Reginald Heber was always remarkable for the purity of his ideas, and early in life he was known hastily to close a book from something meeting his eye which his heart shunned. One who knew him well, and had been his companion in his gayest and most unreserved hours, used to say, 'that if his heart had no other covering than a glass, its thoughts were so pure, no one need fear to read them.' And his conversation evinced the delicacy of his mind. His innocent gaiety, and his inexhaustible fund of anecdote, the information on almost every subject which his extensive reading and his memory enabled him to bring forward, made him the pride of his family, the delight of his acquaintance, and the pattern by which his younger friends strove to form themselves.

In 1804, Reginald Heber sustained the heaviest affliction which an affectionate son is called on to endure. The death of his excellent father, in his seventy-sixth year, is thus related to Mr Thornton who was his schoolfellow at Neasdon, and with whom he maintained the most intimate friendship through life.

'Dear Thornton,

Malpas, Feb. 22, 1804.

Thank you heartily for your friendly condolence; indeed we have stood in need of comfort, as so grievous a deprivation must bear heavy on us, though the manner in which my father was taken away was most merciful both to himself and to us. May we die the death of the righteous! It was an event he had long looked forward to, and held himself in readiness to meet. It seems but yesterday, though eight months have since elapsed, that he came to the Act at Oxford with all the sprightliness and mental vigor of youth, as gay and, to all appearance, as healthy as his children. Yet, I believe it was about this time he perceived in himself some symptoms which he considered as a warning to trim his lamp and be prepared. Alas! in a month after we returned to Hodnet these symptoms grew more serious. Dr Currie quieted our apprehensions, in some degree, by explaining the nature of his disorder, and assuring us that old age had nothing to do with it. My father's opinion remained, however, unchanged; he went through a long course of medicines, I think, principally for

our sakes, and from a sense of duty, for he often said all was in vain. Much of his time was passed in private prayer and reading the Scriptures; among his friends, his spirits were as even and his conversation as cheerful as ever. He often exhorted us to be prepared for his loss, and reminded us of the hope which he had in our Saviour. The skilful treatment of his physician, joined to his own excellent constitution, seemed at length to have completely conquered the complaint, and removed the fears of all but my mother, who, as she saw more, apprehended more from his declining strength and appetite. In his letters to me at Oxford he mentioned slightly, that though his disorder was gone, his strength did not return; but I considered this as the natural consequence of his confinement, and hoped that spring would set all right. At last I received a dreadful summons to return here immediately. He had suffered a relapse, accompanied with a painful and terrifying hysteric hiccough. His days were without ease and his nights without sleep; his mind remained the same, blessing God for every little interval of pain, and delighting to recount the mercies he had ex

perienced, and to give his children comfort and advice. These conversations, which were much more frequent than his strength could well bear, I trust in God I shall never forget. Our hopes in the meantime were buoyed up by many fair appearances, and by the gradual diminution of his pains; but we could not long deceive ourselves. When at length all hopes were over, we knelt around his bed, his wife and all his children; he blessed us, and over and over again raised his feeble voice to bid us be Christians and to hold fast our faith; he spoke of the world that he rejoiced to leave, and prayed God to guard us in our journey through it. My mother was quite overwhelmed with grief and fatigue, having for six weeks never taken off her clothes. He chid her gently for sorrowing as without hope, and talked much of the Divine Rock on which his hope was founded. The next morning he expressed a wish to receive the Sacrament, and bade me, in the mean time read the prayer in our liturgy for a person at the point of death. I through my tears, made a blunder which he corrected me in from memory. He now expressed some impatience for the Sacra

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ment, saying he hoped not to be detained long.' Mr Bridge* arrived, and we all together partook of the most solemn communion that we can ever expect to join in in this world, to which, indeed, my father seemed scarcely to belong. A smile sat on his pale countenance, and his eyes sparkled brighter than I ever saw them. From this time he spoke but little; his lips moved, and his eyes were raised upwards. He blessed us again; we kissed him and found his lips and cheeks cold and breathless. O Thornton, may you (after many years) feel as we did then!

'I have been two days writing this letter, for I have been often obliged to break off. There are few people to whom I would have ventured to say so much, but to a real friend, as I think you, it is pleasant to open one's mind.

'I return to Oxford in the course of next week; my mother and sister go to Hodnet, to which my brother has, with the kindness and affection which he has always shown, invited us as to a home."

* Mr Heber's Curate, at Malpas.