and in the year 1800, was admitted of from the notes in Dr. Clarke's Travels Brasennose College, Oxford. By one in the latter countries, which he was of those happy coincidences which not permitted to extract from Mr. Heber's unusually cause the path of duty and of MS. journal, and attach to his own substantial fame to be the same, that pages. Having returned to England, department of knowledge to which, we and been presented to the family-living have already said, he betook himself of Hodnet, in Salop, he married Ameas a boy, proved an avenue to acade- lia, daughter of Dr. Shipley, the late mical distinction; and of all the sub- dean of St. Asaph, and thenceforward jects for English verse that have been willingly devoted himself to the enjoygiven in our universities, none would ment of those domestic charities, which have been so likely to awake "all that no one was better fitted to promote, was within him," as "Palestine." Ac- and to the discharge of those unobtrucordingly, upon this theme he had the sive duties which fill up the life of a opportunity of writing, and he wrote country clergyman. Here it was that with signal success. Never did a prize- he moved in a sphere too circumpoem excite so general a sensation. It scribed, it might be said, for his tawas not recited in the theatre, reward- lents, but in which his moral qualities ed with the medal, printed for the be- shone with admirable lustre. Distincnefit of admiring friends, and forthwith tion he might have sought with sucforgotten, which is the ordinary fate of cess in any profession, but he was sasuch productions; but it was set to tisfied with a life of comparative obmusic by an eminent professor, by scurity,-and he who so lately had many it was committed to memory, surpassed all his compéers in the seby all it was read; and if any thing veral pursuits of an university, and would have spoiled the beautiful sim- given a pledge to the world that in the plicity of mind of its youthful, we may higher provinces of poetry "an excelalmost say, its boyish author, it was lent spirit was in him," might be found the favour and caresses which were daily conversing with the ignorant, and now universally showered upon him. "giving subtlety to the simple," the But that humility which is not more adviser to whom they could resort in surely attendant upon Christian per- difficulties-the confessor to whom fection than upon early genius, was his they would scruple not to open their guardian at this crisis of his life, which griefs. Few days passed in which he to most youths of nineteen would have did not spend some time în intercourse been one of danger;-and though the with his people,-neither suffering the prizes for Latin verse and for the Engaged to be deprived of the consolations lish essay were added to his honours, he left the university with all the native modesty he had carried thither, and with the cordial love of his contemporaries, who could feel no mortification at being vanquished by such an opponent, and no envy at the lauYels of one who bore them so meekly. From Brasennose College he was elect-maker. Yet all this was done, so that ed to a fellowship at All-Souls, and soon after went abroad. The continent, at that time, afforded but small choice for an English traveller; and those scenes, which, as a scholar, he would probably have preferred to visit, were not then accessible. He was, therefore, obliged to content himself with Germany, Russia, and the Crimea; and how closely he could observe, and how perspicuously impart his observations, appears of religion through their inability to reach church by reason of their years, nor the sick man to be long on his bed without one to kneel by his side, nor the poor to languish in want without his discovering and giving him help, nor neighbours to be at strife, without supplying to them a most effectual peace no man could know it beyond the parties themselves; done without effort, and forgotten as soon as done, or if living, living only in the grateful remembrance of those whom he had befriended. Many were the good deeds which were brought to light by his death, and but for his death would have been, perhaps, for ever hid; and few persons there were in his own parish, who had not then some instance of his zeal, his charity, his humility, his compassion, to communicate, which had come under their own immediate observation, and which served to bring him very vividly back to the minds of those who knew him best. Indeed by such incidents, many of the more delicate features of his character might be best discovered that simplicity of mind which was ever true to nature that courteousness and good breeding (if we may so speak) which even marked his behaviour to the poorest and meanest of his neighbours-that confiding temper which never feared to be abused that guileless singleness of heart which would rather be deceived (as he often was) than entertain a suspicion that utter disregard of self, which, perhaps, was the most striking, as it certainly was the least attainable, of all his virtues-that lively faith which was ever tracing the hand of Providence, where others saw nothing but system or chance--and that disposition to rank mankind by their proficiency in holiness, rather than by their wealth, their title, or their talents, and to look up to him with the most reverence whom he thought to stand highest in the favour of God. Active, however, as was the life of Mr. Heber, it was still a studious life. Though addressed to a congregation for the most part unlettered, his sermons exhibited no marks of haste; his lamp was not negligently trimmed because it was in some degree to shine under a bushel. It might not indeed be easy for all those who heard him, properly to appreciate the range of Scripture knowledge they displayed, or their flowing and metaphorical, yet intelligible language; but all could perceive the address with which he was wont to extract useful and practical lessons from passages in Holy Writ, which in other hands might have been barren and profitless--the spirit with which he would expound a parable, and the felicity with which he would apply it to common life-all could perceive the affection that breathed in them, not testified by vapid and nauseous verbiage, but breaking forth (as it did in his letters) in some casual expression thrown off from the heart, (one of the truly ardentia verba,) and which could not fail in turn to make the hearts of those who heard him, "burn within them" while he spoke. In 1815, he preached the Bampton Lecture; after which, with the exception of some critical essays, both theological and literary, not unknown to the public, though without a name, and an admirable ordination sermon, delivered before the late bishop of Chester, and at his request committed to the press, he did not appear as an author till 1822, when his Life of Jeremy Taylor, with a Review of his Writings, made known to the world how well the interval had been spent in maturing his great knowledge by reflection, and chastising a style in his former work, perhaps somewhat redundant, by a sound judgment and more finished taste. About the same time he was elected preacher at Lincoln's Inn-an office which, independently of the acknowledgment it paid to his talents and character, was valuable, as securing him more frequent access to the metropolis, and as giving those who are charged with the responsible trust of filling the higher stations in the church, an opportunity of knowing that such a man there was. It was not long before an occasion of employing him in a more extensive field of usefulness occurred; and on the death of Dr. Middleton, the bishoprick of Calcutta was offered him. This was certainly a very trying and painful moment of his life; it was no struggle betwixt indolence and ambition, or betwixt conflicting temporal interests, that he had to encounter; but it was a struggle between much self-distrust, much love of country and kindred, much apprehension for the future health of his wife and child, (for he thought not of his own,) and a strong persuasion, on the other hand, that the call was the call of God, and that to be deaf to it, was to be deaf to the -- still small voice." He deliberated long and anxiously he even refused the appointment-he recalled his refusal-bade farewell to the parish where he had toiled for fifteen years, and on the 16th of June, 1823, embarked for a land which was for a On his labours in that country, it is not our intention to enlarge. Whilst he was in England, we had opportunities of observing him, which did not fall to the lot of all; and we have there fore endeavoured honestly, and (whatever our readers, who may be indifferent to his memory, may think) without partiality, without extenuation, to do mere justice to a man whom (we confess it) we loved too well to flatter, and estimated too highly to think that he could need it at our hands. In forming a correct judgment of his conduct in India, we have not had the same advantages; but this we know, (for men do not change their natures by changing their latitudes,) that if there was any unhappy jealousy existing amongst angry and hostile sects in that country, or amongst the members of our own establishment, he was the man to charm the evil spirit away;--if any well of bitter waters, he was the man "to show them the tree, which when cast into those waters should make them sweet." We know too, that if a man of unsparing personal activity and enterprise was wanted to compass the extremes of that unwieldy diocese, and examine for himself the state of its scattered and now numerous Christian congregations, he was that man ;-that if a man was required, who would look to the education of the native children, from a conviction that even in Christian lands (and how much more in heathen!) early religious instruction is far too serious a matter to speculate about withholding or granting to the poor, he was the man ;--that if the European part of the population of India needed one, (gravem pietate virum quem) who would give dignity and force to his preaching by the weight of examplewho would set a pattern of self-denial, in the midst of rapacious self-interest -of simplicity, in the midst of gorgeous extravagance-of purity, in the midst of gross libertinism-the province was peculiarly his. Brief, however, was his season for letting his light shine before them. Having completed one visitation, comprising northern India, Bombay, and Ceylon: he set out upon a second to Madras. On Good Friday of the present year he preached at Combaconum; and on Easter Sunday at Tanjore. The following day he held a confirmation at the latter place; and in the evening addressed, it is said, in a very affecting manner, the assembled missionaries. Having paid a visit of ceremony to the rajah of Tanjore, and inspected the schools, he went on to Trichinopoly. Here, on Sunday, April 2, he again preached and again confirmed,-a rite which he repeated early the next morning in the fort church. Having returned home, he took a cold bath before breakfast, as he had done the two preceding days. The boy however who attended him, thinking that he remained longer than usual in the bath, entered the apartment, and found the body in the water. The alarm was instantly given, and Mr. Robinson, the chaplain, and Mr. Doran, a church missionary, took it out. Bleeding, friction, and inflating the lungs, were immediately tried, but in vain; and it was afterwards discovered that a vessel had burst upon the brain; an accident attributed by the medical men to the plunge into cold water when he was warm and exhausted. The corpse was deposited, with every demonstration of respect and unfeigned sorrow, on the north side of the altar of St. John's church, at Trichinopoly. Thus having persevered unto the end, died this faithful servant of God, in the forty-third year of his age, and the third of his episcopacy. How he carried himself in those new relations in which, as diocesan of India, he was placed, we shall leave, as we have said, others to testify, who have had closer opportunities than ourselves of watching that conduct. And with this intent we shall close our memoir by a few extracts from the speeches which were delivered at a public meeting at Madras, convened soon after the bishop's death, to do honour to his memory. "We must all deeply lament" (says Sir T. Munro, who was in the chair) "the melancholy cause of our being assembled here. My own acquaintance with our late excellent bishop was, unfortunately, but of short duration. Yet in thst short time, I saw in him so much to admire, that I can hardly trust myself to speak of him as I could wish. There was a charm in his conversation by which in private society he found his way to all hearts, as readily as he did to those of his congregation by his eloquence in the pulpit. There was about him such candour and simplicity of manner—such benevolence-such unwearied earnestness in the discharge of his sacred functions and such mildness in his zeal, as would in any other individual have ensured our esteem; but when these qualities are, as they were in him, united to taste, to genius, to high station, and intellectual attainments, they form a character eminently calculated to excite our love and veneration. These sentiments were every where felt. Wherever he passed in the wide range of his visitation, he left behind him this impression." "When we think" (says Sir R. Palmer) "of what that good man has done, what he was doing, and what, under the blessing of Providence, it might have been hoped that he would have achieved;-when we remember the many charitable and religious institutions fostered by his care, aided by his munificence, and guided by his counsel, ever progressively answering more and more the ends for which they were established;-when we saw him labouring in the great work which he had undertaken, with a zeal not less conspicuous for the ardour with which it was prosecuted, than for the conciliation with which it was tempered; when we heard him to his last admiring congregation, and almost with his latest breath, exhorting 'brotherly love in the mighty undertaking in which he was employed,—may we not say, that through the instrumentality of such a man, the rays of Christianity bade fair to spread their cheering and glorious light far and wide throughout the continent and islands of India ?" Much more was said, and in the same spirit, by the other speakers; and a subscription was forthwith com menced on a scale of splendid munificence, which was to extend throughout the presidency, and amongst all classes, for the erection of a monument to the bishop, in the church at Madras; the surplus fund to be also expended in some manner best fitted to keep his name from perishing among them. At Bombay a subscription was also in progress, for the very appropriate purpose of endowing a scholarship at the Calcutta college, to be called "Bishop Heber's Scholarship." We will not weaken the effect of these testimonies to his worth by a word more. They will serve to show, that calm and dispassionate observers of his conduct in India, think it to have been wise, judicious, and well adapted to its great end. They will further serve to show that our own view of his character is not partial, is not peculiar to ourselves;—indeed, ill should we deserve of the dead, and ill of his friends who are living, were we to cast a suspicion upon the many and noble virtues which were his without dispute, by exhibiting them as either more in number, or higher in degree, than the fact strictly warrants. To speak of him as he was, has been all our wish; for well are we aware that the most flattering portrait that could be drawn of Bishop Heber, would be that which expresses him with the greatest truth, of God. (From Russel's Remains of the late Rev. C. Wolfe.) to all, without distinction of rank, caste, Man originally created in the Image or colour;'-when we who were so recently eye-witnesses to his conduct, and hearers of his word, and can, therefore, well appreciate the effect which the labours and doctrine of such a man were likely to produce;-when we see and hear and think on these things, may we not say, this man was, above all others, the best calculated to succeed THIS image, this beautiful image, has been long since shivered and disfigured; but its fragments remain to testify that it once existed. There is in the hearts of men a testimony that they shall live for ever; a voice that echoes through futurity; a sense that they shall see strange things in another world; thoughts that wander through eternity, and find no resting place. This is a fragment of God's image, a shattered remnant of immortality, and it is there to testify against us; for if it had been perfect, nothing would be more delightful than to think that we should live for ever; to look forward into brighter scenes, and rejoice in the glory that should be revealed. All the gold of Arabia would not be worth one hour's excursion of the mind of man into the regions of futurity. For ever and for ever would his mind be reaching forward, and dwelling with fondness upon the thought, that never, from age to age, when time should be no more, should he cease from being. The pleasures of the spirits that walk to and fro in the light of God's countenance, and circle his throne rejoicing, would crowd his fancy and delight his hopes. Visions of celestial happiness would visit him in dreams of the night, and, compared with the dim and distant perspective of eternity, all earthly things would seem weary, stale, flat, and unprofitable." And what is the fact? Let every man judge himself how his natural heart shrinks from the contemplation of a future state of being; how he shudders to look into eternity, as into some dreary and bottomless pit! What a cold and dismal thing does immortality appear; and what a refreshment it is to his spirits to withdraw his thoughts from the consideration, and return to his beloved earth! And then, only observe with what eagerness and desperation he gives up soul and body to the pursuit of things which he knows full well will soon be to him as if they had never been. And yet, this man, if you were to ask him the question, would tell that he expected to live for ever; you, and that when his body was mouldering in the dust from which it was taken, his soul would plunge into an ocean of spirits without bottom and without shore. This he would tell you gravely, as a matter of course. And then only observe him for one week or for one day, or for this day which has been sanctified to immortal purposes, and you will find his cares, his hopes, his fears, his wishes, his affections, busied and bustling about this little span of earth, and this little measure of time which he occupies: and death finds this immortal being making playthings of sand, and carries him away from them all, into a land where they shall all be forgotten. This is a strange and astonishing contradiction,-the only thing that looks like a blunder through all the works of nature. Every thing else seems to know its appointed time and its appointed place:-the sun knows his place in the heavens, he does his duty in the firmament, and brings round the seasons in their order; and the ocean knows the boundaries beyond which it must not dare to pass ;-every animal knows the home which kind nature has provided "the ox knoweth his owner, the ass his master's crib: but Israel doth not know; my people doth not consider." Among all the creatures that surround us, we are the only beings that look not to our native home; the only beings that seem to have broken the laws of nature; to have forgotten our owner, and the mansions of our Father's house. This naked expectation of immortality, while we see no beauty in it, that we should desire it while we are feeding on ashes, and have lost our relish for immortal food-is one of the fragments of God's image; it shows that it once existed, and that it now is broken. Charity. Happy is the man who hath sown in his breast the seeds of benevolence; the produce thereof shall be charity and love. From the fountain of his heart shall rise rivers of goodness; and the streams shall overflow for the benefit of mankind. Desires to be governed by Reason. In all thy desires let reason go along with thee, and fix not thy hopes beyond the bounds of probability; so shall success attend thy undertakings; thy heart shall not be vexed with disappointments. |