through Him is alive. Perfect love, therefore, is reached when the divine assimilation, thus commenced, has arrived at a point when our spiritual consciousness throws itself, so to speak, into the moulds of His, and His spirit dominates our whole being. The result of the soul acting, of its own voluntary choice, under the control of a supreme love, is, that it becomes transformed into the image of Christ, and is "pure even as He is pure;" and the condition of the believer may be described in words far more graphic than our own "The diseased qualities gendered in him heretofore are being gradually purged away. His passions are being tamed to order, and refined to God's pure dominion. His imaginations settle into the truth, and grow healthy and clear. The fashion of this world is not only broken, as it was in the first moment of God's discovery to his heart, but the memories of it fade, the diseased longings are healed, so that all his old affinities in that direction will at last be extirpated. All the mixed causes involved in sin, or spiritual impurity, will fall into chime, and all the foul currents of evil suggestion be cleared to a transparent flow."

T. RIDER.

ART. V. THE STORY AND LESSONS OF DR. KITTO'S

LIFE.

THERE is no exercise more adapted to improve the mind and heart than the study of a true and noble life. Unless depraved passions sway us, the contemplation of excellence in others will give us the desire to realize and embody it in ourselves. We shall long to be equally wise and virtuous, equally holy and good, with those whose character excites our admiration. And the contemplation of human excellence enkindles hope as well as awakens desire. We see that the excellence we admire and covet is within our reach, and we are taught by what means we may best attain it. The path which conducts to the summit of the mountain is made visible, and the fact that it has been trodden by one of like infirmities with ourselves warrants the conclusion that it is accessible to us. For though we should hesitate to take in an unqualified sense the statement that, “what one man has done all men may do," yet we but slightly modify the all and the may; and of this

conviction, we believe, has been born most of the ambition which has both blessed and cursed the world. Where there is a will to attempt there is a way to achieve. As a general rule our faith is the standard of our success, or, at any rate, if hope may fail, despair can never succeed.

The subject of our sketch will furnish us with an illustration of these remarks. "Kirke White," he writes in his twentieth year, "studied the languages, and although I am no Kirke White, or even the twentieth part of one, there is no reason why I should from my inferiority to him be deterred from imitating his example.' And again he says, "I never was so sensible of my own want of talent, and deficiencies in religion, as in contemplating the character of Kirke White." Well, and what is the practical effect of this sense of comparative deficiency, both intellectual and religious, upon him? He thus tells us: "I will imitate him as well as I can in my endeavours to cultivate my poor talent, although I have no hope of enabling it to produce such fruit as he did produce, and would have produced had he lived longer. However, though in genius and literary acquirements, I shall never approach what he was, still I may hope that in the Christian, virtues, in humility of heart, in lively faith and sincere devotion, I may be able to approach the lamented White; at least I shall endeavour to do so." And he adds,-and in the spirit of the avowal we hope every young person will read the story of Kitto's life-"If I possess those graces with which he was so eminently endowed I shall little regret the honours of literature and science."

For the telling of the story of Kitto's life we have ample and authentic materials-materials mainly furnished by himself, for the early and permanent loss of one of his senses led him to adopt the habit of incessant writing as a compensation for that loss. His life-story, then, we proceed to narrate.

John Kitto's birthplace was Plymouth, and his birthday the 4th of December, 1804. He came into the world a sickly, puny infant, and for some time was scarcely expected to live. His weakness long continued, and entailed upon him a headache from which he suffered to the end of his days. But a frail constitution was not his only birth-heritage. He had an inebriate father, and that parent's intemperance made his home the abode of poverty and want. In his maternal grandmother, however, he had a true friend. From his birth she regarded him with fond affection, and his want of physical energy only served to call forth her tenderest sympathy. When he was four years old he was entirely committed to her care. Con

sidering the character of his father and of his home this was a most fortunate step for the little boy. As his grandame could hardly bear to let him be out of her sight, his biographer tells us, she exerted her ingenuity to find amusement and occupation for him under her eye. Among other things she taught him to sew, and as they sat, together at their needle-work, he stitching away at tea-kettle holders and patch-work bed coverlets, she told him stories of ghosts, witches, wizards, and hobgoblins, which he was never tired of hearing. When the weather was fine she occasionally took him to ramble in the green fields and pleasant lanes, and assisted him in collecting flowers, nuts, and other wild fruits, hooking down with the head of her walking stick the branches that were out of his reach. On these excursions, too, she generally indulged him with a cheap treat of fruit or sweetmeats; and so much did he relish the indulgence that he thought that taste must be singularly perverted to which sugar-stick gave no gratification. All this kindness was not lost on Kitto's heart; for his grandmother he had ever a warm affection, and years afterwards declared that he could not think of her without emotion. Yes, and now she and her darling child have both passed away from this world of trouble and sorrow, blessings be upon her memory, for to her was her grandson solely indebted for the few-alas, that they were so few-rays of sunshine which cheered his early days.

But we must now introduce another of his earliest friends. In the house next to that in the garret of which Johnny Kitto and his grandmother lodged, an old couple resided whose son carried on his trade on the ground floor. He was-being then in single blessedness-" as merry a cordwainer as ever hammered leather;" there was not a song he could not sing, a tale he could not tell, or a tune he could not whistle. For Mrs. Picken, Kitto's grandmother, he had great respect, and always addressed her by the honourable epithet of mistress. She frequently took Johnny to sit with him, and when caught in the right humour he was readily persuaded to open his budget and recite some of his stories while driving the awl. On these occasions Johnny listened with gaping wonder and thrilling interest to the marvellous tales of Blue Beard, Cinderella, Jack the Giant-Killer, Beauty and the Beast, and other like specimens of nursery lore. These rehearsals of poor Roberts, the shoemaker, had much to do in shaping Kitto's future course of life. He accidentally learned that these tales were not mere traditions to be heard only from the lips of his grandmother and the cordwainer, but were actually in print and adorned

This

with pictures, and might be had for a few pence of a neighbour in whose shop window they were exposed for sale. information, he says, first inclined him to reading. Gingerbread and sugar-stick now lost their charm to him; when he got a halfpenny it was saved to buy books, and in less than eighteen months, we are told, he possessed as many of this class as could be contained in a box seven inches long, four wide, and three deep. Of such a size and such a quality was John Kitto's first library.

To

The passion for reading grew upon him, and books could not be obtained fast enough by purchase to gratify it. He was led therefore to explore his grandmother's shelves, where he found a family Bible with numerous engravings, a Prayer Book, Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, and Gulliver's Travels. The last two he soon devoured, and to increase their attractions, decorated all the engravings with the indigo his grandmother used in washing, using a feather for a brush. encourage the young artist some one gave him a fourpenny box of colours, and between that and his books he was so much engaged that he retained but little inclination for play. His grandmother, pleased with his studious habits, borrowed all the books she could of the neighbours, so that in a short time all the literature the street contained had passed through his hands.

The Bible at the time had not such strong attractions for him as his other books. After I had studied the engravings," he says, "and read so much of the text as seemed to explain these, I felt no disposition to study the Bible further." But on Sundays, when his grandmother did not go to church, he would read her a few chapters. On these occasions he would make a pulpit of the chair by taking out its bottom, which he placed before him as a cushion, while he occupied the enclosed space that was thus rendered accessible. He then read as nearly as he could in the voice, manner, and attitude of the vicar. This imitation of the parson did not altogether please his old grandmother, who thought it approached to profanation; but Johnny was rather an obstinate boy, and would not read at all unless allowed to do it in his own way.

His thirst for books was now insatiable, and his prime anxiety was to obtain them by purchase or loan. His circumstances obliged him to have recourse to the latter method, nor did he confine his applications to parties personally known to him. The mistress of a charity school, who lived near, was a kind friend to him in supplying his wants. But so often did he ask for the exercise of her kindness, that he became ashamed

of going himself to her, and therefore tried to express his wishes in notes which were conveyed by his grandmother or some other person. These notes were his first efforts at composition.

John

Those who have not read Kitto's life will be surprised to hear that by the time he was twelve years old he had not only become an extensive reader, but an author, who had earned money by his writings. His cousin came to him one day with a penny in his hand, saying he was going to buy a book with it. was just then sadly in want of a penny to make up fourpence wherewith to purchase the History of King Pippin, so he asked his cousin whether he bought the book for the pictures or the story. "Oh! the story, to be sure," was the reply. He then offered to write him for a penny a larger and better story than he could get in print for the same sum, and, to secure an acceptance of his offer, he promised to paint him a picture at the beginning, and he knew there were no painted pictures in penny books. (Let the reader note the change from 1817 to 1870, and be thankful). His cousin gladly took the liberal offer, and sat down quietly on the stool to see the task executed. "When I had done," Kitto says, "I certainly thought my cousin's penny well earned; and as on reading the paper and viewing the picture he was of the same opinion, no one else had a right to complain of the bargain." This was the first penny he ever earned.

But Kitto's childhood was marked by another incident to which we will refer as indicating what sort of a lad he was. He was a party at this early age to private theatricals. The account can be best given in his own words. "My cousin, his sister, another girl, and myself, were one day together, when having just read a play bill it occurred to me that we should act a play. The idea was entered into with great glee; so while they prepared dresses, I prepared play bill and plot. The play bill was soon done, and posted outside the street door. Of this, I remember only that the admission price was, to "ladies eight pins, gentlemen ten." When we were all dressed, I instructed them in the leading ideas of the plot, leaving them to make the best of their respective characters, only suggesting what it would be best to say on some of the prominent occasions. When we entered in our various and grotesque attire, with paper cap and feathers, and others with old stockings on their heads, with ribbons, sashes, leather swords, and what not, we found an audience to amount to fifteen girls and boys. As they were entertained and laughed plentifully at our tragedy, for tragedy I think it was, as there was plenty