'The Booths! yet live they?' pausing and op- pp 31, 32. ried round the world for twenty years "All things prepar'd, on the expected day more! And there he found her-faithful, mournful, true, The sad and long-delayed return of this ardent adventurer is described in a tone of genuine pathos, and in some places with such truth and force of colouring, as to outdo the efforts of the first dramatic representation. "But when return'd the Youth -the Youth no A single boat was in the billows left; O'er the black stern the moonlight softly play'd, The meeting of the lovers is briefly told. Each had immediate confidence; a friend There is something sweet and touching, and in a higher vein of poetry, in the story which he tells to Judith of all his adventures, and of those other ties, of which it still wrings her bosom to hear him speak.—We can afford but one little extract. "There, hopeless ever to escape the land, pp. 35, 36. The close is extremely beautiful, and leaves upon the mind just that impression of sadness which is both salutary and delightful, because it is akin to pity, and mingled with admiration and esteem. "Thus silent, musing through the day, he sees [scenes "And where is he? Ah! doubtless in those These strong emotions in her friend to spy; "Here Dinah sigh'd as if afraid to speakAnd then repeated-They were frail and weak; His soul she lov'd; and hop'd he had the grace a To fix his thoughts upon a better place.' The third tale is "The Gentleman Farmer," and is of a coarser texture than that we have just been considering-though full of acute observation, and graphic delineation of ordinary characters. The hero is not a farmer turned gentleman, but a gentleman turned farmer-a conceited, active, talking, domineering sort of person-who plants and eats and drinks with great vigour-keeps a mistress, and speaks with audacious scorn of the tyranny of wives, and the impositions of priests, lawyers, and physicians. Being but a shallow fellow however at bottom, his confidence in his opinions declines gradually as his health decays; and, being seized with some maladies in his stomach, he ends with marrying his mistress, and submitting to be triply governed by three of her confederates; in the respective characters of a quack doctor, a methodist preacher, and a projecting land steward. We cannot afford any extracts from this performance. The next, which is called "Procrastination," has something of the character of the "Parting Hour;" but more painful, and less refined. It is founded like it on the story of a betrothed youth and maiden, whose marriage is prevented by their poverty; and this youth, too, goes to pursue his fortune at sea; while the damsel awaits his return, with an old female relation at home. He is crossed with many disasters, and is not heard of for many years. In the mean time, the virgin gradually imbibes her aunt's paltry love for wealth and finery; and when she comes, after long sordid expectation, to inherit her hoards, feels that those new tastes have supplanted every warmer emotion in her bosom; and, secretly hoping never more to see her youth. ful lover, gives herself up to comfortable gossiping and formal ostentatious devotion. At last, when she is set in her fine parlour, with her china and toys, and prayer-books around her, the impatient man bursts into her ence, and reclaims her vows! She answers coldly, that she has now done with the world, and only studies how to prepare to die! and exhorts him to betake himself to the same needful meditations. We shall give the conclusion of the scene in the author's own words. The faithful and indignant lover replies:"Heav'n's spouse thou art not: nor can I believe That God accepts her, who will Man deceive: True I am shatter'd, I have service seen, And service done, and have in trouble been; My cheek (it shames me not) has lost its red, And the brown buff is o'er my features spread; Perchance my speech is rude; for I among Th' untam'd have been, in temper and in tongue; But speak my fate! For these my sorrows past, Time lost, youth fled, hope wearied, and at last This doubt of thee-a childish thing to tell, But certain truth-my very throat they swell; They stop the breath, and but for shame could I Give way to weakness, and with passion cry; These are unmanly struggles, but I feel This hour must end them, and perhaps will heal.”— pres pp. 72, 73. Nothing can be more forcible or true to na- pp. 73, 74. "The Patron," which is next in order, is also very good; and contains specimens of very various excellence The story is that of a young man of humble birth, who shows an early genius for poetry; and having been, with some inconvenience to his parents, provided with a frugal, but regular education, is at last taken notice of by a nobleman in the neighbourhood, who promises to promote him in the church, and invites him to pass an autumn with him at his seat in the country. Here the youth, in spite of the admirable admonitions of his father, is gradually overcome by a taste for elegant enjoyments, and allows himself to fall in love with the enchanting sister of his protector. When the family leave him with indifference to return to town, he feels the first pang of humiliation and disappointment; and afterwards, when he finds that all his noble friend's fine promises end in obtaining for him a poor drudging place in the Customs, he pines and pines till he falls into insanity; and recovers, only to die prematurely in the arms of his disappointed parents. We cannot make room for the history of the Poet's progress-the father's warnings -or the blandishments of the careless syren by whom he was enchanted-though all are excellent. We give however the scene of the breaking up of that enchantment ;-a description which cannot fail to strike, if it had no other merit, from its mere truth and accuracy. "Cold grew the foggy morn; the day was brief; All green was vanish'd, save of pine and yew, Save the green holly with its berries red, To public views my Lord must soon attend ; And soon the Ladies-would they leave their friend? The time was fix'd-approach'd-was near-was come! The trying time that fill'd his soul with gloom; He pensive stood, and saw each carriage drawn, "The Widow's Tale" is also rather of the facetious order. It contains the history of a farmer's daughter, who comes home from her boarding-school a great deal too fine to tolerate the gross habits, or submit to the filthy drudgery of her father's house; but is induced, by the warning history and sensible exhortations of a neighbouring widow, in whom she expected to find a sentimental companion, to reconcile herself to all those abominations, and marry a jolly young farmer in the neighbourhood. The account of her horrors, on first coming down, is in Mr. Crabbe's best style of Dutch painting--a little coarse, and needlessly minute-but perfectly true, and marvellously coloured. "Us'd to spare meals, dispos'd in manner pure, "The Lover's Journey" is a pretty fancy; and very well executed-at least as to the ride to see his mistress; and passing, in full descriptions it contains.-A lover takes a long hope and joy, through a barren and fenny country, finds beauty in every thing. Being put out of humour, however, by missing the lady at the end of this stage, he proceeds through a lovely landscape, and finds every thing ugly and disagreeable. At last he meets his fair one-is reconciled-and returns along with her; when the landscape presents neither beauty nor deformity; and excites no emotion whatever in a mind engrossed with more lively sensations. There is nothing in this volume, or perhaps in any part of Mr. Crabbe's writings, more exquisite than some of the descriptions in this story. The following, though by no means the best, is too characteristic of the author to be omitted: "First o'er a barren heath beside the coast Orlando rode, and joy began to boast. [bloom. "This neat low gorse,' said he, with golden Delights each sense, is beauty, is perfume; And this gay ling, with all its purple flowers, A man at leisure might admire for hours; That yields to nothing but my Laura's lip; This green-fring'd cup-moss has a scarlet tip, And then how fine this herbage! men may say A heath is barren; nothing is so gay.' Onward he went, and fiercer grew the heat, Dust rose in clouds beneath the horse's feet; For now he pass'd through lanes of burning sand. Bounds to thin crops or yet uncultur'd land; And sterile soil, and mock'd the thin-set rye. Where the dark poppy flourish'd on the dry "The Lover rode as hasty lovers ride, And reach'd a common pasture wild and wide; Small black-legg'd sheep devour with hunger keen The meager herbage; fleshless, lank and lean: He saw some scatter'd hovels; turf was pil'd In A mill, indeed, was in the centre found, square brown stacks; a prospect bleak and wild' With short sear herbage withering all around; A smith's black shed oppos'd a wright's long shop, And join'd an inn where humble travellers stop.' pp. 176, 177. The features of the fine country are less perfectly drawn: But what, indeed, could be made of the vulgar fine country of Englana? If Mr. Crabbe had had the good fortune to live among our Highland hills, and lakes, and upland woods-our living floods sweeping through forests of pine-our lonely vales and rough copse-covered cliffs; what a delicious picture would his unrivalled powers have enabled him to give to the world!-But we have no right to complain, while we have such pictures as this of a group of Gipsies. It is evidently finished con amore; and does appear to us to be absolutely perfect, both in its moral and its physical expression. Again the country was enclos'd; a wide And sandy road has banks on either side; Where, lo! a hollow on the left appear'd, And there a Gipsy-tribe their tent had rear'd: 'Twas open spread, to catch the morning sun, And they had now their early meal begun, When two brown Boys just left their grassy seat, The early Trav'ller with their pray'rs to greet: While yet Orlando held his pence in hand, He saw their sister on her duty stand; Some twelve years old, demure, affected, sly, Prepar'd the force of early powers to try: [by: Sudden a look of languor he descries, pp. 180-182. 64 Then as the Friend repos'd, the younger Pair Or heard the music of th' obedient bride: pp. 198, 199. The ultimate downfall of this lofty mind, with its agonising gleams of transitory recollection, form a picture, than which we do not know if the whole range of our poetry, rich as it is in representations of disordered intellect, furnishes any thing more touching, or delineated with more truth and delicacy. "Harmless at length th' unhappy man was found, "And now his freedom he attain'd-if free [lov'd, Is now with mild religious pity mov'd; "Rarely from town, nor then unwatch'd, he goes, pp. 206, 207. The next story, which is entitled "Edward Shore," also contains many passages of exquisite beauty. The hero is a young man of aspiring genius and enthusiastic temper, with an ardent love of virtue, but no settled principles either of conduct or opinion. He first conceives an attachment for an amiable girl, who is captivated with his conversation;but being too poor to marry, soon comes to spend more of his time in the family of an elderly sceptic (though we really see no object in giving him that character) of his acquaintance, who had recently married a young wife, and placed unbounded confidence in her virtue, and the honour of his friend. In a moment of temptation, they abuse this confi- "Squire Thomas" is not nearly so interestdence. The husband renounces him with dig-ing. This is the history of a mean domineernified composure; and he falls at once from the romantic pride of his virtue. He then seeks the company of the dissipated and gay; and ruins his health and fortune, without regaining his tranquillity. When in gaol, and miserable, he is relieved by an unknown hand; and traces the benefaction to the friend whose former kindness he had so ill repaid. This humiliation falls upon his proud spirit and shattered nerves with an overwhelming force; and his reason fails beneath it. He is for some time a raving maniac; and then falls into a state of gay and compassionable imbecility, which is described with inimitable beauty in the close of this story. We can afford but a few extracts. The nature of the seductions which led to his first fatal lapse are well intimated in the following short pas sage: ing spirit, who, having secured the succession of a rich relation by assiduous flattery, looks about for some obsequious and yielding fair one, from whom he may exact homage in his turn. He thinks he has found such a one in a lowly damsel in his neighbourhood, and marries her without much premeditation ;when he discovers, to his consternation, not only that she has the spirit of a virago, but that she and her family have decoyed him into the match, to revenge, or indemnify themselves for his having run away with the whole inheritance of their common relative. She hopes to bully him into a separate maintenance-but his avarice refuses to buy his peace at such a price; and they continue to live together, on a very successful system of mutual tormenting. "Jesse and Colin " pleases us much bett Jesse is the orphan of a poor clergyman, who | "The pensive Colin in his garden stray'd, "The Mother sat beside the garden-door, 666 Alas! my Son!' the Mother cried, and why [sum Of rattling wheels! and lo! the evening-coach; "The Struggles of Conscience," though visibly laboured, and, we should suspect, a favourite with the author, pleases us less than any tale in the volume. It is a long account of a low base fellow, who rises by mean and dishonourable arts to a sort of opulence; and, without ever committing any flagrant crime, sullies his mind with all sorts of selfish, heartless, and unworthy acts, till he becomes a prey to a kind of languid and loathsome remorse. "The Squire and the Priest" we do not like much better. A free living and free thinking squire had been galled by the public rebukes of his unrelenting pastor, and breeds up a dependent relation of his own to succeed to his charge. The youth drinks and jokes with his patron to his heart's content, during the progress of his education;-but just as the old censor dies, falls into the society of Saints, becomes a rigid and intolerant Methodist, and converts half the parish, to the infinite rage of his patron, and his own ultimate affliction. "The Confidant" is more interesting; though not altogether pleasing. A fair one makes a slip at the early age of fifteen, which is concealed from every one but her mother, and a sentimental friend, from whom she could conceal nothing. Her after life is pure and exemplary; and at twenty-five she is married to a worthy man, with whom she lives in perfect innocence and concord for many happy years. At last, the confidant of her childhood, whose lot has been less prosperous, starts up and importunes her for money-not forgetting to hint at the fatal secret of which she is the depository. After agonising and plundering her for years, she at last comes and settles herself in her house, and embitters her whole existence by her selfish threats and ungenerous extortions. The husband, who had been greatly disturbed at the change in his wife's temper and spirits, at last accidentally overhears enough to put him in possession of the fact; and resolving to forgive a fault so long past, and so well repaired, takes occasion to intimate his knowledge of it, and his disdain of the false confidant, in an ingenious apologue-which, however is plain enough to drive the pestilent visiter from his house, and to restore peace and confidence to the bosom of his grateful wife. "Resentment" is one of the pieces in which Mr. Crabbe has exercised his extraordinary powers of giving pain-though not gratuitously in this instance, nor without inculcating a strong lesson of forgiveness and compassion. A middle-aged merchant marries a lady of good fortune, and persuades her to make it all over to him when he is on the eve of bank ruptcy. He is reduced to utter beggary; and his wife bitterly and deeply resenting the wrong he had done her, renounces all connection with him, and endures her own re |