The Sun.
London, England, 1834-07-15 00:00:00

LITERATURE.

THE LIFE AND WORKS OF THE REV.
GEORGE CRABBE.
Vol. VI. Murray, Albemarle-street, 1834.
The world never beheld a poet so true to nature, so rich
in fine benevolent feeling, yet so painful in the perusal, as
Crabbe. He not only knew, but anatomized the' heart ;
and as he lays it bare before us, we shrink abashed and mor-
tified at the sight of a picture of which we fancy we feel the
living original stirring within us. In the writings of all the
other Poets, however much we may be moved while read-
ing, we regain our composure by laying down the book,
and reflecting that such-and-such acts were perpetrated,
and sufferings were endured, under circumstances which in
all likelihood never can be ours ; but in Crabbe disappointed
guilt and misery overtake men in the ordinary walks of life,
many of them seemingly deserving of a better fate. In his
pages the tempest of passion is never raised, the madness of
frenzied feeling never bursts forth in uncontrollable fury ;
but we see care, and anxiety, and hopes half-buried in the
ashes of their own fires, huddled together, each emptying its
own corrosive phial into a heart bruised and broken by
afflictions, which seem suspended over the heads of all
mankind. It is that peculiarity in Crabbe's pictures of
life, which gives them so painful a character. The abdica-
tion or expulsion of Kings ; the decapitation of governors ;
the horrors of civil war ; the terrors of a field of battle ;
the misery of famine and the plague ; the pangs of divided
hearts ; are sufferings to which few are subject, and
therefore a description of them, however, vivid, merely
affects the imagination. But the workhouse opening
its gates to receive the aged is a knell to the sound of which
every bosom vibrates. When men are under the influence
of violent passions—when madness fires, and despair
blackens the heart, turning it into gall, and pouring out its
bitterness on society—the proportion between the cause
and effect is such as to give us no uneasiness about
the dignity of man, as we think we can trace in the
magnitude of his errors the mightiness of an im-
mortal spirit. But how painfully different are the im-
pressions made upon us by a view of the little meannesses,
the petty deceptions, the low subterfuges, and the paltry
excuses of which the best men are often equally guilty with
the worst ? Crabbe does not seize the heart, and hold it
forth lacerated and bleeding, with an appeal to our sympa-
thies ; nor does he present it to us in its fierce writhings,
that we may watch its workings : he gently raises the bo-
som's veil, and sitting down before it marks its hidden
springs, its secret movements, its gradual sinkings, from
meanness to error, from, error to vice, and from vice to in-
famy.

The volume before us begins with the " Tales of the
Hall" the most agreeable in design of all Crabbe's poetical
works. It is ornamented with two fine pictorial engravings,
by Finden, from the pencil of Stanfield—the one a com-
manding view of Belvoir Castle, and the other of Beccles
Church. The eminence on which the castle stands, is well
delineated, nor could any thing be more natural than the
grouping of the deer in the foreground. To give our favourite
passages in the book, would be to give the whole of it ; but
as there may be among our readers some who have
never seen any of Crabbe's poetry, we quote two passages,
the first the winding up of the history of an unfortunate
child of genius which wants nothing but a name to make
it true of hundreds who perish annually in the " Maelstrom"
of a metropolis ; and the other the earliest counsels of a
prudent matron to a daughter who never profited by,
them :

My father dying, to my mother left
An infant charge, of all things else bereft ;
Poor, but experienced in the world, she knew
What others did, and judged what she could do;
Beauty she justly weigh'd, was never blind
To her own interest, and she read mankind :
She view'd my person with approving glance,
And judged the way my fortune to advance :
Taught me betimes that person to improve,
And make a lawful merchandise of love ;
Bade me my temper in subjection keep,
And not permit my vigilance to sleep ;
I was not one, a miss, who might presume
Now to be crazed by mirth, now sunk in gloom;
Nor to be fretful, vapourish, or give way
To spleen and anger as the wealthy may ;
But I must please, and all I felt of pride,
Contempt, and hatred, I must cast aside.
Have not one friend," my mother cried, " not one ;
That bane of our romantic triflers shun ;
Suppose her true, can she afford you aid?
Suppose her false, your purpose is betray'd;
And then in dubious points, and matters nice,
How can you profit by a child's advice ?
While you are writing on from post to post,
Your hour is over, and a man is lost ;
Girls of their hearts are scribbling ; their desires,
And what the folly of the heart requires,
Dupes to their dreams—but I the truth impart,
You cannot, child, afford to have a heart ;
Think nothing of it; to yourself be true,
And keep life s first great business in your view ;
Take it, dear Martha, for a useful rule,
She who is poor is ugly or a fool ;
Or, worse than either, has a bosom filled
With soft emotions, and with raptures thrilled.
" Read not too much, nor write in verse or prose,
For then you make the dull and foolish foes ;
Yet those who do, deride not nor condemn,
It is not safe to raise up foes in them ;
For though they harm you not, as blockheads do,
There is some malice in the scribbling crew."
" Such her advice : full hard with her had dealt
The word, and she the usage keenly felt."
" Keep your good name," she said ; " and that to keep,
You must not suffer vigilance to sleep :
Some have, perhaps, the name of chaste retain'd,
When nought of chastity itself remain'd ;
But there is danger—few have means to blind
The keen-eyed world, and none to make it kind.
" And one thing more—to free yourself from foes,
Never a secret to your friend disclose ;
Secrets with girls, like loaded guns with boys,
Are never valued till they make a noise ;
To show how trusted, they their power display;
To show how worthy, they the trust betray ;
Like pence in children's pockets secrets lie
In female bosons—they must burn or fly.
" Let not your heart be soften'd ; if it be,
Let not the man his softening influence see ;
For the most fond will sometimes tyrants prove,
And wound the bosom where they trace_the lore.
But to your fortune look, on that depend
For your life's comforts, comforts that attend
On wealth alone—wealth gone, they have their end."
There are hundreds of young ladies to whom these ma.
vernal maxims are far from being new :
" Years passed away, and where he lived, and how,
Was then unknown—indeed we know not now ;
But once at twilight walking up and down,
In a poor alley of the mighty town,
Where, in her narrow courts, and garrets, hide
The grieving sons of Genius, Want, and Pride,
I met him musing: sadness I could trace
And conquered hope's meek anguish in his face.
See him I must ; but I with ease address'd,
And neither pity nor surprise express'd ;
I strove both grief and pleasure to restrain,
But yet I saw that I was giving pain.
He said, with quick'ning pace, as loth to hold
A longer converse, that the day was cold,
That he was well, that I had scarcely light
To aid my steps,' and bade me then good night T.
" I saw him next where he had lately come,
A silent pauper in a crowded room ;
I heard his name, but he conceal'd his face,
To his sad mind his misery was disgrace ;
In vain I strove to combat his disdain
Of my compassion--' Sir, I pray, refrain;'
For I had left my friends, and stepp'd aside,
Because I fear'd his unrelenting pride.
" He then was sitting on a workhouse-bed,
And on the naked boards reclined his head,
Around were children with incessant cry,
And near was one, like him, about to die ;
A broken chair's deal bottom held the store
That he required—he soon would need no more ;
A yellow tea-pot, standing at his side,
From its half-spout the cold black tea supplied.
" Hither, it seem'd, the fainting man was brought,
Found without food,—it was no longer sought:
For his employers knew not whom they paid,
Nor where to seek him whom they wished to aid:
Here brought, some kind attendant he addreas'd,
And sought some trifles which he yet possess'd;
Then named a lightless closet, in a room
Hired at small rate, a garret's deepest gloom ;
They sought the region, and they brought him all
That he his own, his proper wealth, could call :
• A better coat, less pieced; some linen neat,
Not whole ; and papers, many a valued sheet ;
Designs and drawings ; these, at his desire,
Were placed before him at the chamber fire,
And while th' admiring people stood to gaze,
He, one by one, committed to the blaze,
Smiling in spleen ; but one he held awhile,
And gave it to the flames, and could not smile."

HUME AND SMOLLETT'S HISTORY OF
ENGLAND.
Vol. VI. London, A. J. Valpy, M.A., 1834.
This volume begins with a dissertation on the state of
Europe on the accession of James L, and brings us down
to the journey of his successor, the unfortunate Charles,
into Scotland. It is well got up, and when completed will
range with Murray's Byron, and Colburn's Standard No-
vels. The present volume is embellished with four fine
engravings, representing the entry of James I. into Lon-
don, executed by 'Warren, from a painting of Stothard'6;

the prevention of the emigration of Cromwell, by the sa-
tne
artist, from a piece by Tresham ; and portraits of Jamb
s
and Charles—the former by Freeman, from.
Vans°lll,rhe
picture ; and the latter from a pOrtrait by Vandyke. ';'o.
engravings are well executed ; and as a whole the work
fleets great credit on the publishers.