FOR THE RURAL MAGAZINE.
The more disinterested our benevolence, the nearer we approach to the gods, was the sentiment of a reflecting heathen, who lived at a remote period of antiquity. Disinterested benevolence, though of rare occurrence, is nevertheless, to the honour of human nature, sometimes witnessed. 'When it is, the effect, like that produced by beholding an island of verdure in a sandy desert, or a retiring evergreen in the wintry waste, is in the highest degree cheering and delightful. DAVID G. SEIXAS, a young man of this city, of limited pecuniary resources, but of truly philanthropic and elevated views, has for some time past gratuitously instructed a number of deaf and dumb children, with singular success. His unobtrusive merit has at length in some measure become cognisant to the public; and as it is ascertained that there is a considerable number of unfortunate individuals, of this description, in the city and its vicinity, an association has been formed, under the most respectable auspices, for establishing an Institution for their instruction.[11] It is hoped and believed, that exertions to promote so excellent an object, will be aided with ample and willing patronage.
THE DEAF AND DUMB BOY!
When smiles play around thee, why sad and forlorn,
Amid all the transports thy fellows enjoy;
In life's cheerful morning what prompts thee to mourn?—
Alas! he is SILENT—poor sad-fated BOY!
When nature is robed in her mantle of green,
And winter has fled with his vapours & snows,
Every bough has its vocalist gladd'ning the scene,
He naught of this soul-cheering melody knows!
His ear never welcom'd the music of sound,
His tongue never utter'd the wonders of thought,
His DUTIES and END wrapt in darkness profound,
Have ne'er to this child of misfortune been taught.
Perchance ere the period when heart-rending woes,
To a premature grave had a fond mother brought,
As maternal affection more fervidly glows,
When our path through existence with sorrows is fraught!
Life's gath'ring ills were dispell'd by her smiles,
For love an inaudible language can speak;
But bereft of that friend who all suffering beguiles,
The tear of affliction now traces his cheek.
His wants disregarded, his wishes unknown,
Yet generous bosoms with sympathy feel,
When they make his condition—a moment their own,
His eloquent, silent, resistless appeal.