SQUIRE GEORGE'S HISTORY.

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duce these narrative brothers and their Hall a little more particularly to our readers. The history of the elder and more austere is not particularly probable-nor very interesting; but it affords many passages extremely characteristic of the author. He was a spoiled child, and grew up into a youth of a romantic and contemplative turn-dreaming, in his father's rural abode, of divine nymphs and damsels all passion and purity. One day he had the good luck to rescue a fair lady from a cow, and fell desperately in love:-Though he never got to speech of his charmer, who departed from the place where she was on a visit, and eluded the eager search with which he pursued her, in town and country, for many a long year: For this foolish and poetical passion settled down on his spirits; and neither time nor company, nor the business of a London banker, could effect a diversion. At last, at the end of ten or twelve years for the fit lasted that unreasonable time-being then an upper clerk in his uncle's bank, he stumbled upon his Dulcinea in a very unexpected way - and a way that no one but Mr. Crabbe would either have thought of-or thought of describing in verse. In short, he finds her established as the chère amie of another respectable banker! and after the first shock is over, sets about considering how he may reclaim her. The poor Perdita professes penitence; and he offers to assist and support her if she will abandon her evil The following passage is fraught with a deep and a melancholy knowledge of character and of human

courses.

nature.

"She vow'd she tried!

-

Alas! she did not know

How deeply rooted evil habits grow!

She felt the truth upon her spirits press,
But wanted ease, indulgence, show, excess;
Voluptuous banquets: pleasures - not refined,

But such as soothe to sleep th' opposing mind-
She look'd for idle vice, the time to kill,
And subtle, strong apologies for ill;
And thus her yielding, unresisting soul,

Sank, and let sin confuse her and control:

Pleasures that brought disgust yet brought relief,

And minds she hated help'd to war with grief."— vol. i. p. 163.

360

CRABBE

CAPTAIN RICHARD.

As her health fails, however, her relapses become less frequent; at and last shedies, grateful and resigned. Her awakened lover is stunned by the blow - takes seriously to business and is in danger of becoming avaricious; when a severe illness rouses him to higher thoughts, and he takes his name out of the firm, and, being turned of sixty, seeks a place of retirement.

66

He chose his native village, and the hill

He climb'd a boy had its attraction still;

With that small brook beneath, where he would stand,
And, stooping, fill the hollow of his hand,

To quench th' impatient thirst- then stop awhile

To see the sun upon the waters smile,

In that sweet weariness, when, long denied,
We drink and view the fountain that supplied
The sparkling bliss and feel, if not express,
Our perfect ease, in that sweet weariness.

"The oaks yet flourish'd in that fertile ground,
Where still the church with lofty tower was found;
And still that Hall, a first, a favourite view," &c.

The Hall of Binning! his delight a boy,
That gave his fancy in her flight employ;
Here, from his father's modest home, he gaz'd,
Its grandeur charm'd him, and its height amaz'd :—
Now, young no more, retired to views well known,
He finds that object of his awe his own;

The Hall at Binning! - how he loves the gloom
That sun-excluding window gives the room;

P. 4-6.

Those broad brown stairs on which he loves to tread; Those beams within; without, that length of lead, On which the names of wanton boys appear, Who died old men, and left memorials here, Carvings of feet and hands, and knots and flowers, The fruits of busy minds in idle hours."- vol. i. So much for Squire George -unless any reader should care to know, as Mr. Crabbe has kindly told, that "The Gentleman was tall," and, moreover, "Looked old when followed, but alert when met." Of Captain Richard, the story is more varied and rambling. He was rather neglected in his youth; and passed his time, when a boy, very much, as we cannot help supposing, Mr. Crabbe must have passed his own. He ran wild in the neighbourhood of a seaport, and found occupation enough in its precincts.

SEAPORT PICTURES.

Where crowds assembled I was sure to run,
Hear what was said, and muse on what was done;
Attentive list'ning in the moving scene,

And often wond'ring what the men could mean.

"To me the wives of seamen loved to tell

What storms endanger'd men esteem'd so well;
What wondrous things in foreign parts they saw,
Lands without bounds, and people without law.

"No ships were wreck'd upon that fatal beach,
But I could give the luckless tale of each;
Eager I look'd, till I beheld a face
Of one dispos'd to paint their dismal case;
Who gave the sad survivors' doleful tale,
From the first brushing of the mighty gale
Until they struck! and, suffering in their fate,
I long'd the more they should its horrors state;
While some, the fond of pity, would enjoy
The earnest sorrows of the feeling boy.

"There were fond girls, who took me to their side
To tell the story how their lovers died!

They praised my tender heart, and bade me prove
Both kind and constant when I came to love!"

361

Once he saw a boat upset; and still recollects enough to give this spirited sketch of the scene.

"Then were those piercing shrieks, that frantic flight,
All hurried! all in tumult and affright!

A gathering crowd from different streets drew near,
All ask, all answer none attend, none hear!

"O! how impatient on the sands we tread,
And the winds roaring, and the women led!
They know not who in either boat is gone,
But think the father, husband, lover, one.

"And who is she apart? She dares not come
To join the crowd, yet cannot rest at home:
With what strong interest looks she at the waves,
Meeting and clashing o'er the seamen's graves!
"Tis a poor girl betroth'd a few hours more,
And he will lie a corpse upon the shore!
One wretched hour had pass'd before we knew
Whom they had saved! Alas! they were but two!
An orphan'd lad and widow'd man no more!
And they unnoticed stood upon the shore,
With scarce a friend to greet them widows view'd
This man and boy, and then their cries renew'd.'

He also pries into the haunts of the smugglers, and makes friends with the shepherds on the downs in summer; and then he becomes intimate with an old sailor's wife, to whom he reads sermons, and histories, and jest books, and hymns, and indelicate ballads! The character of this woman is one of the many examples of talent and labour misapplied. It is very powerfully, and, we doubt not, very truly drawn-but it will attract few readers. Yet the story she is at last brought to tell of her daughter will command a more general interest.

"Ruth
I may tell, too oft had she been told !—
Was tall and fair, and comely to behold;
Gentle and simple, in her native place
Not one compared with her in form or face;
She was not merry, but she gave our hearth
A cheerful spirit that was more than mirth.
"There was a sailor boy, and people said
He was, as man, a likeness of the maid;
But not in this for he was ever glad,

While Ruth was apprehensive, mild, and sad.'

They are betrothed- and something more than betrothed—when, on the eve of their wedding-day, the youth is carried relentlessly off by a press-gang; and soon after is slain in battle!— and a preaching weaver then woos, with nauseous perversions of scripture, the loathing and widowed bride. This picture, too, is strongly drawn; - but we hasten to a scene of far more power as well as pathos. Her father urges her to wed the missioned suitor; and she agrees to give her answer on Sunday.

"She left her infant on the Sunday morn,

-

A creature doom'd to shame! in sorrow born.
She came not home to share our humble meal,
Her father thinking what his child would feel
From his hard sentence ! Still she came not home.
The night grew dark, and yet she was not come!
The east-wind roar'd, the sea return'd the sound,
And the rain fell as if the world were drown'd:
There were no lights without, and my good man, .
To kindness frighten'd, with a groan began
To talk of Ruth, and pray! and then he took
The Bible down, and read the holy book;

HUMBLE AND TRUE PATHOS.

For he had learning: and when that was done
We sat in silence - whither could we run

We said and then rush'd frighten'd from the door,
For we could bear our own conceit no more:

We call'd on neighbours - there she had not been;
We met some wanderers- ours they had not seen:
We hurried o'er the beach, both north and south,
Then join'd, and wander'd to our haven's mouth:
Where rush'd the falling waters wildly out,

I scarcely heard the good man's fearful shout,
Who saw a something on the billow ride,
And Heaven have mercy on our sins! he cried,
It is my child! - and to the present hour
So he believes and spirits have the power!

"And she was gone! the waters wide and deep
Roll'd o'er her body as she lay asleep!

She heard no more the angry waves and wind,
She heard no more the threat'ning of mankind;
Wrapt in dark weeds, the refuse of the storm,
To the hard rock was born her comely form!

"But O! what storm was in that mind! what strife,
That could compel her to lay down her life!
For she was seen within the sea to wade,
By one at distance, when she first had pray'd;
Then to a rock within the hither shoal,
Softly, and with a fearful step, she stole;
Then, when she gain'd it, on the top she stood
A moment still — and dropt into the flood!
The man cried loudly, but he cried in vain,—
She heard not then she never heard again!

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Richard afterwards tells how he left the sea and entered the army, and fought and marched in the Peninsula; and how he came home and fell in love with a parson's daughter, and courted and married her; — and he tells it all very prettily,— and, moreover, that he is very happy, and very fond of his wife and children.— But we must now take the Adelphi out of doors; and let them introduce some of their acquaintances. Among the first to whom we are presented are two sisters, still in the bloom of life, who had been cheated out of a handsome independence by the cunning of a speculating banker, and deserted by their lovers in consequence of this calamity. Their characters are drawn with infinite skill and minuteness, and their whole story told with