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.

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.

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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 W― slipped 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

attended the composition of Palestine. Sir Walter Scott, with one or two other friends, happening to breakfast with Heber, the conversation turned upon Palestine, and Sir Walter observed, after listening to the poem, that the striking fact of no tools having been employed in the erection of the Temple was omitted. Heber, who immediately perceived the justice of the remark, retired to a corner of the room and produced that charming couplet: No hammers fell, no ponderous axes rung,

Like some tall palm, the mystic fabric sprung.

Of his course of life at Oxford a few particulars were furnished to Mrs. Heber by a contemporary friend. His manners were frank and unassuming, full of mirthfulness and good humour; but the introduction of any literary topic changed his appearance, and the light-hearted student was lost in the poetical enthusiast. With his eyes fixed upon the ground, for he never looked up at his hearers, he would pour out, says his friend, in that measured intonation, which from him became fashionable, stores of every age; the old romances, Spenser, some of our early prose writers, passages of Scott's published works, or verses of his own. His imitations of the old Fabliaux were very happy, and in The Boke of the Purple Faucon, Sir Claudyas Pantagruelle appears in most imposing antiquity. His jeux d'esprit were not limited to his own language. The Greek verses written at the Hen and Chickens, in Birmingham, where he happened to be staying on the night of a ball, are very amusing, and the Latin commentary happily parodies the verbosity of scholastic notes and illustrations. Among his amusements at this period, heraldry would scarcely have been expected.

At the close of the summer of 1805, Heber left Eng

land with his friend Mr. John Thornton, on a tour to the North of Europe. Many of his notes during these travels were communicated to Dr. Clarke, and have since been reprinted in a more perfect form in the Memoir by Mrs. Heber. They are full of information, liveliness, and picturesque description. A letter to his mother from Gottenburgh announces his arrival in the North.

'The uncommon beauty of the weather would, I hope, entirely quiet all your apprehensions respecting our voyage to this place, where we arrived yesterday morning. About two hours after I had finished my last letter we got on board the packet, a small black-looking sloop, very little larger than the fishing-smacks on the Parkgate shore. We found, however, a tolerably large and neat, though not very fragrant cabin, in which, as we were the only passengers, we had plenty of room and the choice of beds. We were, however, in such spirits with the fresh sea-breeze that we had little inclination to quit the deck, and staid up till past midnight enjoying the novelty of our situation. A strong gale, and the short pitching waves of the North Sea, however, kept us in our beds the whole of the next day. . . . . The weather from this time was very delightful, though the wind was rather unfavourable; we caught fish, walked the deck, studied Swedish, and learnt how to take an observation. We fell in with the Scout, armed vessel, whose appearance at first rather alarmed our captain, as she did not answer our signals. He was a man of but few words, but muttered a good deal, scratched his head, and, with a very long face, brought the mail on deck, with an old rusty swivel tied to it, that it might be thrown overboard in case of danger. Our uncertainty was, however, soon removed by her hailing us, and we enjoyed the benefit of her convoy as far as the Naze.

On Sunday, we came in sight of the tall blue mountains of Norway, stretching along our northern horizon, a rocky