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The effects of blindness upon the physical man, whatever they may be upon the intellectual, are decidedly pernicious; not directly and necessarily, but, nevertheless, almost inevitably. The mind is not called into action, the muscular power is not developed by exercise and labor, the sufferer dares not run about and play with his comrades; he cannot work in the open air, nor get the healthful movement which is necessary to bring the frame to the temper, that will enable it to wear well in after life; and it consequently soon wears out. Hence we see so many of the blind, who were comparatively intelligent and active in childhood, gradually drooping through youth into premature old age; becoming first inactive, then stupid, then idiotic, and finally going down to an early grave with the light of intellect completely extinguished, and enveloped in both physical and intellectual darkness. This is purely the effect of physical inaction; and this inaction always must have this effect; hence so few strong men are found among the blind, -- hence so many weak and helpless ones.

The development of some of the particular powers seems also to be affected by blindness: this is particularly observable in regard to the sexual propensity, which, while it is particularly strong in the deaf, is weak in the blind; and for the very obvious reason that the imagination is fed in the one case by the sight, and in the other is not. The same principle which causes the physical inability of the blind, contributes mainly to the perfection of the senses which they possess, for these are called into strong and continual action. The touch, the hearing, and the smell of the blind, sometimes become so acute that they differ as widely from the same senses in the state in which we possess them, as does the scent of the spaniel from that of the greyhound.

It is a popular, but unphilosophical saying, that when 'we are of one sense bereft, it but retires into the rest.' The blind man does not hear any better, merely because he has not the sense of sight; but because his peculiar situation and wants oblige him to cultivate his ear; just as the sailor acquires a power of descrying vessels at a distance, which is unattainable by the eye of a landsman. Few men are aware of the nature and extent of their own powers; few are aware that they are endowed with senses capable of almost unlimited amelioration. When we reflect upon the astonishing change which culture and attention effect in the physical powers, we are inclined to believe stories like those of 'him who of old could rend the oak.' We once knew a man, who had served for thirty years as a sort of telescope and telegraph for the island of Hydra; he used every day to take his post with a glass upon the summit of the island, and look out for the approach of vessels; and although there were over three hundred sail belonging to the island, he would tell the name of each one, as she approached, with unerring certainty, while she was still at such a distance as to present to a common eye only a confused white blur upon the clear horizon. We hardly dare recount some of the feats of vision performed by this man, or give the number of miles at which he could distinguish ships, for it would seem incredible to those who are accustomed to see through our heavy atmosphere 'as through a glass darkly;' it convinced us however that the old Athenians might have been able, as is said of them, at twenty miles' distance from their city, to discern the point of Minerva's spear as it glittered from the Parthenon, the loftiest point of the lofty Acropolis.

The blind are obliged, both from inclination and necessity, to pay as much attention to the cultivation of their senses as our telescope of Hydra, and the result is still more astonishing. The hearing is the sense which seems to us the most changed in the blind, although we are aware that many people, and even many of the blind themselves, say it is the touch. May we not, however, call all the senses mere modifications of the sense of touch? What is touch? Lexicographers call it the sense of feeling; now this sense of feeling is inherent in a greater or less degree in every part of the surface of the body; in the lips it is very acute, in the ear it is still more so, and the undulations of the air, striking upon the apparatus of hearing, are felt, just as the pressure of a hard substance is by the rest of the body. Is not the power of vision, too, dependent on the touch? The rays of light strike upon the retina , and we feel color. The taste is decidedly a modification of touch, though we are not aware that it is capable of such change by use as the other senses. The power of distinguishing the physical qualities of bodies by the lips and tongue is very striking in the blind, and the notorious fact, that they can pass a thread through the eye of a fine cambric needle, is much less surprising than some others which we shall have occasion to adduce: but, as we said, we do not know that the other kind of touch, which we call taste, is sensibly improved. Perhaps, how ever, it arises from the fact of the generality of mankind tasting so much, and drawing so much pleasure from the use of the sense, that the blind cannot outdo them. This at least is certain, the blind are not often gastronomes.