my fifteenth year, having heard much of the Iliad, I obtained the loan of Pope's translation. That was a great event to me; but the effect it produced requires some words of explanation. From my earliest years, I had a great and strange love for poetry; and could commit verses to memory with greater rapidity than most children. But at the close of my seventh year, when a few psalms of the Scotch version, Watts's Divine Songs, and some old country songs (which certainly were not divine) formed the whole of my poetical knowledge, I made my earliest attempt in versification-upon that first and most sublime lesson of childhood, The Lord's Prayer. As years increased, my love of poetry, and taste for it, increased also with increasing knowledge. The provincial newspapers, at times, supplied me with specimens from the works of the best living authors. Though then unconscious of the I still remember the extraordinary delight which cause, those pieces gave me,-and have been astonished to find that riper years have only confirmed the judgments of childhood. When such pieces reached me, I never rested till they were committed to memory; and afterwards repeated them for my own amusement, when alone, or during those sleepless nights to which I have been, all my life, subject. But a source of still greater amusement was found in attempts at original composition; which, for the first few years, were but feeble imitations of everything I knew, from the Psalms to Gray's Elegy. When the poems of Burns fell in my way, they took the place of all others in my fancy:-and this brings me up to the time when I made my first acquaintance with the Iliad.

"It was like the discovery of a new world, and effected a total change in my ideas on the subject of poetry. There was, at the time, a considerable manuscript of my own productions in existence,-which, of course, I regarded with some partiality; but Homer had awakened me, and, in a fit of sovereign contempt, I committed the whole to the flames. Soon after I had found the Iliad, I borrowed a prose translation of Virgil,-there being no poetical one to be found in our neighbourhood; and in a similar manner made acquaintance with many of the classic authors. But after Homer's, the work that produced the greatest impression on my mind was Byron's Childe Harold. The one had induced me to burn my first manuscript, and the other made me resolve against verse-making in future; for I was then far enough advaneed to know my own deficiency; but without apparent means for the requisite improvement. In this resolution I persevered for several years, and occupied my mind solely in the pursuit of knowledge; but, owing

to adverse circumstances, my progress was necessarily slow. Having, however, in the summer of the year 1840, heard a friend read the story of La Pérouse, it struck me that there was a remarkable similarity between it and one related in an old country song, called the Lost Ship, which I had heard in my childhood. The song in question was of very low composition; but there was one line at the termination of each verse which haunted my imagination; and, I fancied, might deserve a better poem. This line and the story of La Pérouse, together with an irresistible inclination to poetry, at length induced me to break the resolution I had so long kept;and the result was, the little poem called La Pérouse. His country's banner to the gale The sea-bound warrior gave, And gathered to his spreading sail The noble, wise and brave: And hope went with the young and gay, Who left their sunny shore

For isles of promise far away,

But ne'er were heard of more!
Yet far their ocean chief had been,
In sunlight, storm, and gloom,-
On every shore his flag was seen-

But who hath seen his tomb!
The stars of night and dews of morn
Earth's seasons still restore,-

But the land looked long for their return-
They ne'er were heard of more!

Oh! had they found, mid trackless sea,
Some glorious land, enshrined,
Where lived no lingering memory

Of all they left behind?-
For many a brave bark sought, in vain,
Their wandering to explore,-
Lut day or night or land or main,
They ne'er were heard of more!
Time passed away- on darkest hair

It brought the snow of years,—
Till faith had ceased her fruitless prayer,
And love forgot her tears:
And wasted heart and weary hand
The grave alike closed o'er,-
Dark things were known of every land-
They ne'er were heard of more!
Alas! their land, beyond the waves,

Hath felt both sword and flame,-
And given her brave to stranger-graves,
Who left her deathless fame!-
But still, though tried and tempest-tost
As none have been before,
She keeps the memory of the lost,-
Who ne'er were heard of more!

"Soon after, when Messrs Gunn and Cameron commenced the publication of their Irish Penny Journal, I was seized with a strange desire to contribute something to its pages. My first contribution was favourably received; and I still feel grateful for the kindness and encouragement bestowed upon me by both the editor and the publishers. The three small pieces which I contributed to that work were the first of mine that ever appeared in print, with the exception of one of my early productions, which a friend had sent to a provincial paper. The Irish Penny Journal was abandoned, on the completion of the first volume; but the publishers, with great kindness, sent me one of the copies,-and this was the first book of any value that I could call my own! But the gift was still more esteemed as an encouragement-and the first of the kind.

"At this juncture, I had heard much of the London Athenæum; and the accounts of it which the provincial papers contained made me long to see it; but no copies reached our remote neighbourhood. Finding it impossible to borrow the publication, I resolved to make a bold effort to obtain it; and in the spring of the year 1841, having a number of small poems on hand, I addressed them to the editor, promised future contributions, and solicited that a copy of the journal might be sent to me as the return. My application was long unanswered, and I had given up all for lost, when the ar

rival of many numbers of the journal, and a letter from the editor, astonished me, and gratified a wish which had haunted my very dreams. From that period, my name and pretensions have been more before the public-many poems of mine having appeared in the pages of that publication, in Mr Hood's Magazine, and in the Keepsake edited by the Countess of Blessington. Ten only of those contributed to the Athenæum have been included in the present collection-because most of them were so widely copied into the journals of the day, that I feared they might be too familiar for repetition. have little more to tell- this story of my mind's progress being the story of my life. My contributions to the Athenæum, and its editor's kindness, shortly enabled me to procure some instructive books, which supplied in some measure the want of early education---while they have been, in my solitude, unspeakable sources of entertainment. I have few memories to disturb, my grateful recollection of those who have cheered me onward in my chosen but solitary path.

I

"It was written, as all my other pieces have been, neither by the advice of friends nor with the hope of success, but merely for the love of the thing,' if I may use an expression very common in my country. It has no better foundation than a newspaper story, which a few years ago appeared in many of the British journals, and was said to have been copied from a Russian paper; but it took a strong hold on my mind at the time; and nothing but the want of information prevented me from attempting the subject long ago. For any errors and mistakes, I can only plead that the land is new to me-and comparatively little known, I believe to all."

It is sufficient to remark of the poetry of this selftaught authoress, that in this age of fastidious taste and unprecedented fertility of all kinds of literature, it has been read and admired for its own intrinsic merits, even before the history and condition of the authoress was disclosed. What may appear singular enough, there is not an allusion to blindness throughout the whole, on the contrary, external nature and events are described with a bold and free pencil, though of course the colouring, and lights, and shades, must wear a general character, and cannot go into those minute or vivid particulars which sometimes so awaken and delight the fancy in Wordsworth, Scott, or Cowper. It is evident too, that her art of describing to the eye must be borrowed from others, and yet she so manages to naturalize these, as few others who tempt the lofty rhyme, can do even with their full powers of vision. Here for instance is a scene that a painter might sketch

Know ye Pitsounda's lovely bay

That 'mid its circling mountains lies, Where cedar forests stretch away,

From the bright waters to the skies;

Till in the distant azure fades

The glory of the sylvan shades.

only that the painter, to render the picture true to nature, would require to interpose a distant overtopping mountain to make the background of the scene" fade in the distant azure."

Our authoress, so far from avoiding, seems to delight in depicting the scenery of nature; descriptions of external things seem to awaken that mental susceptibility to all that is beautiful which so decidedly accompanies the poetical temperament.

The comprehensive powers of the blind in this respect are indeed wonderful. Dr Black of Glasgow, in detailing the case of a blind man, of the name of Thompson, says "he learned to understand the common rules of perspective. After reading to him the description of a landscape, I asked him if he saw it in his mind's eye! He said, perfectly well. The writer first brings into view a stream, then beyond the stream is a level plain, which is bounded by a circle of high mountains; at the same time stretching out his arm to different lengths, which represented the different objects mentioned.”

Both from this individual and Miss Brown, we learn that the totally blind, who have never had any recollection of vision, are quite contented without this faculty. Happy dispensation of kind and accommodating nature! It is only those who, like Homer, or his blind Meonidas, or the heaven-soaring Milton, who have been in middle life shut out from the glorious light of heaven and the fair face of nature, once exquisitely enjoyed, that can be detected occasionally grieving at their sad lot. In noticing a recent tale of Dickens' we alluded to the incongruity of making Bertha so querulous upon her exclusion from the pleasures of a sense which she never enjoyed.

In this utilitarian age, when the use of poetry is questioned, and the practice of cultivating the imagination well-nigh abolished, it is pleasing to turn to such a case as Frances Brown. How many solitary hours during the day, and still more during the sleepless night, has her mind been cheered by the bright and varied images of the imagination! How often have her feelings been soothed and calmed, and her mind led into pleasing and useful trains of reflection! Nature unfitted her for mingling much in the too busy world of realities,-but she has been endowed with the faculty of creating a little world of ideas within her own breast, by which she is mentally trained, and exercised, and stimulated to all that is fair and good. Our readers will be glad to learn that since this volume of her poetry was published, a small pension has been secured to her through the considerate kindness of Sir Robert Peel.

"MASTER William Horner came to our village to keep school when he was about eighteen years old: tall, lank, straight-sided, and straight-haired, with a mouth of the most puckered and solemn kind. His figure and movements were those of a puppet cut out of shingle, and jerked by a string; and his address corresponded very well with his appearance. Never did that prim mouth give way before a laugh. A faint and misty smile was the widest departure from its propriety, and this unaccustomed disturbance made wrinkles in the flat skinny

checks like those in the surface of a lake, after the intrusion of a stone. Master Horner knew well what belonged to the pedagogical character, and that facial solemnity stood high on the list of indispensable qualifications. He had made up his mind before he left his father's house how he would look during the term. He had not planned any smiles, (knowing that he must "board round "), and it was not for ordinary occurrences to alter his arrangements; so that when he was betrayed into a relaxation of the muscles, it was "in such

a sort" as if he was putting his bread and butter in jeopardy.

Truly he had a grave time that first winter. The rod of power was new to him, and he felt it his " duty" to use it more frequently than might have been thought necessary by those upon whose sense the privilege had palled. Tears and sulky faces, and impotent fists doubled fiercely when his back was turned, were the rewards of his conscientiousness; and the boys--and girls toowere glad when working time came round again, and the master went home to help his father on the farm.

But with the autumn came Master Horner again, dropping among us as quietly as the faded leaves, and awakening at least as much serious reflection. Would he be as self-sacrificing as before, postponing his own ease and comfort to the public good? or would he have become more sedentary, and less fond of circumambulating the school-room with a switch over his shoulder? Many were fain to hope he might have learned to smoke during the summer, an accomplishment which would probably have moderated his energy not a little, and disposed him rather to reverie than to action. But here he was, and all the broader-chested and stouter-armed for his labours in the harvest-field.

Let it not be supposed that Master Horner was of a cruel and ogreish nature-a babe-eater-a Herod-one who delighted in torturing the helpless. Such souls there may be, among those endowed with the awful control of the ferule, but they are rare in the fresh and natural regions we describe. It is, we believe, where young gentlemen are to be crammed for college, that the process of hardening heart and skin together goes on most vigorously. Yet, among the uneducated, there is so high a respect for bodily strength, that it is necessary for the schoolmaster to show, first of all, that he possesses this inadmissible requisite for his place. The rest is more readily taken for granted. Brains he may have a strong arm he must have: so he provés the more important claim first. We must therefore make all due allowance for Master Horner, who could not be expected to overtop his position so far as to discern at once the philosophy of teaching.

A new examination was required on the entrance into a second term, and, with whatever secret trepidation, the master was obliged to submit. Our law prescribes examinations, but forgets to provide for the competency of the examiners; so that few better farces offer, than the course of questions and answers on these occasions. We know not precisely what were Master Horner's trials; but we have heard of a sharp dispute between the inspectors whether angel spelt angle or angel. Angle had it, and the school maintained that pronunciation ever after. Master Horner passed, and he was requested to draw up the certificate for the inspectors to sign, as one had left his spectacles at home, and the other had a bad cold, so that it was not convenient for either to write more than his name. Master Horner's exhibition of learning on this occasion did not reach us, but we know that it must have been considerable, since he stood the ordeal.

"What is Orthography?" said an inspector once, in our presence.

The candidate writhed a good deal, studied the beams overhead and the chickens out at the window, and then replied,

But

"It is so long since I learnt the first part of the speling-book, that I can't justly answer that question. if I could just look it over, I guess I could."

Our schoolmaster entered upon his second term with new courage and invigorated authority. Twice certified, who should dare doubt his competency? Even Joshua was civil, and lesser louts of course obsequious; though the girls took more liberties; for they feel even at that early age, that influence is stronger than sense. Master Horner's success was most triumphant that winter. A year's growth had improved his outward

man exceedingly, filling out the limbs so that they did not so forcibly remind you of a young colt's, and supplying the cheeks with the flesh and blood so necessary where moustaches were not worn. Experience had given him a degree of confidence, and confidence gave him power. In short, people said the master had waked up; and so he had. He actually set about reading for improvement; and although at the end of the term he could not quite make out from his historical studies which side Hannibal was on, yet this is readily explained by the fact that he boarded round, and was obliged to read generally by firelight, surrounded by ungoverned children.

After this, Master Horner made his own bargain. When school-time came round with the following autumn, and the teacher presented himself for examination, such a test was pronounced no longer necessary; and the district consented to engage him at the astounding rate of sixteen dollars a-month, with the understanding that he was to have a fixed home, provided he was willing to allow a dollar a-week for it. Master Horner bethought him of the successive "killing-times," and consequent dough-nuts of the twenty families in which he had sojourned the years before, and consented to the exaction.

Behold our friend now as high as district teacher can ever hope to be--his scholarship established, his home stationary and not revolving, and the good behaviour of the community insured by the fact that he, being of age, had now a farm to retire upon in case of any disgust.

Master Horner was at once the pre-eminent beau of the neighbourhood, spite of the prejudice against learning. He brushed his hair straight up in front, and wore a sky-blue ribband for a guard to his silver watch, and walked as if the tall heels of his blunt boots were eggshells and not leather. Yet he was far from neglecting the duties of his place. He was beau only on Sundays and holidays; very schoolmaster the rest of the time. It was at a "spelling-school" that Master Horner first met the educated eyes of Miss Harriet Bangle, a young lady visiting the Engleharts in our neighbourhood. She was from one of the towns in Western New York, and had brought with her a variety of city airs and graces somewhat caricatured, set off with year-old French fashions much travestied. Whether she had been sent out to the new country to try, somewhat late, a rustic chance for an establishment, or whether her company had Leen found rather trying at home, we cannot say. The view which she was at some pains to make understood was, that her friends had contrived this method of keeping her out of the way of a desperate lover whose addresses were not acceptable to them.

If it should seem surprising that so high-bred a visiter should be sojourning in the wild woods, it must be remembered that more than one celebrated Englishman and not a few distinguished Americans have farmer brothers in the western country, no whit less rustic in their exterior and manner of life than the plainest of their neighbours. When these are visited by their refined kinsfolk, we of the woods catch glimpses of the gay world, or think we do.

"That great medicine hath With its tinct gilded-" many a vulgarism to the satisfaction of wiser heads than

ours.

Miss Bangle's manner bespoke for her that high consideration which she felt to be her due. Yet she condescended to be amused by the rustics and their awkward attempts at gaiety and elegance; and, to say truth, few of the village merry-makings escaped her, though she wore always the air of great superiority.

The spelling-school is one of the ordinary winter amusements in the country. It occurs once in a fortnight, or so, and has power to draw out all the young people for miles round, arrayed in their best clothes and