feelings of wonder and admiration; but it required no little pains to correct his mistakes, and teach him the difference between things organick and such as are not organized, between things animate and inanimate, and between voluntary motion and that which is communicated from external causes. Many things which bore the form of men or animals, though cut in stone, carved in wood, or painted, he would still conceive to be animated, and ascribe to them such qualities as he perceived to exist in animated beings. It appeared strange to him that the figures of horses, unicorns, ostriches, and so forth, which were either carved or painted upon the walls of houses, remained always stationary. He wondered that they did not run away. He expressed his indignation against a statue in the garden, because, when very dirty, it did not wash itself. When, for the first time, he saw the great crucifix on the outside of the church of St. Sebaldus, the view affected him with deep sympathy and horrour. He earnestly entreated that the man who was so dreadfully tormented, might be taken down; nor could he, for a long time, be pacified, although it was explained to him, that it was not a real man, but merely an image, which felt nothing.

Every motion he observed to take place in any object, he conceived to be voluntary, or a spontaneous effect of life. When a sheet of paper was blown down from the table by the wind, he thought that it had run away. On seeing a child's wagon rolling down a hill, it was, in his opinion, making an excursion to amuse itself. He supposed that a tree manifested its life by the waving of its branches, and the motion of its leaves; and its voice was heard in the rustling of its leaves when they were moved by the wind. He severely rebuked a boy for striking a tree with a stick, and causing it, as he said, unnecessary pain. The balls of a ninepin alley, he conceived, ran voluntarily along, and, moreover, hurt other balls when they struck against them; and when they stopped, it was because they were tired. He was, at length, convinced that a humming-top, which he had long been spinning, did not move voluntarily, only by finding that, after frequently winding up the cord, his arm began to pain him-being thus sensibly convinced, that he had himself communicated the power which caused it to move.

But to animals, particularly, for a long time he ascribed the same properties as to men, and appeared to distinguish the one from the other only by the difference in their external form. He was angry with a cat for taking its food with its mouth, without

aFig'ürz-not, fig'årz. Hêrd. cA-genst'.

F

ever employing its hands for that purpose. He wished to teach it to use its paws in eating, and to sit upright. He spoke to it as to a rational being, and expressed great indignation at its unwillingness to attend to what he said, and to learn from him; but he once highly commended the obedience of a particular dog. On seeing some oxen lying down in the street, he wondered why they did not go home, and lie down there. When it was told him, that such things could not be expected from animals, which knew no better, he replied, "Then they ought to learn: there are many things which I, also, am obliged to learn."

b

He had not the least conception of the origin and growth of any of the productions of nature, but imagined that trees, plants, leaves, and flowers, and the like, were the mere workmanship of human hands. This mistake was corrected by his preceptor's causing him to plant some beans, and afterwards to notice how they germinated, and produced leaves and fruit.

Of the beauties of nature," for a long time, he had no idea; nor did they seem otherwise to interest him than merely to excite his curiosity to know who made such and such things. Yet there was one view presented to him, which formed a remarkable exception to the truth of this observation, and which ought to be regarded as an important and never-to-be-forgotten incident in the gradual development of his intellectual faculties. It was on a fine summer evening in the month of August, 1829, that his instructer showed him, for the first time, the starry heavens. His astonishment and transport at the sight, transcended all bounds, and surpassed description. He could not be satisfied with looking and gazing at the sublime spectacle: at the same time, he fixed accurately with his eye, the different groups of stars that were pointed out to him, noticed those most distinguished for their brightness, and remarked the difference in their respective colours. "This," he exclaimed, “is, indeed, the most beautiful and magnificent sight I have ever beheld in the world. But who placed all those beautiful candles there? who lights them? who puts them out?" were the interrogatories which burst from his enraptured soul. When he was informed, that, like the sun, with which he had been for some time acquainted, they always remain there to give light by night, he was still not satisfied, but eagerly demanded again, who had made and hung them up on high, that they might thus illumine that spacious vault;-for, as yet, he had not formed a just idea of that Being who made all things, who "rules the heavenly

*Rásh'ůn'ál. Nå'tshùre. In'tèr-êst. In'sè 'dênt—not, dunt.

host," and "calls the stars by name." At length, after standing motionless for some time, he fell into a train of profound medi tation. On recovering from this reverie, his transport was succeeded by deep sadness. He sunk pale and trembling upon a chair, and asked, "why that wicked man had kept him always locked up-him who had never done any harm-and had never shown him any of these beautiful things."

Caspar was soon after put under the care of a riding-master; in which situation, in the delightful and noble accomplishment of horsemanship, he soon greatly excelled. But besides his extraordinary equestrian talents, the striking peculiarity, the almost preternatural acuteness and intensity of his perceptions, as evinced in the power of his senses, appeared so remarkable and wonderful in him as to elicit the admiration and astonishment of all.

As to his sight, there existed, in respect to him, no twilight, no night, no darkness. He revelled in an ocean of light. One unclouded day shone perpetually on his visual orb. He often looked with astonishment upon others who were compelled to grope their way in the dark, or to use a candle or lantern. In twilight, however, he could see far better than in broad daylight. Thus, after sunset, he once read the number of a house at a distance of 180 paces, which, in daylight, he was not able to distinguish so far off. Towards the close of twilight, he once pointed out to his instructer, a gnat that was hanging in a spider's web very distant. At a distance of 60 paces, he could distinguish, in the dark, elder-berries from black currants. In a totally dark night, he could also distinguish from each other, the different, dark colours, such as blue and green. When, at the commencement of twilight, a common eye could not per. ceive more than three or four stars in the sky, he could discern the different groups, and distinguish, from each other, the sev eral single stars of which the groups were composed, according to their magnitudes and the peculiarities of their coloured light. In distinguishing objects near by, his sight was as sharp as it was penetrating in discerning them at a distance. In anatomizing plants, he often noticed subtile distinctions and delicate particles which had entirely escaped the observation of others.

But no less wonderful was the acuteness of his hearing. When taking a walk in the fields, he once heard, at a distance comparatively very great, the footsteps of several persons, and was able to distinguish them from each other by their tread.

Ak-kom'plishment.
E-skåpt'.

dDiz-zêrn'.

e

bAs-tônłshment—not, munt.

Dif'fèr-ênt.

a

Of all his senses, however, that which proved the most extraordinary, and which gave him so many disagreeable and painful sensations as frequently to make him miserable, was the sense of smelling. What to ordinary olfactories, is entirely scentless, was by no means so to his. The most delicate and delightful odours of flowers, such, for instance, as those imparted by the rose, were perceived by him as insupportable stenches, which painfully affected his nerves. What announces itself to others by its smell only when near, was scented by him at a great distance. Excepting the smell of bread, of fennel, of anise, and of caraway, to which he had been already accustomed in his prison, (for there, it appears, his bread was seasoned with these condiments,) all kinds of smells were more or less disagreeable to him: so much so, that, when asked, which of all smells he liked best, he piquantly replied, "none at all.”

His walks and rides were often rendered very unpleasant by their conducting him near flower gardens, tobacco fields, nut trees, and other ordinary shrubs and plants, which affected his olfactory nerves, and caused him to pay dearly for his recreations in the open air, by their inflicting upon him head-aches, cold-sweats, and attacks of fever. Tobacco in blossom he could smell at the distance of fifty paces; and that hung up to dry, one hundred paces off. He could distinguish apple, pear, and plum trees from each other, at a considerable distance, by the smell of their leaves. The different colouring materials used in painting and dying, and even the ink and pencil with which he wrote-in short, all things around him wafted odours to his nostrils which were either unpleasant or painful to him. The smell of old cheese sickened him. The smell of vinegar, though it stood some distance from him, would bring tears into his eyes. The smell of champaigne and other wines, would produce a heat in his head, and make him ill; but of all smells, the most horrible to him, was that of fresh meat.

In the autumn of 1828, when Caspar was walking with professor Daumer near St. John's churchyard, the smell of the dead bodies in their graves, of which the professor had not the slightest perception, affected him so powerfully that he was immediately seized with an ague. This was soon succeeded by an intense, feverish heat, which at length broke out into a most profuse perspiration. After the profuse sweats had subsided, he felt better, but complained that his sight had been obscured by this severe attack. Similar effects were once experienced by him after walking for some time near a tobacco field.

*In'stanse-not, in'stunse. bDis'tanse-not, dis'tunse. Wêr dA'gů.

Caspar's sense of feeling, and susceptibility of metallick and magnetick excitement, were also very extraordinary. When professor Daumer, by way of experiment, held the north pol of a magnet towards him, he put his hand to the pit of his stomach, and, drawing his waistcoat in an outward direction, remarked that the magnet drew him thus, and that a current of air seemed to proceed from him. The south pole affected him less powerfully; and he said that it appeared like a current of air blowing upon him.

In regard to his sensibility to the presence of metals, and his power to distinguish them from each other merely by his feel. ings, one or two instances may suffice. On entering a store filled with hardware, he immediately hurried out again, being affected with violent shuddering, and complaining that he felt a drawing sensation in every part of his body, and in all direc tions at once. Upon a person's slipping a gold coin into Caspar's hand without his seeing it, he immediately remarked, that he felt gold in his hand. At a time when Caspar was absent, professor Daumer once placed a gold ring, a brass and steel compass, and a silver drawing pen under some paper, and in such a manner that it was impossible for him to see what was concealed under it. Mr. Daumer then directed him to move his finger over the paper without touching it. He did so; and by the difference of the sensation and the power of attraction which the various metals caused him to feel at the points of his fingers, he accurately distinguished and described them all, each from the other, according to its respective matter and form.

With a view to deceive him, Caspar was once required, in the presence of several distinguished gentlemen, to run his hand over the paper, when, as they supposed, nothing was concealed under it. After moving his finger over it, he exclaimed, “there it draws." "But this time," replied professor Daumer, as he withdrew the 66 paper, you are mistaken, for nothing lies under it." Caspar seemed, at first, to be somewhat embarrassed; but putting his finger again to the place where he thought he had felt the drawing, he assured them more positively than before, that he there felt a drawing. The oil cloth was then removed; and upon making a stricter search, a needle was actually found under it.

But notwithstanding the interest and instruction to be derived from an examination of Caspar's physical and physiological aspect, the contemplation of his intellectual powers and of their development and operation, after having lain so long dormant, dTo'ůrdz him—not, to

Eks-pêr'e 'ment.

Eks-site'ment. Wêr. C ward' zim, Dòr'mânt-not, munt.