By all which I see the work is candid, plausible, and written in a good spirit. I do not, however, think it very clever. Like all modern Calvinists the author skips the main difficulty, and is, in fact, very nearly an Arminian in his principles, though, for reasons best known to himself, he often uses Calvinistic language, and professes himself one of the party. His distinction between moral and natural defectiveness, if it means anything, is an abandonment of his side of the question.

"As to the poetry which you called on me to furnish, I really can do no good with it. The argument is so whimsical, a sort of dirge on occasion of a wedding, and the vanity and bad taste of the mother who desires to have her feelings on such an occasion so recorded are so remarkable, that the more I think of it the more I am convinced (and so you will be too on second thoughts) that I could not write verses on such a subject without some loss of what little reputation for talent I have. Tell the lady (you may tell her with perfect truth) that I have been very busy, but that I have tried, but could not please myself. Forgive me, dear Charlotte, this frankness. You, I am sure, will believe me when I say I have, for your sake, done my utmost. But the thing is hopeless.

"Lord Byron and Lord J. Russell have published each a tragedy within these two days: the first very harmless, as far as I have yet read it, but with very little talent; and the second is a bare respectable piece of mediocrity, which the Whigs will praise, and very few, either Whigs or Tories, will read through. Lord B. has attracted more attention by his strange funeral of his natural daughter, whose body he sent over, embalmed and divided into three pieces, with directions that she should be buried in a particular part of Harrow Churchyard, with a monument on a particular part, which he carefully pointed out, of the church, opposite the pulpit, describing her as 'the beloved daughter of . It seems Lady Byron has some time been a frequenter of Harrow Church, and a great admirer of the vicar, Mr. Cunningham, and her kind husband has thus contrived that her usual way to church will lead her close to the grave of his natural child, and that from the vicarage pew her eyes must always meet this inscription."

The following Bow-meeting song has a special interest, for it was sung at Hawarden Castle, in Flintshire, then the seat of Sir Stephen Glynne, Bart. The occasion was a meeting of the "Royal British Bowmen," a society of much interest, but whose history is now obscure :

HAWARDEN CASTLE-A SONG OF THE BOW

"By yon castle wall, 'mid the breezes of morning,

The genius of Cambria stray'd pensive and slow; The oak-wreath was wither'd her tresses adorning,

And the wind through its leaves sigh'd its murmur of woe. She gaz'd on her mountains with filial devotion, She gaz'd on her Dee as he roll'd to the ocean,And, Cambria! poor Cambria!' she cried with emotion, 'Thou yet hast thy country, thy harp, and thy bow!'

666 Sweep on, thou proud stream, with thy billows all hoary;
As proudly my warriors have rush'd on the foe;
But feeble and faint is the sound of their glory,

For time, like thy tide, has its ebb and its flow.
Ev'n now, while I watch thee, thy beauties are fading;
The sands and the shallows thy course are invading ;
Where the sail swept the surges the sea-bird is wading;
And thus hath it fared with the land of the bow!

"Smile, smile, ye dear hills, 'mid your woods and your flowers, Whose heather lies dark in the morn's dewy glow!

A time must await you of tempest and showers,

An autumn of mist, and a winter of snow!

For me, though the whirlwind has shiver'd and cleft me,
Of wealth and of empire the stranger bereft me,
Yet Saxon, proud Saxon,-thy fury has left me
Worth, valour, and beauty, the harp and the bow!

"Ye towers, on whose rampire, all ruin'd and riven,
The wall-flower and woodbine so lavishly blow;

I have seen when your banner waved broad to the Heaven,
And kings found your faith a defence from the foe;
Oh, loyal in grief, and in danger unshaken,

For ages still true, though for ages forsaken,

Yet, Cambria, thy heart may to gladness awaken,

Since thy monarch has smil'd on the harp and the bow!'"

In the year 1839 Catherine, the eldest daughter of Sir Stephen Glynne, was married to William Ewart Gladstone, M.P. Mrs. Gladstone was a girl when Heber first used to visit at the castle. Mr. Gladstone had learned even then to admire

his character and to delight in his poems, one of which he afterwards translated into Latin. Writing to the present biographer on 15th September 1894, Mr. Gladstone remarks: "I am glad you are busied with a record of Bishop Heber, who both adorned and helped to elevate the Church of England. I enclose a brief note by my wife of such recollection of him as she has brought down from early childhood."

Mrs. Gladstone's words are these: "I could not have been more than ten years old when Bishop Heber first visited Hawarden Castle, in 1820, I believe; but words spoken of him by my mother have not faded. They have left a vivid impression. In 1815 she had become a widow. As was natural at the time of so sore a trial, intercourse such as was now offered should be of special value; it was undoubtedly so. I recall the Bishop's singular gifts, his greatness uniting persuasion and charm. I recall how comforting and precious his words were to my mother; through her conversation they are remembered by me. Neither have I forgotten the deep interest felt on hearing he was to be Bishop of Calcutta, nor the awe and sadness on the tidings of his death."

CHAPTER VI

CHIEF MISSIONARY OF THE CHURCH OF ENGLAND TO THE EAST

YEAR by year was Reginald Heber trained for missionary work in the East. He was a lad of sixteen when the Church Missionary Society was founded, and when he was Rector of Hodnet he became one of its earlier members. When, hardly of age, he won his first triumph in the Sheldonian Theatre, Oxford, he made his Palestine a missionary poem. There are no lines in English literature more compassionate for the Jew than the passage with which the 80th Psalm inspired the youthful singer:

"O Thou, their Guide, their Father, and their Lord,
Loved for Thy mercies, for Thy power adored!
If at Thy name the waves forgot their force,
And refluent Jordan sought his trembling source;
If at Thy name, like sheep, the mountains fled,
And haughty Sirion bowed his marble head,
To Israel's woes a pitying ear incline,

And raise from earth Thy long-neglected vine!"

There are no nobler strains expressive of the Messianic hope, its certainty and its glory, than this missionary pæan :

"Nor vain their hope,-bright beaming through the sky
Burst in full blaze the Dayspring from on high.
Earth's utmost isles exulted at the sight,
And crowding nations drank the Orient light.
Lo! star-led chiefs Assyrian odours bring,
And bending Magi seek their infant King!

Marked ye where, hovering o'er His radiant head
The dove's white wings celestial glory shed?
Daughter of Sion! virgin Queen, rejoice!
Clap the glad hands and lift the exulting voice!
He comes, but not in regal splendour drest,
The haughty diadem, the Syrian vest;
Not armed in flame, all glorious from afar,
Of hosts the chieftain, and the lord of war;
Messiah comes, let furious discord cease;
Be peace on earth before the Prince of Peace;
Disease and anguish feel his blest control,
And howling fiends release the tortured soul;
The beams of gladness hell's dark caves illume,
And mercy broods above the distant gloom."

The year after these words sounded through the theatre the British and Foreign Bible Society was founded in London, with the retired Governor-General of India, Lord Teignmouth, as its first President. Heber became not only an early subscriber, but the warmest advocate and defender of the Society among the Anglican clergy. The earliest of his missionary sermons was preached at Shrewsbury for that Society from the words (Rev. xiv. 6) I saw another angel fly in the midst of heaven, having the everlasting gospel to preach unto them that dwell on the earth, and to every nation, and kindred, and tongue, and people. To Heber more than any man in England was due the disappearance of the prejudice of ministers of the Church of England against the new and catholic institution, especially because they supposed it to be unfavourable to the religious establishment of the country. The sermon is a fine plea against "those unhappy differences among the people of God whereby our Saviour's seamless coat is rent, and the progress of His faith impeded." The peroration is a fair specimen of the preacher's style in 1813.

"... I might tell you of the ignorant enlightened, of the poor made rich, of the prisoner by our means released from a worse captivity; I might point out to you that Germany, from whence our own reformation was derived, now taught and comforted by our filial piety; I might show universal Christendom rejoicing in our light, and hostile nations offering up their prayers for England, the friend of souls; I might boast of the bounds of knowledge extended,