American telegraph. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1851-1851, 1851-03-31

table ana the laues library. In Its literary
execution il contains, to be sure, faults of rhe-
toric, such as might be expected to escape de-
lection and amendment by one not yet cxpe-
rienced in the vocation of the author, and
deprived Of the almost indispensable assistance
of the eye, in the work of criticising and cor
recting 1t however abounds with passages
of rare beauty; with beautiful thoughts, ex-
pressed in the beautiful, because in the simple,
language by which heart most audibly speaks
to heart. We shall probably not be singular in
considering as such the following, from one of
her descriptions Of blindness and her experience
of its incident, contained in letter to female
friend, also blind:
''0ur night is unending Days steal on US,
and steal from us. We sleep and awaken but
no change comes. No flowers spring up in our
path; no garden-walks or fields unfold their
colors; no mountains rise, NO rivers roll, nor
oceans swell. To as beauty hath yelled her
| face, and grandeur hath passed away. Yes,
Mary, all things have passed away. The
moon has left the sky, and all the stars have
gone down forever. SO the bright dreams of
our youth have fed and promised joys come
not. All around are blithe and gay, but from
morn to eve, Mary, we move cautiously and
pensively. Our truant feet often 60 astray, and
we know not when danger is nigh. AS the
chained eagle looks heavenward and stretches
out its wing in fancied freedom, SO we some
times intercept the fight of time, and live for
getful in light and joy and hope, but only to
return and weep in darkness more dark, and
loneliness more lonely. But our darkness, like
the clouds, must have it's sunny side; for God
takes blessings from us only when their alb
sence is the greater blessing. Sorrow sancti-
fed, quickens into newness Of life the better
feelings of our nature and, Mary, does it not
make US love our friends and all the world
more, and 60 not our thoughts oftener up to
God and hcaven?"
And the following, extracted from another
letter:
"They tell me that gratitude, the holiest Of
emotions, is too much the theme of my letters
that ! give words of thanks and praise to
everybody who is kind, oil unmindful that
green-eyed prejudice is still in the world. But
they who say this should know that years have
gone by since even harsh word has fallen on
my ears since I have seen frowning face, o
look of anger or revenge. The cold, the un-
feeling, whose souls are filed with selfshness
and pride, never seek the friendship Of the
blind, but, like the priests and Levites, pass by
on the other side So you see am necessarily
always with the good, for they alone find plea
sure in contributing to the happiness of one
who can make no return for their multiplied
Marriage AS the ancients held sacred the
oak riycn by the lightning, so delicate mind
always regards one who is afflicted, as if touched
by the hand of God himself
"We are creatures Of habit, and form our
notions of the world from what we see of it.
Wonder not, then, if l cali it only bright and
beautiful. Those around may wear looks of
sadness; may grow old; their teeth may fall !;
their eyes become dim, and their locks gray ;
wrinkles may be on their brows, trace-marks Of
grief and care; but they look not so to me.
The last time saw the green earth and its
inhabitants they wore yet the sunny hues Of
innocence and gladness, with which unsuspect-
ing youth covers all things. And SO they seem
to me now; and were | to bear report to hea-
ven, shall call this charming world kind, a
loving, forgiving world; should say that
men oftener love than hate, oftener do good
than i'll.
sLong, long be my heart with such memories filled,
Like the In which have been distilled;
You may break, you may ruin the vase II you wil
But the scent OF the roses will hang round 1t st"