"No merit thine, no virtue, hope, belief, "Nothing hast thou, but misery, sin, and grief; "The best, the only titles to relief.'

"What must I do,' I said, ' my soul to free?'"Do nothing, man; it will be done for thee.' "But must I not, my reverend guide, be

lieve?'

"If thou art call'd, thou wilt the faith receive.' "But I repent not.'-Angry he replied, "If thou art call'd, though needest nought beside: "Attend on us, and if 't is Heaven's decree, "The call will come,-if not, ah! woe for thee.'

"There then I waited, ever on the watch, "A spark of hope, a ray of light to catch; "His words fell softly like the flakes of snow, "But I could never find my heart o'erflow: "He cried aloud, till in the flock began "The sigh, the tear, as caught from man to man; "They wept and they rejoiced, and there was I "Hard as a flint, and as the desert dry:

"To me no tokens of the call would come,

66

I felt my sentence, and received my doom; "But I complain'd- Let thy repinings cease, "Oh! man of sin, for they thy guilt increase; "It bloweth where it listeth ;-die in peace.' "In peace, and perish?' I replied; impart "Some better comfort to a burthen'd heart.' "Alas!' the priest return'd, 6 can I direct "The heavenly call?-Do I proclaim th' elect? "Raise not thy voice against th' Eternal will, "But take thy part with sinners, and be still.*

2 In a periodical work [the Eclectic Review for June, 1810,] the preceding dialogue is pronounced to be a most abominable caricature, if meant to be applied to Calvinists in general, and greatly distorted, if designed for an individual; now the author, in his preface, has declared, that he takes not upon him the censure of any sect or society for their opinions; and the lines themselves evidently point to an individual, whose sentiments they very fairly represent, without any distortion whatsoever. In a pamphlet entitled A Cordial for a Sindespairing Soul,' originally written by a teacher of religion, and lately republished by another teacher of greater notoriety, the reader is informed that after he had full assurance of his salvation, the Spirit entered particularly into the subject with him; and, among many other matters of like nature, assured him that "his sins were fully and freely forgiven, as if they had never been committed; not for any act done by him, whether believing in Christ, or repenting of sin; nor vet for the sorrows and miseries he endured, nor for any service he should be called upon in his militant state, but for his own name and for his glory's sake," &c. And the whole drift and tenour of the book is to the same purpose, viz. the uselessness of all religious duties, such as prayer, contrition, fasting, and good works: he shows the evil done by reading such books as the Whole Duty of Man,' and the Practice of Piety,' and complains heavily of his relation, an Irish bishop, who wanted him to join with the household in family prayer; in fact, the whole work inculcates that sort of quietism which this dialogue alludes to, and that without any recommendation of attendance on the teachers of the Gospel, but rather holding forth encouragement to the supineness of man's nature; by the information that he in vain looks for acceptance by the

The Father of Peter a Fisherman-Peter's early ConductHis Grief for the old Man-He takes an Apprentice-The Boy's Suffering and Fate-A second Boy: how he diedPeter acquitted-A third Apprentice-A Voyage by Sea: the Boy does not return-Evil Report on Peter : he is tried and threatened-Lives alone-His Melancholy and incipient Madness-Is observed and visited-He escapes and is taken is lodged in a parish-house: Women attend and watch him-He speaks in a Delirium : grows more collected -His Account of his Feelings and visionary Terrors previous to his Death.

:

OLD Peter Grimes made fishing his employ, His wife he cabin'd with him and his boy, And seem'd that life laborious to enjoy :

employment of his talents, and that his hopes of glory are rather extinguished than raised by any application to the means of grace.

3 It has been a subject of greater vexation to me than such trifle ought to be, that I could not, without destroying all appearance of arrangement, separate these melancholy narratives, and place the fallen Clerk in Office at a greater distance from the Clerk of the Parish, especially as they resembled each other in several particulars; both being tempted, seduced, and wretched. Yet are there, I conceive, considerable marks of distinction: their guilt is of different kind; nor would either have committed the offence of the other. The Clerk of the Parish could break the commandment, but he could not have been induced to have disowned an article of that creed for which he had so bravely contended, and on which he fully relied; and the upright mind of the Clerk in Office would have secured him from being guilty of wrong and robbery, though his weak and vacillating intellect could not preserve him from infidelity and profaneness. Their melancholy is nearly alike, but not its consequences. Jachin retained his belief, and though he hated life, he could never be induced to quit it voluntarily; but Abel was driven to terminate his misery in a way which the unfixedness of his religious opinions rather accelerated than retarded. I am, therefore, not without hope, that the more observant of my readers will perceive many marks of discrimination in these characters.

1 [The original of Peter Grimes was an old fisherman of

To town came quiet Peter with his fish,
And had of all a civil word and wish.
He left his trade upon the Sabbath-day,
And took young Peter in his hand to pray:

But soon the stubborn boy from care broke loose,
At first refused, then added his abuse:
His father's love he scorn'd, his power defied,
But being drunk, wept sorely when he died.

Yes! then he wept, and to his mind there came Much of his conduct, and he felt the shame,— How he had oft the good old man reviled, And never paid the duty of a child; How, when the father in his Bible read, He in contempt and anger left the shed: "It is the word of life," the parent cried; "This is the life itself," the boy replied. And while old Peter in amazement stood, Gave the hot spirit to his boiling blood:How he, with oath and furious speech, began To prove his freedom and assert the man; And when the parent check'd his impious rage, How he had cursed the tyranny of age,Nay, once had dealt the sacrilegious blow On his bare head, and laid his parent low; The father groan'd-" If thou art old," said he, "And hast a son-thou wilt remember me: "Thy mother left me in a happy time, "Thou kill'dst not her-Heav'n spares the double crime."

On an inn-settle, in his maudlin grief, This he revolved, and drank for his relief.

Now lived the youth in freedom, but debarr'd From constant pleasure, and he thought it hard; Hard that he could not every wish obey, But must awhile relinquish ale and play; Hard! that he could not to his cards attend, must acquire money

With greedy eye he look'd on all he saw, He knew not justice, and he laugh'd at law; On all he mark'd, he stretch'd his ready hand; He fish'd by water and he filch'd by land: Oft in the night has Peter dropp'd his oar, Fled from his boat, and sought for prey on shore; Oft up the hedge-row glided, on his back Bearing the orchard's produce in a sack, Or farm-yard load, tugg'd fiercely from the stack; And as these wrongs to greater numbers rose, The more he look'd on all men as his foes.

He built a mud-wall'd hovel, where he kept His various wealth, and there he oft-times slept; But no success could please his cruel soul, He wish'd for one to trouble and control; He wanted some obedient boy to stand And bear the blow of his outrageous hand; And hoped to find in some propitious hour A feeling creature subject to his power.

Peter had heard there were in London then,Still have they being!-workhouse-clearing men,

Aldborough, while Mr. Crabbe was practising there as a surgeon. He had a succession of apprentices from London, and a certain sum with each. As the boys all disappeared under

Who, undisturb'd by feelings just or kind, Would parish-boys to needy tradesmen bind: They in their want a trifling sum would take, And toiling slaves of piteous orphans make.

Such Peter sought, and when a lad was found, The sum was dealt him, and the slave was bound. Some few in town observed in Peter's trap A boy, with jacket blue and woollen cap; But none inquired how Peter used the rope, Or what the bruise that made the stripling stoop; None could the ridges on his back behold, None sought him shiv'ring in the winter's cold; None put the question,-Peter, dost thou give "The boy his food?-What, man! the lad must live:

"Consider, Peter, let the child have bread, "He'll serve thee better if he's stroked and fed." None reason'd thus-and some, on hearing cries, Said calmly, "Grimes is at his exercise."

Pinn'd, beaten, cold, pinch'd, threaten'd, and abused

His efforts punish'd and his food refused,—
Awake tormented,-soon aroused from sleep,—
Struck if he wept, and yet compell'd to weep,
The trembling boy dropp'd down and strove to pray
Received a blow, and trembling turn'd away,
Or sobb'd and hid his piteous face ;-while he,
The savage master, grinn'd in horrid glee:
He'd now the power he ever loved to show,
A feeling being subject to his blow.

Thus lived the lad, in hunger, peril, pain,
His tears despised, his supplications vain :
Compell'd by fear to lie, by need to steal,
His bed uneasy and unbless'd his meal,
For three sad years the boy his tortures bore,
And then his pains and trials were no more.

"How died he, Peter?" when the people said, He growl'd-" I found him lifeless in his bed;" Then tried for softer tone, and sigh'd, "Poor Sam is dead."

Yet murmurs were there, and some questions ask'd

How he was fed, how punish'd, and how task'd? Much they suspected, but they little proved, And Peter pass'd untroubled and unmoved.

Another boy with equal ease was found, The money granted, and the victim bound; And what his fate?-One night it chanced he fell From the boat's mast and perish'd in her well, Where fish were living kept, and where the boy (So reason'd men) could not himself destroy:—

"Yes! so it was," said Peter, "in his play, "(For he was idle both by night and day,) "He climb'd the main-mast and then fell below;"

Then show'd his corpse, and pointed to the blow. "What said the jury?"-they were long in doubt, But sturdy Peter faced the matter out:

circumstances of strong suspicion, the man was warned by some of the principal inhabitants that if another followed in like manner, he should certainly be charged with murder.]

Passive he labour'd, till his slender frame Bent with his loads, and he at length was lame: Strange that a frame so weak could bear so long The grossest insult and the foulest wrong; But there were causes-in the town they gave Fire, food, and comfort, to the gentle slave; And though stern Peter, with a cruel hand, And knotted rope, enforced the rude command, Yet he consider'd what he'd lately felt, And his vile blows with selfish pity dealt.

One day such draughts the cruel fisher made, He could not vend them in his borough-trade, But sail'd for London-mart: the boy was ill, But ever humbled to his master's will; And on the river, where they smoothly sail'd, He strove with terror and awhile prevail'd; But new to danger on the angry sea, He clung affrighten'd to his master's knee: The boat grew leaky and the wind was strong, Rough was the passage and the time was long; His liquor fail'd, and Peter's wrath arose,No more is known-the rest we must suppose, Or learn of Peter:-Peter says, he "spied "The stripling's danger and for harbour tried; "Meantime the fish, and then th' apprentice died."

The pitying women raised a clamour round, And weeping said, "Thou hast thy 'prentice

drown'd."

Now the stern man was summon'd to the hall, To tell his tale before the burghers all: He gave th' account; profess'd the lad he loved, And kept his brazen features all unmoved.

The mayor himself with tone severe replied,"Henceforth with thee shall never boy abide; "Hire thee a freeman, whom thou durst not beat, "But who, in thy despite, will sleep and eat: "Free thou art now!-again shouldst thou appear, "Thou 'lt find thy sentence, like thy soul, severe.".

Alas! for Peter not a helping hand, So was he hated, could he now command;

2 The reaches in a river are those parts which extend from point to point. Johnson has not the word precisely in this seuse; but it is very common, and, I believe, used wheresoever a navigable river can be found in this country. ["A

Alone he row'd his boat, alone he cast

His nets beside, or made his anchor fast:
To hold a rope or hear a curse was none,-
He toil'd and rail'd; he groan'd and swore alone.

Thus by himself compell'd to live each day, To wait for certain hours the tide's delay; At the same time the same dull views to see, The bounding marsh-bank and the blighted tree; The water only, when the tides were high, When low, the mud half cover'd and half-dry; The sun-burnt tar that blisters on the planks, And bank-side stakes in their uneven ranks; Heaps of entangled weeds that slowly float, As the tide rolls by the impeded boat.

When tides were neap, and, in the sultry day, Through the tall bounding mud-banks made their

way,

Which on each side rose swelling, and below
The dark warm flood ran silently and slow;
There anchoring, Peter chose from man to hide,
There hang his head, and view the lazy tide
In its hot slimy channel slowly glide;
Where the small eels that left the deeper way
For the warm shore, within the shallows play;
Where gaping muscles, left upon the mud,
Slope their slow passage to the fallen flood;—
Here dull and hopeless he 'd lie down and trace
How sidelong crabs had scrawl'd their crooked

race,

Or sadly listen to the tuneless cry

Of fishing gull or clanging golden-eye;
What time the sea-birds to the marsh would come,
And the loud bittern, from the bull-rush home,
Gave from the salt ditch side the bellowing boom:
He nursed the feelings these dull scenes produce,
And loved to stop beside the opening sluice;
Where the small stream, confined in narrow bound,
Ran with a dull, unvaried, sadd'ning sound;
Where all, presented to the eye or ear,
Oppress'd the soul with misery, grief, and fear.

Besides these objects, there were places three, Which Peter seem'd with certain dread to see; When he drew near them he would turn from each,

And loudly whistle till he pass'd the reach.2

A change of scene to him brought no relief, In town, 't was plain, men took him for a thief: The sailors' wives would stop him in the street, And say, "Now, Peter, thou'st no boy to beat:" Infants at play when they perceived him, ran, Warning each other-"That's the wicked man: He growl'd an oath, and in an angry tone Cursed the whole place and wish'd to be alone.

Alone he was, the same dull scenes in view, And still more gloomy in his sight they grew: Though man he hated, yet employ'd alone At bootless labour, he would swear and groan,

reach is the line or distance comprehended between any two points, or stations, on the banks of a river, wherein the current flows in a straight uninterrupted course, as Woolwich Reach," &c.-BURNEY.]

Cursing the shoals that glided by the spot, And gulls that caught them when his arts could not.

Cold nervous tremblings shook his sturdy frame, And strange disease-he couldn't say the name; Wild were his dreams, and oft he rose in fright, Waked by his view of horrors in the night,— Horrors that would the sternest minds amaze, Horrors that demons might be proud to raise : And though he felt forsaken, grieved at heart, To think he lived from all mankind apart; Yet, if a man approach'd, in terrors he would start.

A winter pass'd since Peter saw the town, And summer lodgers were again come down; These, idly curious, with their glasses spied The ships in bay as anchor'd for the tide,The river's craft,-the bustle of the quay,— And sea-port views, which landmen love to see.

One, up the river, had a man and boat Seen day by day, now anchor'd, now afloat; Fisher he seem'd, yet used no net nor hook; Of sea-fowl swimming by no heed he took, But on the gliding waves still fix'd his lazy look: At certain stations he would view the stream, As if he stood bewilder'd in a dream,

Or that some power had chain'd him for a time, To feel a curse or meditate on crime.

This known, some curious, some in pity went, And others question'd-" Wretch, dost thou repent?"

He heard, he trembled, and in fear resign'd
His boat: new terror fill'd his restless mind;
Furious he grew, and up the country ran,
And there they seized him-a distemper'd man :-
Him we received, and to a parish-bed,
Follow'd and cursed, the groaning man was led.

Here when they saw him, whom they used to shun,

A lost, lone man, so harass'd and undone;
Our gentle females, ever prompt to feel,
Perceived compassion on their anger steal;
His crimes they could not from their memories
blot,

But they were grieved, and trembled at his lot.

A Priest too came, to whom his words are told; And all the signs they shudder'd to behold.

"Look! look!" they cried; "his limbs with horror shake,

"And as he grinds his teeth, what noise they make!

"How glare his angry eyes, and yet he's not awake:

"See! what cold drops upon his forehead stand, "And how he clenches that broad bony hand."

The Priest attending, found he spoke at times As one alluding to his fears and crimes; "It was the fall," he mutter'd, "I can show "The manner how,-I never struck a blow:"And then aloud,-" Unhand me, free my chain; "On oath he fell-it struck him to the brain :

"Why ask my father?-that old man will swear "Against my life; besides, he wasn't there: "What, all agreed?-Am I to die to-day?"My Lord, in mercy give me time to pray."

Then as they watch'd him, calmer he became, And grew so weak he couldn't move his frame, But murmuring spake-while they could see and hear

The start of terror and the groan of fear;
See the large dew-beads on his forehead rise,
And the cold death-drop glaze his sunken eyes:
Nor yet he died, but with unwonted force
Seem'd with some fancied being to discourse:
He knew not us, or with accustom'd art
He hid the knowledge, yet exposed his heart;
'T was part confession and the rest defence,
A madman's tale, with gleams of waking sense.

"I'll tell you all," he said, "the very day "When the old man first placed them in my way: 66 My father's spirit-he who always tried "To give me trouble, when he lived and died"When he was gone he could not be content "To see my days in painful labour spent, "But would appoint his meetings, and he made "Me watch at these, and so neglect my trade.

66

"T was one hot noon, all silent, still, serene, "No living being had I lately seen; "I paddled up and down and dipp'd my net, "But (such his pleasure) I could nothing get,"A father's pleasure, when his toil was done, To plague and torture thus an only son! "And so I sat and look'd upon the stream, "How it ran on, and felt as in a dream: "But dream it was not: No!-I fix'd my eyes "On the mid stream and saw the spirits rise: "I saw my father on the water stand, "And hold a thin pale boy in either hand; "And there they glided ghastly on the top "Of the salt flood, and never touch'd a drop: "I would have struck them, but they knew th' intent,

"And smiled upon the oar, and down they went.

3

"In their pale faces, when they glared at me: "Still they did force me on the oar to rest, "And when they saw me fainting and oppress'd, "He with his hand, the old man, scoop'd the flood, "And there came flame about him mix'd with blood;

"He bade me stoop and look upon the place, "Then flung the hot-red liquor in my face "Burning it blazed, and then I roar'd for pain, "I thought the demons would have turn'd my brain.

4 The character of Grimes, his obduracy and apparent want of feeling, his gloomy kind of misanthropy, the progress of his madness, and the horrors of his imagination, I must leave to the judgment and observation of my readers. The mind here exhibited is one untouched by pity, unstung by remorse, and uncorrected by shame; yet is this hardihood of temper and spirit broken by want, disease, solitude, and disappointment: and he becomes the victim of a distempered and horror-stricken fancy. It is evident, therefore, that no feeble vision, no half-visible ghost, not the momentary glance of an unbodied being, nor the half-audible voice of an invisible one, would be created by the continual workings of distress on a mind so depraved and flinty. The ruffian of Mr. Scott* has a mind of this nature; he has no shame or remorse, but the corrosion of hopeless want, the wasting of unabating disease, and the gloom of unvaried solitude, will have their effect on every nature; and the harder that nature is, and the

"Where the flood open'd, there I heard the shriek
"Of tortured guilt-no earthly tongue can speak :
"All days alike! for ever!' did they say,
"And unremitted torments every day'.
"Yes, so they said "-But here he ceased, and
gazed

On all around, affrighten'd and amazed;
And still he tried to speak, and look'd in dread
Of frighten'd females gathering round his bed;
Then dropp'd exhausted, and appear'd at rest,
Till the strong foe the vital powers possess'd;
Then with an inward, broken voice he cried,
Again they come!" and mutter'd as he died.*

The Mind of Man accommodates itself to all Situations; Prisons otherwise would be intolerable-Debtors: their different kinds: three particularly described; others more briefly-An arrested Prisoner: his Account of his Feelings and his Situation-The Alleviations of a Prison-Prisoners for Crimes -Two condemned: a vindictive Female: a Highwayman-The Interval between Condemnation and Execution-His Feelings as the Time approaches-His Dream.

"T IS well-that Man to all the varying states
Of good and ill his mind accommodates;
He not alone progressive grief sustains,
But soon submits to unexperienced pains:

longer time required to work upon it, so much the more strong and indelible is the impression. This is all the reason I am able to give, why a man of feeling so dull should yet become insane, and why the visions of his distempered brain should be of so horrible a nature.

1 [" Trust me, no tortures which the poets feign,
Can match the fierce, the unutterable pain
He feels, who, night and day, devoid of rest,
Carries his own accuser in his breast."-GIFFORD.]

2 That a Letter on Prisons should follow the narratives of such characters as Keene and Grimes is unfortunate, but not to be easily avoided. I confess it is not pleasant to be detained so long by subjects so repulsive to the feelings of many as the sufferings of mankind; but, though I assuredly would have altered this arrangement, had I been able to have

was a sordid soul,

Such as does murder for a meed; Who, but of fear, knows no control, Because his conscience, sear'd and foul, Feels not the import of his deed; One whose brute feeling ne'er aspires Beyond his own more brute desires.-MARMION.