REGINALD HEBER.

Born 1783.—Died 1826.

Reginald Heber, equally distinguished for his talents and for his piety, was born on the 21st of April, 1783, at Malpas, in the county of Chester. From his earliest years religion was the predominant feeling of his mind. His passions, which would seem to have been naturally ardent, he quickly learned to hold in subjection; and was thus happily delivered from those stormy agitations and poignant regrets to which those who are formed of more fiery materials are but too frequently liable. Like most other men who have been remarkable for their attainments in after-life, Heber was strongly addicted, while a boy, to extensive miscellaneous reading. Guicciardini and Machiavelli were among his early favourites. He admired the great Florentine historianfor his style, and with a freedom from prejudice which indicated the purity of his mind, ventured to make the discovery, that this much-calumniated advocate of freedom was a far better man than the world was inclined to admit. At the same time his study of the sacred Scriptures was incessant. Even while a child, the principal events which they record were so firmly imprinted on his memory, that his friends used to apply to him, when at a loss where to find the account of any important transaction, or any remarkable passage.

In the year 1800 Heber was entered a student of Brazen Nose College, Oxford, where he exhibited on all occasions the same high sense of religion and primitive piety which had distinguished him in his earlier years. His studies in the mean while were pursued with a passionate ardour, particularly all those which were connected with poetry, for the mind of Heber was eminently imaginative; and although circumstances, which I know not whether to denominate fortunate or unfortunate (since in either case he would, like the divine Founder of his religion, have been employed in doing good), prevented him from devoting himself to the study and building of the “lofty rhyme,” his soul was yet a fountain, as it were, of poetry, which, if possible, cast additional beauty and splendour on his faith. However, as I am not, on the present occasion, engaged in viewing Heber as a poet, or as a divine, it will not be necessary for me to enter minutely into a description of his poetical or theological studies. His “Palestine,” the principal contribution which he has made to our rich poetical literature, was a juvenile performance, written before or soon after he had completed his twentieth year; but the effect which it produced on those who heard it recited in the theatre of the college was more extraordinary, perhaps, than the bare reading of the poem would lead one to conceive; though the judgment of thosewho then heard it has since been confirmed by the public. “None,” says an able writer in Blackwood’s Magazine, who heard Reginald Heber recite his ‘Palestine’ in that magnificent theatre, “will ever forget his appearance—so interesting and impressive. It was known that his old father was somewhere sitting among the crowded audience, when his universally admired son ascended the rostrum; and we have heard that the sudden thunder of applause which then arose so shook his frame, weak and wasted by long illness, that he never recovered it, and may be said to have died of the joy dearest to a parent’s heart. Reginald Heber’s recitation, like that of all poets whom we have heard recite, was altogether untrammelled by the critical laws of elocution, which were not set at defiance, but either by the poet unknown or forgotten; and 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 conspicuous object—though that feeling did suffuse his pale, ingenuous, and animated countenance—than from the deeply-felt sanctity of his subject, comprehending the most awful mysteries of God’s revelations to man. As 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, the accidental triumph of an accomplished versifier over his compeers, in the dexterity of scholarship, 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. And that feeling, whatever might have been the share of the boundless enthusiasm with which the poem was listened to, attributable to the influence of the ‘genius loci,’ has been since sanctioned by the judgment of the world, that has placed ‘Palestine’ at thevery head of the poetry on divine subjects of this age. It is now incorporated for ever with the poetry of England.”

In this eloquent tribute to the memory of Heber there appears to be but one error; it is that which attributes the death of Reginald’s father to the influence of excessive joy on a frame debilitated by illness; a report which we are assured by the widow of our traveller was wholly without foundation. During the same year, Napoleon conceived the insane design of invading England; and thus roused in the ardent breasts of our countrymen a fierce spirit of resistance, which affected even the peaceful college student, who, to use the familiar expression of Heber in describing himself thus engaged, “fagged and drilled by turns.” Neither Napoleon nor his army, however, had been doomed by Providence to lay their bones in English clay, as, had the invasion taken place, they must have done; and our traveller’s military enthusiasm was quickly suffered to cool.

Early in the year 1804, Heber sustained one of the heaviest calamities which men can experience on this side of the grave—the loss of a father; which he bore with that deep but meek sorrow which a youth full of religious hope and untiring resignation to the will of Providence might be naturally expected to feel. In the autumn of the same year he was elected a fellow of All Souls; shortly after which his academical career terminated, and he exchanged the mimic world of the university for that far more arduous scene where many an academical star has grown dim, though Heber, with the happy fortune which usually attends the virtuous, continued even in the great theatre of the world to command the approval and admiration of mankind.

About the middle of the year 1805, he accompanied his early friend, Mr. John Thornton, whose virtues would appear to have been akin to his own,on a tour through the north of Europe. They proceeded by sea to Gottenburg in Sweden, where they experienced the effect of that strangeness and novelty, which is felt once by all persons who travel in a foreign country, but which can never, by any possibility, visit the mind a second time. Here they purchased a carriage, and proceeded through the wildest and most sublime scenery, interspersed with meadows and corn-fields, on a tour among the mountains of Norway. At intervals, dispersed over craggy, desolate heaths, immense numbers of cairns and Runic columns were discovered,—which, with pine forests of sombre hue, large bays of the sea nearly land-locked, and appearing like so many lakes; cascades, rocks, cloud-capped mountains,—produced a series of impressions upon the mind, characterized by so high a degree of solemn grandeur, that even the vast solitudes of the Brenner Alps or Wetterhorn could scarcely inspire a deeper sense of sublimity. Amid those wild landscapes the natives amused themselves with wolf-hunting on sledges, during the winter; but their ferocious game sometimes come out in such multitudes from the woods, that even the most skilled huntsmen were in danger.

At Munkholm, or Monk’s Island, called the Bastille du Nord, Heber saw, among other prisoners, a very old man, who had been confined there for above fifty years, and had lost in a great measure the use of his faculties; they were much moved by his appearance, and the answers which he gave. On being asked how old he was, he answered three hundred years. His crime was variously reported: some said he was sent there by his relations for violent behaviour to his father; others as being a spend-thrift; and M. Leganger said, as being mad. A pretty government this, where a man is shut up for his whole life, and three or four different reasons given for his imprisonment, all equally uncertain! In Norway, as well as in some parts of Hadramaut andthe Coromandel coast, the cattle are fed upon the refuse of fish, which fattens them rapidly, but seems, at the same time, totally to change their nature, and render them unmanageably ferocious.

Heber’s stay in Norway was short. He had the talent to describe whatever was presented to his view, but his mild and gentle nature inspired him with no sympathy for the craggy, barren, desolate scenery of the Norwegian mountains; and he appears to have hastened his return to the abodes of civilization from an instinctive perception of this fact. Upon passing from Norway into Sweden, they spent some time at Upsala and the capital; from whence they crossed the Gulf of Bothnia in a fishing-boat, to Abo, in Finland. From hence, however, as it seems to have contained nothing worth seeing, they proceeded with all possible celerity, the approved English mode of travelling, to Petersburg. Notwithstanding the rapidity of their movements, they found time to make one discovery, which, as it is the echo of what most travellers repeat of the countries they visit, I insert for the honour of the Finns and Russians: “In one point,” says he, “both the Finlanders and Russians are unfortunately agreed, I mean in the proverbial knavery of the lower classes. In Sweden every thing was secure from theft, and our carriage, with its harness, cushions, &c., stood every night untouched in the open street. But we soon found how very inferior the Sclavonian race is to the Gothic in honesty, and were obliged to keep a constant watch. I cannot account for this apparently generic difference. If the Russians only had been thieves I should have called it the effects of the slavery of the peasants, but Swedish Finland is just as bad, and the peasants are as free as in England.”

Our travellers remained at St. Petersburg until the 30th of December, amusing themselves with learning the German language, and in seeing sights, andthen departed for Moscow, travelling at the same prodigious rate as when they fled thither from Abo. “Our mode of travelling,” says Heber, “deserves describing, both as very comfortable in itself, and as being entirely different from every thing in England. We performed the journey in kabitkas, the carriages usually employed by the Russians in their winter journeys: they are nothing more than a very large cradle, well covered with leather, and placed on a sledge, with a leather curtain in front; the luggage is placed at the bottom, the portmanteaus serving for an occasional seat, and the whole covered with a mattress, on which one or more persons can lie at full length, or sit supported by pillows. In this attitude, and well wrapped up in furs, one can scarcely conceive a more luxurious mode of getting over a country, when the roads are good, and the weather not intense; but in twenty-four or twenty-five degrees of frost (Reaumur), no wrapping can keep you quite warm; and in bad roads, of which we have had some little experience, the jolting is only equalled by the motion of a ship in a storm.”

From Moscow, where they arrived on the 3d of January, 1806, they shortly afterward made an excursion eastward to Yaroslav, on the banks of the Volga, during which Heber made the remarkable discovery that the Russian clergy almost universally were inimical to the government; being more connected than most other classes of men with the peasants, many of whose sufferings and oppressions they shared. They witnessed at Yaroslav a wolf-hunt on the frozen Volga. It should rather, however, be termed a “wolf-baiting;” for the animals, which had been previously caught for the purpose, were at once set upon by a number of dogs, and beaten almost blind by the long whips of savages, whom I cannot term hunters. A couple of hares were likewise chased upon the ice by Siberian greyhounds, very beautiful creatures, with silky hair anda fan tail, which, though less swift, were said to be more hardy than our greyhounds.

Heber, somewhat dazzled, as was natural, by the gorgeous taste of the Muscovites, seems to have been highly gratified by the reception which he and his fellow-traveller experienced at the ancient capital of the empire: “The eastern retinues and luxuries,” says he, “which one meets with here are almost beyond belief. There are few English countesses have so many pearls in their possession as I have seen in the streets in the cap of a merchant’s wife. At a ball in the ancient costume, which was given by M. Nedilensky (secretary of state to the late empress, whose family we have found the most agreeable in Moscow), the ladies all wore caps entirely of pearls, and the blaze of diamonds on theirsaraphaus(the ancient Russian tunic) would have outshone, I think, St. James’s. The pearl bonnet is not a becoming dress, as it makes its wearer look very pale, a fault which some ladies had evidently been endeavouring to obviate.” The heads which were thus gaudily garnished on the outside were generally exceedingly empty, as may safely be inferred from the degree of information possessed by their fathers, husbands, and brothers; so that the comparison with English ladies, in whom beauty and intelligence usually go hand in hand, could, I imagine, be carried no further.

Upon leaving Moscow about the middle of March, our traveller proceeded southward through the Ukraine, the country of the Cossacks, at Charkof, the capital of which, a university had recently been established. The professors of this establishment, who were all very handsomely paid, presented a motley assemblage of Russians, Germans, and Frenchmen, nearly every individual of which was big with some new scheme of teaching or college government; but this ludicrous appearance would wear off in time, while the benefit conferred on thepeople would be extensive and permanent. From hence they hurried on, for they were still rapid in their motions, to Taganroy, or the “Cape of the Teakettle,” so called from the form of the rock on which the fortress stands; and from thence to Nakitchivan on the Don. “This town,” says Heber, “is a singular mixture of Cossack houses and the black felt tents of the Kalmucs, all fishermen, and with their habitations almost thrust into the river. From the windows of the public-house where I am writing, the view is very singular and pleasing. The moon is risen, and throws a broad glare of light over the Don, which is here so widely overflowed that the opposite bank is scarcely visible; the foreground is a steep limestone hill covered with cottages and circular tents; and we hear on every side the mingled characteristic sounds of the singing of the boatmen on the river, the barking of the large ferocious Kalmuc dogs, which in all these countries are suffered to prowl about during the night, blended with the low monotonous chant of the Cossack women, who are enjoying the fine evening, and dancing in a large circle in the streets.”

Tcherkask, their next station, which in spring was mostly under water, seemed in some degree to resemble Venice. It was, in the opinion of our travellers, one of the most singular towns in the world, where, in the season of the inundation, the communication between one house and another was preserved by a kind of balcony or gallery, raised on wooden pillars, and running along the streets on both sides. From hence they continued their journey along the banks of the Kuban and the frontiers of Circassia, having in view the wild range of the Caucasus, with vast forests of oak at its roots. The population of these districts, fierce marauding mountaineers, beheld with regret the efforts which were making by the Russian government to wean them from their sanguinary habits. Their whole delightconsisted in bloodshed and plunder. But their frays had gradually become less and less frequent: “Formerly,” said their guide, “we were ourselves a terror to our neighbours—but we are now,” added he with a sigh—“a civilized people!” “The land on the Russian side of the river (Kuban),” says Heber, “is but scantily wooded; on the southern side it rises in a magnificent theatre of oak woods, interspersed with cultivated ground, and the smoke of villages, with the ridges of Caucasus above the whole. The nearest hills are by no means gigantic; but there are some white peaks which rise at a vast distance, and which proved to us that these were only the first story of the mountain.”

Our travellers now traversed the Crimea, and proceeded across a stepp intersected by numerous streams, inlets of the sea, and some large salt-water lakes, to Odessa, an interesting town, which in the opinion of Heber owed its prosperity to the administration of the Duc de Richelieu far more than to any natural advantages. Their route now lay across Russian Poland, Hungary, Austria, and Northern Germany. They arrived at Yarmouth on the 14th of October, 1806, and Heber immediately set forward to join the family circle at Hodnet, where he enjoyed the satisfaction which every wanderer feels when returning, after a long and toilsome journey, to his native home.

In the year 1807 Heber took orders, and obtained the living of Hodnet, in Shropshire, which was in his brother’s gift; he then returned to Oxford for the purpose of taking his degree as master of arts. It will readily be supposed that he, whose piety was truly apostolical, even while in a secular station, now that he had assumed the habit of a Christian minister, became doubly anxious to render not only his conduct, but the very thoughts of his mind, pure as became his holy calling. The church has in no age been destitute of teachers remarkable for theirvirtue and benevolence; but even among preachers of the gospel it is not often that a man so gifted as Heber with genius, with enlarged knowledge of mankind, with almost boundless charity and benevolence, can be found, the perusal of whose life must create in the reader as well as in me the vain wish that we had numbered him among our friends. Yet Heber was far from being an ascetic. Like all men of high imaginative powers who have never suffered vice to brush away the down from their nobler feelings, he had a bold faith in the enduring nature of affection, and spoke of love, not like a pert worldling, whom no excellence could kindle, but like a philosopher, aware of the prejudices of the vulgar, but far above being swayed by them. “To speak, however, my serious opinion,” says he, in a letter to a friend, “I believe that were it possible for a well-founded passion to wear out, the very recollection of it would be more valuable than the greatest happiness afforded by those calm and vulgar kindnesses which chiefly proceed from knowing no great harm of one another. You remember Shenstone’s epitaph on Miss Dolman:Vale, Maria, Puellarum Elegantissima, heu quanto minus est cum reliquis versari quam tui meminisse.I am not sure how long that romance of passion may continue which the world shows such anxiety to wean us of as soon as possible, and which it laughs at because it envies; but, end when it may, it is never lost, but will contribute, like fermentation, to make the remainder of the cup of happiness more pleasant and wholesome.”

In the April of 1809 Heber married Amelia, youngest daughter of Dr. Shipley, dean of St. Asaph. On this occasion he undertook an excursion in Wales, the beauties of which, notwithstanding the variety of scenes he had beheld, he seemed to consider equal to those of any country in the world. He then settled on his rectory, and employed himself earnestly in diffusing among his parishioners a propersense of religion, and habits of piety and virtue. “He became, indeed,” says his excellent widow, “their earthly guide, their pastor, and friend. His ear was never shut to their complaints, nor his hands closed to their wants. Instead of hiding his face from the poor, he sought out distress; he made it a rule, from which no circumstances induced him to swerve, to ‘give to all who asked,’ however trifling the sum; and wherever he had an opportunity, he never failed to inquire into, and more effectually to relieve their distress. He could not pass a sick person, or a child crying, without endeavouring to sooth and help them; and the kindness of his manner always rendered his gifts doubly valuable.”

Heber, whose leisure, however, was not considerable, was now led, by a praiseworthy literary ambition, to become a contributor to the Quarterly Review, where many of the excellent critiques on books of travels which appeared about that period were of his writing. Having himself travelled, he knew how to appreciate the historian of foreign manners, while the high tone of his Christian virtues emancipated him from that mean jealousy with which little minds are inspired by the success of a rival. He was, moreover, admirably calculated by the extent and variety of his reading, in which perhaps, he was scarcely excelled even by Dr. Southey or Sir Walter Scott, for determining the amount of information which any particular observer added to the common stock; without which no critic, however able or acute, can possibly judge with accuracy of the merits of a traveller. The Castalian rill, which Providence had intrusted to our traveller’s keeping, was not, in the mean while, permitted to stagnate. Various poems, of different character and pretensions, he from time to time composed, and submitted to the world; and in 1812 published a collected edition of all his poetical works. In the same year he was afflicted by a severe and somewhat protractedillness. Indeed, he continued through life, observes Mrs. Heber, subject to inflammatory attacks, though rigid temperance and exercise enabled him to pursue his studies without inconvenience. He was an early riser, and having performed his daily devotions, devoted the larger portion of the day to literature; from which, nevertheless, he was ready to separate himself at the call of duty.

I have before observed that Heber’s character was by no means morose or ascetic; he was full of vivacity, good-humour, wit, and no enemy to amusements; but he conceived that on Sunday it was the Christian’s duty to abstain as far as possible from every species of business. An anecdote illustrative of this point, which is related by Mrs. Heber, is well worth repeating: As Mr. Reginald Heber was riding one Sunday morning to preach at Moreton, his horse cast a shoe. Seeing the village blacksmith standing at the door of his forge, he requested him to replace it. The man immediately set about blowing up the embers of his Saturday night’s fire, on seeing which, he said, “On second thoughts, John, it does not signify; I can walk my mare; it will not lame her, and I do not like to disturb your day of rest.”

In 1815 he was appointed Bampton lecturer. His subject was necessarily theological, so that it is not within my competence to decide respecting the merit of his mode of treating it; but notwithstanding that it excited the opposition of one antagonist, who called in question his orthodoxy, the lectures appear, when published, to have been generally approved of by the clergy, the legitimate judges in such matters. Two years after this he was promoted to a stall in the cathedral of St. Asaph, an appointment which led to many journeys into Wales, during which he yielded up his mind to the delight of poetical composition. In the midst of these and similar enjoyments, which, to a mind so purely and beautifully constituted as his, must have been secondaryonly to those arising from the exercise of virtue, Heber underwent the affliction of losing at a very early age his only child. This bereavement, however, severely as it affected his heart, he submitted to with that religious resignation which his character would have led us to expect from him.

Our traveller himself appeared, in the spring of 1820, in extreme danger of being snatched away from the world. By constantly attending in the chambers of the sick, during the prevalence of putrid sore-throat in his neighbourhood, he caught this dangerous disorder, which from himself was communicated to seven members of his household, to none of whom, however, did it prove fatal. In the autumn of the same year he paid a visit to Oxford, “when,” says Mrs. Heber, “he had the gratification of hearing ‘Palestine’ performed as an oratorio in the same theatre, where, seventeen years before, he had recited it to an equally, or perhaps a more crowded audience than was then assembled. To the eye the scene was the same, but its component parts were widely different. Of the relations who were present at the former period, some had paid the debt of nature; the greater number of his contemporaries were scattered abroad in the pursuit of their respective professions; new faces occupied the arena.”

About the close of the year 1822 Heber received, through his friend, the Right Honourable Watkins Williams Wynn, the offer of the bishopric of Calcutta. Our traveller had long viewed with deep interest the progress of Christianity in the East, and the prospect opened to him by this offer, of contributing by his own zeal and exertions to the success of so holy a cause, seems quickly to have outweighed in his mind every consideration of personal interest, and to have determined him, at all hazards, to accept of that distinguished but dangerous post. The conduct of Mr. Wynn on this occasion, his ardent desire that India should not be deprived of theservices of so good, so great a man (for virtue like Heber’s is true greatness), while he was scarcely less unwilling to lose, certainly for a considerable time, if not, as it happened, for ever, a friend of incomparable value, reflects the highest honour on his heart and character. “The king,” said he, “has returned hisentireapprobation of your appointment to Calcutta, and if I could only divide you, so as to leave one in England and send the other to India, it would also have mine; but the die is now cast, and we must not look on any side but that which stands uppermost.” To this Heber replied, “For this last, as well as for all former proofs of your kindness, accept my best thanks. God grant that my conduct in India may be such as not to do your recommendation discredit, or make you repent the flattering confidence which you have placed in me.”

When Heber’s intention of leaving England was made known, he received from every quarter those warm voluntary testimonies of affection and regret which nothing but virtue, distinguished, persevering, exalted, can command. His own parishioners, as was natural, were the foremost in their demonstrations of their profound esteem. Rich, poor, old, and young—all joined in presenting their exemplary pastor with a lasting mark of the veneration in which his character was held among them. “Almost the last business,” says Mrs. Heber, “which Dr. Heber (he had recently been created D.D. by the University of Oxford) transacted before he left Shropshire was settling a long-standing account, in which he had been charged as debtor to the amount of a hundred pounds; but it was believed by those who were best acquainted with the circumstances, that he was not bound either in law or probity to pay it. As he himself, however, did not feel certain on this point, he resolved to pay the money, observing to a friend who endeavoured to dissuade him, ‘How can I reasonably hope for a blessing on my undertaking, or howcan I commence so long a voyage with a quiet conscience, if I leave even the shadow of a committed act of injustice behind?’ About the same time an unknown person sent him a small sum of money through the hands of a clergyman in Shrewsbury, confessing that he had defrauded him of it, and stating that he could not endure to see him leave England for such objects without relieving his own conscience by making restitution. On the 22d of April, 1823,” she continues, “Dr. Heber finally took leave of Shropshire: from a range of high grounds near Newport, he turned back to catch a last view of his beloved Hodnet; and here the feelings which he had hitherto suppressed in tenderness to others burst forth unrestrained, and he uttered the words which have proved prophetic, that he ‘should return to it no more!’”

Heber, having made all necessary preparations for his long voyage, and received consecration, repaired on the 16th of June on board the Company’s ship Grenville, in which he and his family were to proceed to India. As our traveller’s first desire, in whatever position he happened to be placed, was to effect all the good in his power, he no sooner found himself on board than he endeavoured to communicate to the sailors a sense of their religious duties; which he did with all that authority and effect which genius and virtue invariably exert over inferior individuals. His exhortations were listened to attentively and respectfully; and there can be no doubt produced, in many instances at least, conviction and amendment of life. The influence which the majestic simplicity of his character enabled him to exercise over his rude audience may in some measure be conceived from the following anecdote: “We had divine service on deck this morning,” says he; “a large shoal of dolphins were playing round the ship, and I thought it right to interfere to check theharpoons and fishing-hooks of some of the crew. I am not strict in my notions of what is called the Christian Sabbath; but the wanton destruction of animal life seems to be precisely one of those works by which the sanctity and charity of our weekly feast would be profaned. The sailors took my reproof in good part.” Such were his occupations until, on the 3d of October, the ship safely anchored in Sangor roads, in the Hoogly, or great western branch of the Ganges.

Heber was now arrived in the most extraordinary region, Greece and Egypt perhaps excepted, which has ever been inhabited by mankind. And he was well calculated by his high enthusiasm, extensive learning, and remarkable freedom from prejudice, to conceive all the splendour of the scene before him, to enter profoundly into the spirit of its institutions, and to describe with graceful and simple eloquence the picturesque variety of manners which the natives of this vast empire present to the contemplation of a stranger. “Two observations struck me forcibly,” says he; “first, that the deep bronze tint (observable in the Hindoos) is more naturally agreeable to the human eye than the fair skins of Europe, since we are not displeased with it even in the first instance, while it is well known that to them a fair complexion gives the idea of ill health, and of that sort of deformity which in our eyes belongs to an Albino. There is, indeed, something in a negro which requires long habit to reconcile the eye to him; but for this the features and the hair, far more than the colour, are answerable. The second observation was, how entirely the idea of indelicacy, which would naturally belong to such naked figures as those now around us, if they were white, is prevented by their being of a different colour from ourselves. So much are we children of association and habit, and so instinctively and immediately do ourfeelings adapt themselves to a total change of circumstances! It is the partial and inconsistent change only which affects us.”

They now entered the mighty Ganges, and sailing up towards Calcutta through the Sunderbunds, or rather along their western limit, beheld their dark impenetrable forests stretching away interminably towards the right, while a rich vegetable fragrance was wafted from the shore. The current of the river, when increased by the ebb-tide, was found as they ascended to be tremendously rapid, running at no less a rate, according to their pilot, than ten or eleven miles an hour. On arriving at Calcutta, Heber found that the ecclesiastical business of his bishopric, at all times multiplex and extensive, had now, since the death of Dr. Middleton, accumulated prodigiously; so that, although he had come out neither with the expectation nor the wish to find his place a sinecure, he felt somewhat alarmed at the laborious prospect before him. However, he was a man accustomed to labour, and not easily discouraged. He therefore diligently applied himself to business, and had soon the satisfaction to find that, notwithstanding the formidable appearance of things on his first arrival, it was still possible, after fully performing his duty, which no consideration could induce him to neglect, to command sufficient leisure for studying whatever was curious or striking in the natural or moral aspect of Hindostan. Former travellers, he now found, were, notwithstanding their numbers, very far from having exhausted the subject, either because the phenomena of Asiatic manners are, like those of the heavens, in a state of perpetual change, or because these, continuing the same, which however they do not, appear under various phases to different men, from being viewed by each individual from the peculiar point of observation afforded by his character and acquirements.

In the course of seven months, Heber had achievedthat portion of his task which was to be performed in the capital. Next to this in importance was his visitation through the Upper Provinces, an expedition in which he had hoped to be accompanied by his family; but this being rendered impracticable by the delicate health of his wife, and the tender age of his infant child, he departed with his domestic chaplain, Mr. Stowe, in a sixteen-oared pinnace, for Dacca. The shores of the Ganges, though flat almost throughout Bengal, are far from wanting in stately or picturesque objects. Lofty pagodas, with their fantastic angular domes, towering over forests of bamboos, banyans, and cocoa-trees; ruins of Mussulman palaces; wild tracts of jungle inhabited by tigers; groves of peepul or tamarind-trees; with Hindoo villages or hamlets, perched upon artificial mounds to escape the periodical inundations of the river. But no scene is possessed of all advantages. There is always some small drawback, to afford man an excuse for enjoying the delicious pleasure of complaining. “One of the greatest plagues we have yet met with in this journey,” says Heber, “is that of the winged bugs. In shape, size, and scent, with the additional faculty of flying, they resemble the ‘grabbatic’ genus, too well known in England. The night of our lying off Barrackpoor, they were troublesome; but when we were off the rajah’s palace, they came out, like the ghosts of his ancestor’s armies, in hundreds and thousands from every bush and every heap of ruins, and so filled our cabins as to make them barely endurable. These unhappy animals crowded round our candles in such swarms, some just burning their feet and wings on the edge of the glass shade, and thus toppling over, others, more bold, flying right into the crater, and meeting their death there, that we really paid no attention to what was next day a ghastly spectacle,—the mighty army which had settled on the wet paint of the ceiling, and remained there, black and stinking, till the antsdevoured them. These last swarm in my pinnace: they have eaten up no inconsiderable portion of my provisions, and have taken, I trust to their benefit, a whole box of blue pills; but as they do their best to clear it of all other vermin, I cannot but look upon them with some degree of favour.”

A gentleman travelling as Heber travelled in India is likely to meet with few personal adventures. He runs no risk, except from the climate, and moves on smoothly from one station to another, in that state of tranquillity which is useful, if not necessary, to calm, dispassionate observation. Thus our traveller sailed from Calcutta to Dacca, once renowned for the spaciousness and splendour of its palaces, but now ruined, deserted, and reduced to be the haunt of bats, serpents, and every loathsome thing. Here, in an interview with the nawâb, who, like his imperial master of Delhi, has long been reduced to subsist upon the bounty of the Company, Heber exhibited that delicate regard for the feelings of a man,

Fallen from his high estate,

which a careful observation of his previous life would have led us to expect from him. Here he had the misfortune to lose Mr. Stowe, his domestic chaplain, who, by his many excellent and amiable qualities, had long occupied the place of a friend in his affections.

From Dacca, where his stay was much longer than he had anticipated, he proceeded up the river. Furreedpoor, his next station, did not long detain him. Near Rajmahal he approached, but did not visit, the ruins of Gour, an ancient city, which almost rivalled Babylon or Nineveh in extent, and which fell to decay, because the Ganges, which once flowed under its walls, changed its bed, and took another direction, six or seven miles south of thecity. However, on arriving next day at the town of Rajmahal, to make up in some measure for this loss, he undertook a short excursion to the ruined palace of Sultan Sujah, brother of Araungzêbe. “I was a little at a loss,” says he, “to find my way through the ruins and young jungle, when a man came up, and in Persian, with many low bows, offered his services. He led me into a sort of second court, a little lower on the hill, where I saw two European tombs, and then to three very beautiful arches of black slate, on pillars of the same, leading into a small but singularly elegant hall, opening immediately on the river, though a considerable height above it, through similar arches to those by which we entered. The roof was vaulted with stone, delicately carved, and the walls divided by Gothic tracery into panels, still retaining traces of gilding and Arabic inscriptions. At each end of this beautiful room was a Gothic arch, in like manner of slate, leading into two small square apartments, ornamented in the same way, and also opening on the river. The centre room might be thirty feet long, each of the others fifteen square. For their size I cannot conceive more delightful apartments. The view was very fine. The river, as if incensed at having been obliged to make a circuit round the barrier of the hills, and impeded here again by the rocks under the castle, sweeps round this corner with exceeding violence, roaring and foaming like a gigantic Dee. The range of hills runs to the left-hand, beautiful, blue, and woody.”

From thence he proceeded, as before, up the Ganges, observing whatever was remarkable, making a short stay at each of the European stations on his way, for the purpose of preaching or baptizing, and arrived on the 20th of August at Patna. At this city, which is extensive, and situated in a commanding position, he remained several days, for the purpose of preaching and administering confirmation.He then continued his voyage to Ghazeepoor, famous for its rose-gardens and salubrious air. “The rose-fields, which occupy many hundred acres in the neighbourhood, are described as, at the proper season, extremely beautiful. They are cultivated for distillation, and for making ‘attar.’ Rose-water is both good and cheap here. The price of a seer, or weight of two pounds (a large quart), of the best, being eight anas, or a shilling. The attar is obtained after the rose-water is made, by setting it out during the night and till sunrise in the morning, in large open vessels exposed to the air, and then skimming off the essential oil which floats at the top.” “To produce one rupee’s weight of attar, two hundred thousand well-grown roses are required.” This small quantity, when warranted genuine, for they begin to adulterate it on the spot, costs one hundred sicca rupees, or ten pounds sterling.

A short way farther up the stream, Heber quitted his pinnace, and providing himself with bearers, continued his journey to Benares by land. Of Benares I have already given a brief description in the Life of Bernier. Heber’s stay in it was short. He visited with attention its principal curiosities, and conversed on several points with some of its Brahminical professors, whose belief in Hindooism he regarded as very equivocal. He then continued his voyage up the river to Allahabad, where he dismissed his pinnace, and made the necessary preparations for performing the remainder of his journey by land. Archdeacon Corrie, who had accompanied him from Calcutta, and Mr. Lushington, whom he joined on the way, were now his travelling companions, and with their attendants helped to increase his motley caravan, which consisted of twenty-four camels, eight carts drawn by bullocks, twenty-four horse-servants, ten ponies, forty bearers, and coolies of different descriptions, twelve tent-pitchers, and a guard of twenty sepoys under a native officer. With thisretinue, which in the eyes of a European would have had something of a princely air, Heber proceeded by the way of Cawnpoor to Lucknow, the capital of the kingdom of Oude, where he enjoyed the honour of breakfasting with the monarch of this ill-governed state, who, on this occasion at least, appeared desirous of imitating the manners of the English.

At Lucknow Heber separated from his companions; and, accompanied merely by his attendants, directed his course towards the wild districts at the foot of the Himalaya. On arriving at Barelly, not more than fifty miles distant from the nearest range, he vainly looked out for the snowy peaks of this “monarch of mountains;” but, instead, discovered nothing but a ridge of black clouds, and a gray autumnal haze through which no object was discernible. The features of the country now became wild and striking. Forests infested by malaria, tigers, and lions, and half-desolate plains, announced the termination of the fertile provinces of Hindostan, and the approach to a different region. Here “we had,” says Heber, “a first view of the range of the Himalaya,[4]indistinctly seen through the haze, but notso indistinctly as to conceal the general form of the mountains. The nearer hills are blue, and in outline and tints resemble pretty closely, at this distance, those which close in the vale of Clwyd. Above these rose what might, in the present unfavourable atmosphere, have been taken for clouds, had not their seat been so stationary, and their outline so harsh and pyramidical—the patriarchs of the continent, perhaps the surviving ruins of a former world, white and glistening as alabaster, and even at this distance, of probably one hundred and fifty miles, towering above the nearer and secondary range, as much as those last (though said to be seven thousand six hundred feet high) are above the plain in which we were standing. I felt intense delight and awe in looking on them, but the pleasure lasted not many minutes; the clouds closed in again, as on the fairy castle of St. John, and left us but the former gray cold horizon, girding in the green plain of Rohiland, and broken only by people and mango-trees.”

[4]The Himalaya mountains have been said, by some other travellers, to be visible, in clear weather, from Patna, a distance of two hundred miles. The fact appears to be by no means improbable. From the window of the library in which these pages are written, the snowy mountains of Switzerland and Savoy—Mont Blanc, the Great and Little St. Bernard, and the peaks of St. Corvin and St. Gothard—are almost constantly visible during the prevalence of the south-west wind. From the appearance of these mountains a tolerable idea may be formed of the aspect of the Himalaya. During summer thin vapours commonly obstruct the view, except in the early dawn; and if, as sometimes happens, the white peaks appear in the afternoon, when the sun’s rays are streaming upon them from the west, they are generally, by the unpractised observer, mistaken for clouds. But in the cool autumnal mornings just before the sun rises above the horizon, Mont Blanc, though one hundred and twenty-five miles distant, is painted with astonishing distinctness upon the sky, and towering above the sea of white vapour which overspreads the great plain of Burgundy and rises almost to the summit of the Jura, seems but a few leagues distant. A little before sunset it presents a totally different aspect. Instead of the dusky mass which we beheld in the morning, we discover the “monarch of mountains” clothed in dazzling white, rising far above every surrounding object; while the glittering pinnacles of the inferior mountains seem to stretch away interminably to the right and left, until their peaks are confounded and lost in the dimness of the horizon. The Mont St. Gothard, which is very distinctly visible, at least during clear weather, is distant one hundred and seventy miles from the point of observation. With respect to Mont Blanc, its whole aspect, when viewed through a good telescope, is so admirably defined, that every inequality in its surface is clearly discernible, so that an excellent sketch of it might be taken from my library. The dark chain of the Jura, which conceals its base, and stretches from Geneva almost to the Rhine, increases by contrast the magnificence of the view, which, for extent and grandeur, falls very little short, perhaps, of any landscape in Europe.

Next day, soon after sunrise, he saw distinctly, painted on a clear blue sky, the prodigiously lofty pinnacles of these mountains, the centre of earth,

Its altar, and its cradle, and its throne,

which, as he justly observes, “are really among the greatest earthly works of the Almighty Creator’shands—the highest spots below the moon—and overtopping by many hundred feet the summits of Cotopaxi and Chimborazo.” To approach these mountains, however, from the south, the traveller has to traverse a belt of forest and jungle, where the air is impregnated with the most deadly qualities. “I asked Mr. Boulderson if it were true,” says Heber, “that the monkeys forsook these woods during the unwholesome months. He answered that not the monkeys only, but every thing which has the breath of life instinctively deserts them, from the beginning of April to October. The tigers go up to the hills, the antelopes and wild hogs make incursions into the cultivated plain; and those persons, such as dâkbearers, or military officers who are obliged to traverse the forests in the intervening months, agree that not so much as a bird can be heard or seen in the frightful solitude.” Yet the insalubrity of these districts is not of any ancient date. Thirty years ago, though fever and ague were common, the plains were populous and productive, and considerable progress was made in reclaiming the forest; but the devastation consequent upon the invasion of Meer Khan, in 1805, checked the course of population, which has never since been able to recover itself.

Through this deadly region Heber passed with all possible rapidity, though the majestic trees which bordered the road, the songs of the birds in their branches (for it was now November), and the luxuriant vegetation which on all sides covered the soil, conferred a kind of syren beauty upon the scene, which tempted the wayfarer to a fatal pause. At length, after a long, fatiguing march, they found themselves upon rising ground, at the entrance to a green valley, with woody mountains on either side, and a considerable river running through it, dashing over a rocky bottom, with great noise and violence. The scenery now put on features of surpassing beauty.Mountains, precipices, narrow romantic dells; with rivers which were sometimes seen, and sometimes only heard rolling at the bottom of them; trees inhabited by innumerable white monkeys and singing birds, and copses abounding in black and purple pheasants. When they had climbed up to a considerable height upon the lower range of the mountains, there burst suddenly upon their sight the most awfully magnificent spectacle which the earth furnishes for the contemplation of man. Language always fails to convey an adequate conception of the tumultuous delight experienced in such positions. The mind, wrought upon by history, by poetry, by a secret hungering after the sublime, instantaneously feels itself in the presence of objects which, by their prodigious magnitude and elevation, enhanced by an idea of their unapproachableness, seem for a moment to surpass the most ambitious aspirations of the imagination, and in reality carry our thoughts

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