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 the very 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.