PRAYERS OF THE DEAF AND DUMB.

IF sweet it is to see the babe
Kneel by its mother's side,
And lisp its brief and holy prayer,
At hush of eventide,-

And sweet to mark the blooming youth
'Neath morning's purple ray,
Breathe incense of the heart to Him,
Who ruleth night and day,—

How doth the bosom's secret pulse
With strong emotion swell,
And tender pitying thoughts awake,
Which language may not tell,-

When yon mute train who meekly bow
Beneath affliction's rod,

Whose lip no utterance hath for man,
Pour forth the soul to God.

They have no garment for the thought
That springs to meet its Sire,

No tone to flush the glowing cheek,
Or fan Devotion's fire;

It

such men, and such only, as are willing to devote themselves permanently and entirely to this profession. has also been their wish to hold out inducements to men of character, talent, and liberal education, which should lead them to engage in a life-long service. Exerting their main strength day after day in this one employment, and not having their thoughts divided by any ulterior plans of life, the chance is greater that their duties will be faithfully performed, and that the experience which they acquire, as one year follows another, in the difficult art of deaf-mute instruction, will render their services of more value to the Asylum than those of a merely transient teacher could be expected to possess." Seven years are considered the full term for a course of education here, and it is a cause of regret that so few remain during the whole of that period.

The female pupils, out of school hours, are occupied in various feminine employments, under the charge of the matron. Gathered into the same fold, and cheered by her kind patronage, sits the deaf, dumb, and blind girl, often busy with her needle, for whose guidance her exceedingly acute sense of feeling suffices, and in whose dexterous use seems the chief solace of her lot of silence, and of rayless night.

There are at present in this Institution one hundred and sixty-four pupils, and since its commencement, in 1817, between seven and eight hundred have shared the benefits of its shelter aud instruction. Abundant proof has been rendered by them, that, when quickened by the impulse of education, their misfortune does not exclude them from participating in the active pursuits and satisfactions of life. By recurring to their history,

after their separation from the Asylum, we find among them farmers and mechanics, artists and seamen, teachers of deaf mutes in various and distant institutions, and what might at first view seem incompatible with their situation, a merchant's clerk, the editor of a newspaper, a postmaster, and county-recorder in one of our far Western States, and a clerk in the Treasury Department at Washington.

More than one hundred of the pupils from this Asylum have entered into the matrimonial relation; and some, within the range of our own intimacy, might be adduced as bright examples of both conjugal and parental duty.

One of its most interesting members, who entered at its first organisation, and remained during the full course of seven years, was a daughter of the late Dr. Mason F. Cogswell, who was early called to follow her lamented father to the tomb. Her genius, her entire loveliness of disposition, and the happiness of her joyous childhood, caused the following reply to be made to a question originally proposed at the Institution for the deaf and dumb in Paris; "Les Sourd-Muets se trouventils malheureux ?" *

Oh! could the kind inquirer gaze
Upon thy brow, with gladness fraught,

Its smile, like inspiration's rays,
Would give the answer to his thought.

"Are the deaf and dumb unhappy?

And could he see thy sportive grace
Soft blending with submission due,
Or note thy bosom's tenderness
To every just emotion true!—

Or, when some new idea glows
On the pure altar of the mind,
Observe the exulting tear that flows
In silent ecstasy refined ;-

Thy active life, thy look of bliss,
The sparkling of thy magic eye,
Would all his sceptic doubts dismiss,
And bid him lay his pity by,—

To bless the ear that ne'er has known
The voice of censure, pride, or art,
Nor trembled at that sterner tone,

Which, while it tortures, chills the heart;

And bless the lip that ne'er could tell
Of human woes the vast amount,
Nor pour those idle words that swell
The terror of our last account.

For sure the stream of silent course

May flow as deep, as pure, as blest,
As that which rolls in torrents hoarse,
Or whitens o'er the mountain's breast,-

As sweet a scene, as fair a shore,

As rich a soil, its tide may lave,
Then joyful and accepted pour
Its tribute to the Eternal wave.

NAHANT

RUDE, rock-bound coast, where erst the Indian roamed, The iron shoulders of thy furrowed cliffs,

Made black with smiting, still in stubborn force

Resist the scourging wave.

Bright summer suns
In all the fervour of their noon-tide heat

Obtain no power to harm thee, for thou wrapp'st
Thy watery mantle round thee, ever fresh

With ocean's coolness, and defy'st their rage.

The storm-cloud is thy glory.

Then, thou deck'st

Thyself with majesty, and to its frown

And voice of thunder, answerest boldly back,

And from thy watch-towers hurl'st the blinding spray, While every dark and hollow cavern sounds

Its trumpet for the battle.

Yet, 'tis sweet

Amid thy fissured rocks to ruminate,

Marking thy grottos with mosaic paved

Of glittering pebbles, and that balm to breathe
Which gives the elastic nerves a freer play,
And tints the languid cheek with hues of health.

P