The Press.
London, England, 1857-10-10 00:00:00

994

me is solitary ailence—ever-during silence—stillness nn•
broken. Words of advice, of comfort, of instruction or
reproof, to me convey no knowledge, nor make me wiser,
better, or more happy. For me the feathered warblers
tune their little throats in vain ! To me the violin or the
harp gives no music; the deep•toned bell and the leaping
organ, no sound. Behold the people crowd to the House
of God, to hear the preacher display the riches of redeem-
ing love; but if I go I hear not his words, which to me
alone are profitless; I hear not his voice, which only to
me is mute. lam now a mere cipher among men—of no
valise, importance, or estimation. My door is shut, and
ever barred against the entrance of knowledge ; and in
no capacity can I hope to be a useful member of the com-
munity.

The foregoing passage was written after pe-
rusing a passage in Bishop Hall's " Balm of
Gilead." Although familiar with Dr. Kitto's
history, some of the following extraordinary
illustrations of the effects of his deafness a•:c
new to us :

The loudest thunderstorm was perfectly inaudible to
him, though once, a peal having shaken the house, he sup-
posed it was a servant moving the table in an adjoining
room. He could not hear the throb or music of a set of
bells ; but when he was placed in contact with the tower,
he was conscious of a dull percussion overhead, as if blows
had been hitting the wall above qini. The great clock of
St. Paul's struck when he happened once to be examining
it with a friend, and the sensation was that of heavy blows
upon the fabric on which he stood, communicated to his
feet, and diffused over his body. When a cannon was fired
near him, he heard no sound, but felt as if a fist, covered
with a boxing-glove, had knocked him on the head. The
drawing of furniture, slapping of doors, or falling of books
upon the floor, produced a vibration that often distressed
him, though he could not determine precisely whence the
disturbance proceeded. A knock at the street door he
could not hear, but the shutting of it, affecting the entire
edifice, was " painfully distinct." The lightest footfall
titian the floor of his foom would sometimes rouse him
from sleep. He felt the sound of vehicles in Fleet-street
only when they were on the same side of the pavement,
and opposite to him, but this sense of sound did not affect
him in the house. When the points of his fingernails
rested on the board over which the wires of a piano are
stretched, he could make nut the higher notes, in such a
stormy piece of music as the " Battle of Prague." In cm,
roboration of what he has said in the " Lost Senses," we
may add another of his subsequent experiences. He wit-
nessed, from the apartments of the Society of Antiquaries,
in Somerset-house, the great procession of the Duke of
Wellington's funeral. But he says, " Not the shadow of a
sound, or the faintest vibration, struck upon the paralysed
organ from the great military bands that passed below,
though a person I have been in the habit of supposing as
deaf as myself told me he could not only distinguish the
sound, but follow the notes with considerable distinctness."
These facts are very curious. The psycholo-
gist, as well as the physiologist, will always
find much to interest him in the memoirs of
Kitto ; and authors and artists, as well as
all people who live by severe intellectual
labour, have much to learn from the history
of his trials. Kitto has himself said :
Perhaps no one ever was in my circumstances, or being
so, ever retained or gathered spirit to surmount his diffi-
culties. I think, more and more, that a statement of those
difficulties, as I could make that statement, would be felt
to be a thing of no common interest.

That is quite true ; awl we think that his
biography will always prove one of permanent
interest.

We recommend this volume to book-clubs,
as it contains much reading suitable to all
persons, more especially those of a serious
a•id contemplative turn. The life and story
of Kato have deep religions value, and we
c,aild wish that a writer of Southey's genius
for simple narrative could be found to make
his memoir classical. But Kitto has told his
own story, and it is narrated here again with
most copious and deeply interesting details.
The volume contains a great variety of matter
compressed into moderate limits. It is a most
readable book to those who arc not repulsed
by what is sublimely sombre.

China, Australia, awl the Pacific Islands, in
the Years 1855 51;. By J. D'Ewes, Esq.
London : Bentley.
Tins is a light, readable volume, though
written too flippantly. The author deals with
his matter in a dashing style, and scribbles
pleasantly rather than composes carefully.
Nothing can be better in its way than his air
of easy assurance, which is quite worthy of
the renowned Gil Blas. lie thus com-
mences :

My narrative commences about the latter entl of the
year Irird, a period when Australian attraction hail arrived
at its climax, when the anri sacra fame* not only beckoned
the, hardy miners to this inexhaustible E Dorado, but
when crowds of all nations—artiste and artisans, lawyers

and labourers, and even poets and plolosopliers—were
flocking to the land of promise. In anticipation of the