THE LIFE OF M. HUBER, THE BLIND PHILOSOPHER OF GENEVA. "Of all the race of animals, alone The bees have common cities of their own; And some are sent new forage to provide. Their toil is common; common is their sleep; They shake their wings when morn begins to peep, Rush through the city gates without delay, Nor ends their work but with declining day. Then having spent the last remains of light, They give their bodies due repose at night; When hollow murmurs of their ev❜ning bells Dismiss the sleepy swains, and toll them to their cells." Of all the deprivations to which man is subject, there is not one which to a greater degree shuts him out from the sources of pleasure, and the means of usefulness, than the loss of sight. He may lose the perception of odours, and taste, without any diminution of the higher order of enjoyments; he may also be deprived of hearing, and yet may still have access to the widest field of instruction and delight. But he who has lost the power of vision is debarred, by the most formidable obstacles, from the perusal of that book of knowledge," written by the fair hand of nature herself, in which are to be found, not the pictures of things, drawn by other minds, but the originals themselves. And yet there have been men, who have struggled with and overcome the difficulties of this affliction, to a degree which would be incredible, if it did not rest on the most indubitable proofs. How many instances have there been of blind persons, who have pursued knowledge with ardour and success, and have accomplished undertakings which would have done them honour, even if they had possessed all the bodily senses in the highest degree of perfection ! The truth of the above remarks will be strikingly illustrated in the following pages. Francis Huber was born at Geneva, in July, 1750, of an honourable family, in which quickness of intellect and a lively imagination seemed hereditary. His father, John Huber, had the reputation of being one of the wisest men of his time, and in this light is often mentioned by Voltaire, who highly appreciated his original conversation; he was also an agreeable musician, and wrote verses which were praised even at Ferney. The predilections of the father were inherited by the son. In his early years he attended the public lectures of the college, and, under the guidance of good masters, acquired a taste for literature, which was matured by the conversation of his father, to whom he was also indebted for his love of natural history. He was initiated in the physical sciences, by attending the lectures of M. de Laussure, and by making experiments in the laboratory of a relative, who ruined himself in the search for the philosopher's stone. Endowed with great warmth of feeling, his precocity was very remarkable, and he commenced the study of natural objects, at an age when others are only beginning to be conscious of their existence. He was shortly to suffer the most grievous of all privations, and, as if instinctively, he laid up a store of recollections and feelings for the remainder of his life. About the age of fifteen, his general health and also his eye-sight began to be impaired; his ardour in the pursuit of knowledge and amusement,—the passionate eagerness with which he followed his studies by day, and the reading of romances by night, (sometimes by no stronger light than that of the moon,) were the causes, it is said, which threatened the ruin both of his sight and of his constitution. His father at that period took him to Paris, in order to consult Tronchin on his health, and Wenzel on the state of his eyes. Tronchin, with the view of removing a tendency to consumption, sent him to pass some time at Stein, a village in the environs of Paris, that he might be out of the reach of every species of agitation: there he lived the life of a mere peasant, followed the plough, and occupied himself wholly in agricultural pursuits. This plan was completely successful so far as regarded his general health, which was ever afterwards unshaken, while he acquired a taste for the country, and a tender recollection of its pleasures, which never forsook him. The oculist Wenzel con sidered his sight, however, as incurable; he thought it unsafe to risk the operation for cataract, which was then not so well understood as it is now, and announced to Huber the probability of his shortly becoming completely blind. His eyes, however, in spite of their weakness had, both before his departure and after his return, encountered those of Marie-Aimée Lullin, the daughter of one of the Syndics of the republic. They had met each other frequently at the dancing master's; an affection, such as is felt at the age of seventeen, sprang up between them and became part of their existence, and neither of them believed it possible that their fates could be disunited. The speedy approach, however, of Huber's blindness, determined M. Lullin to refuse his consent to their union, but as the misfortune of him whom she had chosen as her future partner, became more certain, Marie regarded herself as bound never to forsake him. "But," said she, now that he requires a guide to be every moment with him, nothing shall prevent me from being united to him." Her early attachment was rivetted by time, and afterwards became a species of generous heroism; and she resolved to wait till she had attained her majority, (then fixed at twenty-five years,) in order to be united to Huber. To all the temptations, and even to all the persecutions, by which her father endeavoured to shake her resolution, she remained impregnable; and the moment she attained her majority, she presented herself at the altar, with the spouse whom she had chosen when he was happy and attractive, and to cheer whose melancholy fate she was now resolved to devote her life. Being united to the object of her disinterested affection, their mutual good conduct soon obtained pardon for their disobedience. The constancy of Madame Huber was, in all respects, worthy of the juvenile energy which she had displayed, and during the forty years' continuance of their union, she never ceased to bestow the tenderest care on her blind husband; she was his reader, and his secretary, made observations for him, and spared him every embarrassment that his situation was likely to produce. This excellent woman soon discovered a thousand means of alleviating her husband's unfortunate calamity. During the war she formed whole armies with pins of various sizes, and thus enabled him to distinguish the positions of the different corps; she likewise stuck the pins in a map, which gave him a correct idea of the movement of the troops; and she formed plans, in relief, of the places they occupied. In a word, she had but one occupation, that of making the life of her husband happy, and to such a point did this amiable woman carry her attentions, that M. Huber asserted, that he should be miserable were he to cease to be blind. "I should not know," said he, "to what extent a person in my situation could be beloved; besides, to me, my wife is always young, fresh, and pretty, and that is no light matter." This affectionate instance of conjugal attachment has been mentioned by celebrated writers; Voltaire frequently alludes to it in his correspondence, and the episode of the Belmont family in Delphine, |