till chapel, by which scheme we gain two hours of the best part of the whole day.' If any of our young readers will voluntarily take two hours every morning from sleep to devote to study, their friends need feel no anxiety with regard to their success in literary pursuits.

In the spring of 1803, Reginald Heber wrote 'Palestine,' a prize poem, of the commencement of which he gives the following account in a letter to the same friend we have mentioned before.

'My dear friend,

'I believe I mentioned in my last letter the causes that prevented me from answering your's immediately. I was at that time in all the perplexity of forming a plan for a long poem. In the middle of this pursuit, I was interrupted by a very severe attack of the influenza, which, though it perhaps tended greatly to keeping your letter in my thoughts, incapacitated me from writing at all, as I could seldom bear to sit up, my head and body ached so much. After my recovery the time was so short, and the business so pressing, that you will not wonder that I postponed writing to you among the rest of the pleasures which I gave up, till I should

have completed the copy. This was accordingly given in on Monday night. I know not whether I told you in my last that it is a sort of prize extraordinary for English verses,―the subject, Palestine. I think it on the whole a fine one, as it will admit of much fancy and many sublime ideas. My brother, my tutor, and Mr Walter Scott, whom I have no doubt you know by name, give me strong hopes, and I am, on the other hand, I hope, pretty well prepared for a disappointment. Whether the event be favorable or otherwise, I shall know in about ten days, and will not fail to communicate to you my victory or defeat.'

In the course of the composition of this poem, Sir Walter Scott happened to breakfast with Heber one morning, together with one or two other friends, previous to their joining a party of pleasure to Blenheim. Palestine' became the subject of conversation, and the poem was produced and read. Sir Walter said 'you have omitted one striking circumstance in your account of the building of the temple, that no tools were used in its erection.' Reginald retired from the breakfast table to a corner of the room

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and before the party separated produced the beautiful lines which now form a part of the poem.

No hammer fell, no ponderous axes rung,

Like some tall palm the mystic fabric sprung.
Majestic silence!

On mounting the rostrum to recite his poem, Reginald Heber was struck by seeing two young ladies, of Jewish extraction, sitting in a conspicuous part of the theatre. The recollection of some lines which reflect severely on their nation flashed across his mind, and he resolved to spare their feelings by softening the passage which he feared would give them pain, as he proceeded; but it was impossible to communicate this intention to his brother, who was sitting behind him as prompter, and who, on the attempt being made, immediately checked him, so that he was forced to recite the lines as they were originally written.

The success which attended this prize poem, though written by a youth of only twenty years of age, was brilliant; universally read at the time, by many persons committed to memory, it has kept its place among the higher poetry of the age. The effect which its recitation, in the theatre of the university, produced, is thus

related by a person who heard it, writing at the interval of twentyfour years.

'None who heard Reginald Heber recite his 'Palestine' in that magnificent theatre, will ever forget his appearance, so interesting and impressive. There was a charm in his somewhat melancholy voice, that occasionally faltered, less from a feeling of the solemnity and even grandeur of the scene, of which he was himself the object, than from the deeply felt sanctity of the subject, comprehending the most awful mysteries of God's revelations to man. his voice grew bolder and more sonorous in the hush, the audience felt that this was not the mere display of the skill and ingenuity of a clever youth, which is all that can generally be truly said of such exhibitions, but that here was a poet indeed, not only of bright promise, but of high achievement, one whose name was already written in the roll of the immortals.'

As

The following beautiful lines by Miss Jermyn were written in 1829.

ON THE RECITATION OF PALESTINE. Hushed was the busy hum; nor voice nor sound Through the vast concourse, marked the moment near: A deep and holy silence breathed around,

And mute attention fixed the list'ning ear:

When from the rostrum burst the hallowed strain,

And Heber, kindling with poetic fire, Stood 'mid the gazing and expectant train, And woke to eloquence his sacred lyre.

The youthful student, with emphatic tone,
(His lofty subject on his mind impressed,)

With grace and energy unrivalled shone,

He

And roused devotion in each thoughtless breast.

sang

of Palestine-that holy land,

Where saints and martyrs, and the warrior brave, The cross in triumph planting on its strand,

Beneath its banners sought a glorious grave.

He sang of Calvary, of his Saviour sang,
Of the rich mercies of redeeming love;
When through the crowd spontaneous plaudits rang,
Breathing a foretaste of rewards above.

When Reginald Heber returned from the theatre, surrounded by his friends, with every hand stretched out to congratulate, and every voice raised to praise him, he withdrew from the circle; and his mother, who impatient of his absence, went to look for him, found him in his room on his knees, giving thanks to God, not so much for the talents which had, on that day, raised him to honor, but that those talents had enabled him to bestow unmixed happiness on his parents.

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