He never spared his own time or trouble. Under a burning sun he would visit every school or congregation he met with in the various towns the travellers came to; and during the week which preceded his arrival at Tanjore, his labours were so incessant as to provoke remonstrances from his chaplain and

suite.

One of the most energetic missionaries India ever had was Schwarz. That zealous self-denying man is said to have baptized six thousand natives into the Christian religion. He was buried at Tanjore.

Heber, wishing to choose an appropriate spot to preach to the Tanjore missionaries, summoned them to meet him one evening at Schwarz's tomb, in that city.

The appointed evening was fine, and with a gorgeous sunset reddening the east. The Bishop preached a long time to about fifty or sixty missionaries; and, after speaking of all Schwarz's nevertiring efforts, expressed a hope that they would emulate his example.

This was his last address to the body of missionaries in India; and they must have recalled it vividly to mind, when, a week later, the grey-headed group who had heard him that evening, received the news of his sudden death.

He left Tanjore, and travelled on to Trichinopoly, at which latter place he confirmed a large number of native Christians on the 2nd of April, which was Easter Sunday.

The following day, he rose early, and again held a confirmation; while coming out of the church he

seems to have complained much of the heat. When he returned home, he desired that breakfast might wait till he had had his cold bath, which he said he thought would refresh him.

His attendant, finding he did not return at the expiration of the half hour, became alarmed.

He knocked at the door; and, receiving no reply, went in. The bishop's body was found lying in the bottom of the bath; and it was supposed, from the examination made by the doctors, who were in stantly summoned, that death had ensued from the bursting of a vessel in the brain. Every remedy to restore animation was employed to no purpose. The pure and excellent Bishop Heber was dead.

He was buried at Trichinopoly, in St. John's church. The news of his death caused general lamentation and grief.

He had been but a short time in India, but long enough to endear himself to all, and his loss was felt in Calcutta as a public calamity. His virtues were all unobtrusive, but his energy, zeal, and prudence did much for India. By an early and extraordinary culture of memory, he had stored his mind with rich treasures of learning, and could illustrate, with apt quotations from Scripture, almost every argument that was ever advanced in his company. This gift, united to an earnest and striving spirit, was a powerful aid in the cause of conversion. All he attempted, he did well; and, in the words of the beautiful poem we began with, let us say of Heber, in ending this sketch

R

And that deep soul of gentleness and power,

Have we not felt its strength in every word

Wont from thy lip, as Hermon's dew, to shower?

Yes! in our hearts thy fervent thoughts have burned;

Of Heaven they were, and thither are returned.

He who, but one short week before, had eulogised the career of Schwarz, has left behind him in India an imperishable memory, as that of 'The Good Bishop Heber.'

THE INVINCIBLES OF COMMON LIFE:

CAREY, LEDYARD, COUNT RUMFORD, AND DREW.

APOLEON THE GREAT did not win his many victories without many desperate struggles. Great was the terror of his name through Europe, and many an army quailed before him; many a fight was lost through the mere hopelessness of the soldiery in opposing so famous a conqueror. But, at times the peoples of Europe, roused by shame at being so often beaten, and urged to great exertions by the hope of reaping the glory of defeating the hero of so many campaigns, collected in overwhelming force; and, encouraged by the knowledge of their strength in numbers, opposed the invader with a desperation that often shook his confidence. Many a time, surrounded by mounted generals, waiting his orders, and plumed aides-de-camp, ready to start at a word or a signal from their commander, he stood on some hill, with lips compressed, a stern brow, one hand behind his back, and a small telescope in the other, watching the swaying masses of men beneath him. Amid the thunders of the artillery, the rolling clouds of smoke for ever renewed, he could see the far-stretching lines of the army, of