The eye recently afflicted with gutta serena, or rather the eyes, (for this deprivation commonly affects both orbs,) is, to the uninformed inspection, perfect. The internal structures are in their proper places, and the pupil is beautifully dilated. A very little instruction, however, enables the spectator to distinguish between fixedness and dilatation. A trifle more tuition will point out that the pupil is not so dark as in the organ of the healthy animal: that it has an opaque milky cast, accompanied very frequently with a bright light-green shining through it, as though a piece of tinsel were within the posterior chamber. After gaining such information, probably the notion before expressed about beauty may be changed. Most things are most beautiful as nature formed them, and no little expression resides in the ever-changing dimension of the pupillary opening. [Illustration: THE MODE IN WHICH A HORSE, WHEN QUITE BLIND, PROGRESSES.] The symptoms of blindness are equally pathetic and characteristic. The nostrils are constantly at work and the ears perpetually in motion--life is endeavoring, by exercising other senses, to compensate for the one lost. Then, the movements are peculiar. A blind man commonly shuffles along, endeavoring "to feel" his way. The horny hoof lacks the human faculty, but the horse endeavors to surmount objects by stepping high. A blind man turns the sightless face heavenward; the animal, likewise, raises its head, as it were, to expose its sightless orbs to its Creator. There is another strange peculiarity also, exemplified by the blind horse. The sightless quadruped, contrary to the majority of its species, generally carries a rough coat in summer and a blooming coat in winter. Now, a high stepper, a well-carried head, a lively ear, and a blooming coat, are great points in a horse, especially about London, and with gentlemen of little information. To prevent imposition, always place the horse in a full light. Should the pupils continue large, have the horse put into a dark house. A quarter of an hour afterward, take a candle, and by its light regard the eye. If the pupil is still dilated, hold the candle near to the eye. The iris will not contract quickly upon artificial light, but in five minutes it ought to move. However, suppose you imagine it to remain stationary; then, placing yourself by the head, have the horse led out into sunshine. If it exhibit no change to mark the passage from darkness to daylight you may certainly conclude the optic nerve is paralyzed.