ried round the world for twenty years longer; and is at last moved by an irresistible impulse, when old and shattered and lonely, to seek his native town, and the scene of his youthful vows. He comes and finds his Judith like himself in a state of widowhood, but still brooding, like himself, over the memory of their early love. She had waited twelve anxious years without tidings of him, and then married and now when all passion, and fuel for passion, is extinguished within them, the memory of their young attachment endears them to each other, and they still cling together in sad and subdued affection, to the exclusion of all the rest of the world. The history of the growth and maturity of their innocent love is beautifully given: but we pass on to the scene of their parting. "All things prepar'd, on the expected day Was seen the vessel anchor'd in the bay. From her would seamen in the evening come, To take th' advent'rous Allen from his home; With his own friends the final day he pass'd, And every painful hour, except the last. The grieving Father urg'd the cheerful glass, To make the moments with less sorrow pass; Intent the Mother look'd upon her son, And wish'd th' assent withdrawn, the deed The younger Sister, as he took his way, Hung on his coat, and begg'd for more delay; But his own Judith call'd him to the shore, Whom he must meet-for they might meet no more! The meeting of the lovers is briefly told. The once-fond Lovers met: Nor grief nor age. 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. undone;"There. hopeless ever to escape the land, He to a Spanish maiden gave his hand; 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 O'er the black stern the moonlight softly play'd, In cottage shelter'd from the blaze of day, 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 "And where is he? Ah! doubtless in those 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 youthful 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 pres 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."— "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 To fix his thoughts upon a better place.'"' - pp. 72, 73. Nothing can be more forcible or true to na ture, than the description of the effect of this cold-blooded cant on the warm and unsuspect ing nature of her disappointed suitor. "She ceased:-With steady glance, as if to see The very root of this hypocrisy,And bronz'd broad hand; then told her his regard, He her small fingers moulded in his hard His best respect were gone, but Love had still Hold in his heart, and govern'd yet the will-Or he would curse her!-Saying this, he threw The hand in scorn away, and bade adieu To every ling'ring hope, with every care in view. To some in power his troubles he confess'd, "In health declining as in mind distress'd, And shares a parish-gift. At prayers he sees The pious Dinah dropp'd upon her knees; Thence as she walks the street with stately air, As chance directs, oft meet the parted pair! Moves near her shaded silk of changeful hue; When he, with thickset coat of Badge-man's blue, When his thin locks of grey approach her braid (A costly purchase made in beauty's aid); When his frank air, and his unstudied pace, Are seen with her soft manner, air, and grace, And his plain artless look with her sharp meaning It might some wonder in a stranger move, How these together could have talk'd of love!" [face; 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 he feels the first pang of humiliation and disleave him with indifference to return to town, appointment; 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; Loose on the cherry hung the crimson leaf; The dew dwelt ever on the herb; the woods Roar'd with strong blasts, with mighty showers the floods; All green was vanish'd, save of pine and yew, Save the green holly with its berries red, The trying time that fill'd his soul with gloom; "The Frank Courtship," which is the next in order, is rather in the merry vein; and contains even less than Mr. Crabbe's usual moderate allowance of incident. The whole of the story is, that the daughter of a rigid Quaker, having been educated from home, conceives a slight prejudice against the ungallant manners of the sect, and is prepared to be very contemptuous and uncomplying when her father proposes a sober youth of the persuasion for a husband; but is so much struck with the beauty of his person, and the cheerful reasonableness of his deportment at their first interview, that she instantly yields her consent. There is an excellent description of the father and the unbending elders of his tribe; and some fine traits of natural coquetry. "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 : [bloom, Onward he went, and fiercer grew the heat, "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 features of the fine country are less the warning history and sensible exhortations perfectly drawn: But what, indeed, could be of a neighbouring widow, in whom she ex-made of the vulgar fine country of Englan ? pected to find a sentimental companion, to If Mr. Crabbe had had the good fortune to reconcile herself to all those abominations, live among our Highland hills, and lakes, and and marry a jolly young farmer in the neigh- upland woods-our living floods sweeping bourhood. The account of her horrors, on through forests of pine-our lonely vales and first coming down, is in Mr. Crabbe's best rough copse-covered cliffs; what a delicious style of Dutch painting--a little coarse, and picture would his unrivalled powers have enaneedlessly minute-but perfectly true, and bled him to give to the world!-But we have marvellously coloured. no right to complain, while we have such pic. tures 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. "Us'd to spare meals, dispos'd in manner pure, Again the country was enclos'd; a wide Sudden a look of languor he descries, Her blood-shot eyes on her unheeding mate [state, pp. 180-182. Then as the Friend repos'd, the younger Pair pp. 198, 199. The ultimate downfall of this lofty mind, "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 ing spirit, who, having secured the succession the romantic pride of his virtue. He then of a rich relation by assiduous flattery, looks seeks the company of the dissipated and gay; about for some obsequious and yielding fair and ruins his health and fortune, without re- one, from whom he may exact homage in his gaining his tranquillity. When in gaol, and turn. He thinks he has found such a one in miserable, he is relieved by an unknown hand; a lowly damsel in his neighbourhood, and and traces the benefaction to the friend whose marries her without much premeditation;former kindness he had so ill repaid. This when he discovers, to his consternation, not humiliation falls upon his proud spirit and only that she has the spirit of a virago, but shattered nerves with an overwhelming force; that she and her family have decoyed him and his reason fails beneath it. He is for into the match, to revenge, or indemnify some time a raving maniac; and then falls themselves for his having run away with the into a state of gay and compassionable im- whole inheritance of their common relative. becility, which is described with inimitable She hopes to bully him into a separate main beauty in the close of this story. We can tenance-but his avarice refuses to buy his afford but a few extracts. The nature of the peace at such a price; and they continue to Beductions which led to his first fatal lapse live together, on a very successful system of are well intimated in the following short pas mutual tormenting. sage: 51 "Jesse and Colin" pleases us much better. 21 2 Gave the sweet night-bird's warblings to the vale; pp. 240, 241. Jesse is the orphan of a poor clergyman, who | Blended with village-tones, the evening gale "The Struggles of Conscience," though visi. bly 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 pensive Colin in his garden stray'd, "The Mother sat beside the garden-door, The Matron ceas'd; and Colin stood the while 46 Of rattling wheels! and lo! the evening-coach; "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 bankhis wife bitterly and deeply resenting the ruptcy. He is reduced to utter beggary; and wrong he had done her, renounces all connection with him, and endures her own re |