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They are remembered who in ships behold

The wonders of the deep; he sees the hand,

That widowed hand, that veils the eye suffused.—

The sketch of a shepherd-boy on the Sabbath-day is worthy of Professor Wilson,

Nor yet less pleasing at the heavenly throne
The Sabbath service of the shepherd-boy,
In some lone glen, where every sound is lulled
To slumber, save the tinkling of the rill,
Or bleat of lamb, or hovering falcon's cry,
Stretched on the sward, he reads of Jesse's son;
Or sheds a tear o'er him to Egypt sold,

And wonders why he weeps; the volume closed;
With thyme-sprig laid between the leaves, he sings
The sacred lays, his weekly lesson conned
With mickle care beneath the lowly roof.

If Grahame had produced nothing but the Sabbath Walks, his name would not have been "written in water." The sounds and colours of the varying seasons seem blended with his verse. We know the spring by those

Sunny showers that scarcely fill the folds

Of moss-couched violets.

And the summer by

The grasshopper's oft pausing chirp—the buzz
Angrily shrill, of moss-entangled bee

That, soon as loosed, booms with full twang away.

And autumn by

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The wind, that from those ancient elms
Shakes showers of leaves, upon the withered grass;
The sere and yellow wreaths with eddying sweep,
Fill up the furrows 'tween the hillocked groves.

His Biblical Pictures are less open to objection than almost any paraphrases of Scripture I happen to remember. The simple grandeur of the original is generally preserved, and the illustrations, occasionally introduced, are appropriate to the subject.

BEHOLD MY MOTHER AND MY BRETHREN.

Who is my mother, or my brethren?

He spake, and looked on them who sat around
With a meek smile of pity, blent with love,
More melting than ere gleamed from human face;
As when a sunbeam through a summer shower
Shines mildly on a little hill-side flock;
And with that look of love, he said, "Behold
My mother and my brethren; for I say,
That whosoe'er shall do the will of God,
He is my brother, sister, mother, all."

THE RESURRECTION.

The setting orb of night her oval ray
Sheds o'er the land, and on the dewy sward
The lengthened shadows of the triple cross
Were laid far stretched,-when in the east arose,
Last of the stars, day's harbinger; no sound
Was heard, save of the watching soldier's foot:
Within the rock-barred sepulchre the gloom
Of deepest midnight brooded o'er the dead,
The Holy One: but lo! a radiance faint
Began to dawn around his sacred brow;
The linen vesture seemed a snowy wreath,
Drifted by storms into a mountain cave.

REGINALD HEBER.

REGINALD HEBER, the Christian, the scholar, and the poet, was born at Malpas, in the county of Chester, April 21st, 1783. His love of the Bible was remarkable. When little more than three years old he travelled with his parents across the hilly country between Ripon and Craven, and his mother, being alarmed, expressed a wish to leave the carriage and walk. Reginald, who was sitting upon her knee, immediately replied, "Do not be afraid, Mamma, God will take care of us." A love of knowledge accompanied his love of virtue. During his recovery from typhus fever, his most anxious desire was to learn the Latin Grammar. His amusements reflected his studies; his favourite pursuit was natural history, although the tenderness of his disposition made him only an observer. His temper was so gentle and affectionate that it became a saying among the servants of the family: "Master Reginald never was in a passion." From his father, who had been a distinguished tutor at Oxford, he received the rudiments of classical learning, and signalized his diligence and talents by translating the Fables of Phædrus into English verse, when he was only seven years old. In 1790, he was sent to the Grammar School of Whitchurch, where he continued until his removal, in 1796, to the house of Dr. Bristow, at Neasdon.

But if Heber was free from the vices of youth, he possessed all that ardour of character which forms one of its most delightful features. An amusing anecdote is

told by his biographer. Having read with great admiration of an African traveller who had eluded the attack of a wild bull, Reginald determined to try a similar experiment with a bull which chanced to be grazing in a neighbouring meadow, and whose reputation for fierceness was well established. He accordingly advanced towards him, holding his hat before his face, and carefully following all the other directions of the traveller. The bull of Neasdon, however, was not intimidated by the process which had put to flight his African predecessor, and the adventurer only escaped his furious onset by leaping over some rails into the garden. Pope has related a similar escape in his own childhood.

At Neasdon, Heber was more distinguished by the elegance of his exercises than by the rapidity of his acquirements. He had already begun to cultivate the study of the elder poets, and especially of that writer who delighted the youthful heart of Milton, and awoke the fancy of Cowley, and breathed his beautiful notes in the ear of Pope. The Faëry Queen of Spenser was his constant companion during those solitary rambles which he preferred to the boisterous amusements of his schoolfellows; and we are informed that mature experience did not impair his love of that exquisite poem, for he seldom travelled without a volume of his school copy to read on the road. His progress in English versification was exemplified in the "Prophecy of Ishmael," which was written as a school exercise; and a letter to his friend Mr. John Thornton communicates a history of his juvenile studies.

66

Neasdon, Nov. 8, 1799.

Your account of your mathematical progress quite frightens me. For my part I confess I have in that parti

VOL. II.

cular been horribly idle, and have not done a single question in decimals since the holidays; nay I don't believe I could find my book; however, I am resolved to set about it to-day. In Greek, I go on in the old train, being now deep engaged in Longinus, Prometheus Vinctus, and the Epistles with Locke's Commentary; besides which, I read the Essay on the Human Understanding for two hours every evening, after I have finished my exercise. Locke, you know, I used to think very stupid; but I have now quite altered my opinion.

Last Tuesday, as being the 5th of November, was celebrated accordingly, but as the cash was low and weather bad, we made a very poor figure. The ground about the fire was a perfect mire, so that Wslipped as he was running after S-, and fell over heels into the bonfire, where he was very near enacting Guy Fawkes. Mr. Bristow had company that evening who stayed all night, and had very nearly caused another war, for, as they breakfasted early, and had not been provided for, they ate up all our rolls, and the horror that seized W. R., on learning that he was to breakfast on bread and butter, was little short of frenzy. I had more to say, but your loves of the triangles' stick so in my gizzard, that I must immediately begin to hunt for my Tutor's Assistant."

Heber was entered of Brazen-Nose College, Oxford, in November, 1800, and perhaps no man of his own, or any former year, came up with a larger store of classical and miscellaneous learning. Among the authors who had amused his leisure hours, were Guicciardini and Machiavelli, and the almost forgotten History of the Turks, by Knolles. His academic career was distinguished by almost unprecedented success. The University Prizes for Latin and English Verse, and the English Prose Essay, were successively awarded to him, and his election into the society of All Souls' crowned his triumphs. Mrs. Heber relates an interesting circumstance that

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