329 
now the venerated Bishop of Lahore, went out as a missionary 
to Agra. I gave him asa parting present, Southey’s “Kehama.” 
He kept it, he afterwards told me, all through the trying scenes of 
the Indian Mutiny; and when the College at Agra was in those 
troublous days scattered to the winds, he still retained with 
grateful affection this earliest introduction to the old religions 
of India. 
Let me read two or three passages where, into the depths of 
Indian Mythology, is infused, without violating the general con- 
tinuity of the story, the most beautiful touches of Christian senti- 
ment, such as he imagines might have illuminated even those dark 
corners of the earth. [See ‘“‘Kehama,” Part XIX., “Mount 
Calasay.”] 
There is one other class of poems: those which are purely 
personal; and here we return to the point from which we started. 
Of these I will only select two, “The Holly Tree,” and “The 
Library.” The latter relates specially to the poet’s home in 
Keswick. This day for the first time in my life I have penetrated 
into Greta Hall; and by the kindness of its present occupants, I 
was allowed to go into every apartment, and amongst others into 
Southey’s library. It was a great satisfaction to think that in a 
chamber so long consecrated, and the scene of such indefatigable 
work there should still go on the work of useful and faithful 
instruction. Not now are the walls clad with the books that 
used to clothe them as with an everlasting drapery, but I call to 
mind one of the most beautiful poems,—one of the most touching 
and affecting, because I feel how every word came from the 
poet’s heart. He speaks about his hours in that library, about his 
hours amongst the books of the great and good, from whom he 
learned so much, and from whom also he endeavoured to teach 
others :— 
“*My days among the Dead are passed ; 
Around me I behold, 
Where’er these casual eyes are cast, 
The mighty minds of old : 
My never-failing friends are they, 
With whom I converse day by day. 
