for those of a guilty traffic. These men, corrupted thus by a thirst for illegal gain, lurk on the shore, and at the approach of a tempest, rivet their greedy eyes on the first vessel, which, driven at the mercy of the billows, is destined to become either their prey, or that of the ocean. The existence of these smugglers, and that of their accomplices, is described with frightful reality. The interior of the workhouse exhibits a not less striking picture. The apothecary, the curate, an old friend of the village children, the nobleman, and the magistrate, are depicted with infinite art. I shall confine myself to quoting the sarcasm levelled against the latter; it is one of those traits of satire which do not always confer honour on the taste of Mr. Crabbe:

"Lo! at his throne the silent nymph appears,
Trait by her shape, but modest in her tears;
And while he stands abashed, with conscious eye,
Some favourite female of her judge glides by;
Who views, with scornful glance, the strumpet's fate,
And thanks the stars that made her keeper great."

The same idea is found expressive in an episode of the sixteenth canto of Don Juan; it is curious to compare with the severe satires of the reverend poet, the mixture of trifling mockery and pathos in which the poetical nobleman launches a malicious arrow, en passant, at his rivals, and deplores the misfortune of the poor girl, in not having addressed herself to the titled tartufes, to whom the

Society for the Suppression of Vice has confided the guardianship of morals.*

The register of the village forms the materials of Mr. Crabbe's first poem. After some reflections upon the morals of the inhabitants, and the furniture of their houses, by way of introduction, the poet divides his subject into three books, entitled Baptisms, Marriages, and Deaths. It comprises the history of all the individuals whom he has baptized, married, and buried in the course of the preceding year. This extremely simple frame-work contains a new gallery of portraits, each finished in its own peculiar manner. If one wished to banter the reverend minister, he might be accused of having traced the scandalous register of his parish. The first child brought to him for baptism, is the illegitimate offspring of the miller's daughter. She has yielded her all to the love of a jolly tar, but the father has never been willing to ratify their union; he has driven his daughter from her home, and passes his time in the company of prostitutes. Lucy's lover embarks for sea, in the hope of becoming rich enough for the maintenance of both; but he dies on the voyage, and the unfortunate girl remains exposed to all the miseries of her situation, not excepting the gossip of the place, which Mr. Crabbe takes care not to forget. The conclusion of the history is affecting. Mr. Crabbe subsequently introduces a frugal couple, next a ridiculous linen-draper, and then a woman of the

• 66 Presuming partridges and pretty wenches."

town, &c. But I shall proceed to the more interesting book of the marriages. In this, Mr. Crabbe amuses himself at the expense of an old bachelor, who has married his servant; and he is not less facetious on the subject of divers other domestic establishments. He only recovers a portion of his charity, in order to lament the fate of Phebe Dawson, the most innocent and most beautiful of all the village girls, and previous to the fatal "yes," caressed with the hypocritical homage of her lover, who turns out to be the most brutal of husbands.

To do justice, it would be requisite to translate the entire book of deaths. It is not the gloomy satire of Young, to whom some malicious wag sent a skull, containing a lighted taper, in order to serve him for a lanthorn. The satirical gaiety of Mr. Crabbe does not abandon him while reviewing the various names which replenish the obituary. He sketches a variety of piquant portraits, among which is remarked that of an old publican, always intoxicated: the widow, and the lady of the manor, whose funeral takes place at the village, though her death has occurred in town. This pompous ceremony has no dazzling effect on the rigid minister; he denounces the insensibility of the weeping friends, and calls the funeral procession a bad company of tragedians, who are incapable of acting grief in such a way as to provoke the sympathy of the spectators. It appears that the defunct was in the habit of spending all her income in town; and had even, for a

considerable time, abandoned her country seat. Subjoined is the description of it, which it is curious to compare with that of the castle of Hassan in the Giaour.

"Forsaken stood the hall,

Worm ate the floors: the tapestry fled the wall.
No fire the kitchen's cheerless grate displayed;
No cheerful light the long closed sash conveyed;
The crawling worm that turns a summer fly,
Here spun his shroud and laid him up to die
The winter death; upon the bed of state,
The bat, shrill shrieking, woo'd his flickering mate;
To empty rooms the curious came no more,
From empty cellars turned the angry poor,
And surly beggars cursed the ever bolted door;
To one small room the steward found his way,
Where tenants followed to complain and pay."

All these detached fragments furnish a very imperfect idea of the picture of which they compose a part. I dare not, therefore, give extracts from the history of the old maid, with respect to whose virtue Mr. Crabbe permits a little trait of scandal to escape. The peasant Asliford obtains more free eulogium.

The misfortunes of Robin Dengley are related with a truly poetic pathos; the little rivalries of the midwife and Dr. Glibb follow. The minister concludes his list of the dead with the narrative of the funeral of Roger Cuff the marine; but the passing bell is still tolling-it is for him who has tolled it for so many others, it announces the death of the sexton. Old Dibble has been in the service of five rectors before Mr. Crabbe, who seizes the opportunity thus offered of connecting

their history with his own. The colours with which he depicts them are more piquant than charitable. But I forget that Mr. Crabbe does not celebrate imaginary heroes.

The Library and the Journal, published at the same time as the Village, are not less demonstrative of the talent of the poet. These two works are, indeed, exempt from the defects of the former; but on account of the subject, they display fewer striking passages. Two little pieces of Mr. Crabbe's deserve notice, Sir Eustace Grey and the Gipsey.

In Sir Eustace Grey, the author has depicted a man whose faults and misfortunes have plunged him into the most terrible madness, but gradually mitigated by a kind of enthusiastical devotion, which only constitutes another form of his mental malady. Sir Eustace himself is made, with admirable energy of language and sentiment, to give an account of his delirium; he imagines himself to be hurried away by the rapid flight of two evil genii, with whom he stops on an immense plain, the silence and immobility of which display a frightful contrast with the agitation of his soul. The idea which he endeavours to give of it exhibits one of the most original conceptions of eternity.

This poem and that of the Gypsey are written in octave rhymes, and remind one often of the rapid movements of the lyrical strophe. In the Gypsey, or the law court, Salle de Justice, the expression of remorse, and the discoveries of the miserable mother, excite emotions of pity as strong