Poetical works: Preface to the tales:
' ; ' WN*:; WBmm %m M . O ^•"-.' 'l^i'.-'iK I B ■ w m •3v //// •■ < 7 ' 7 N ! ■ m 1 1 3> 1 ^ 1 ' M 1 $ mm Ha ^i". Jl'i' ^'■■.■4 ■sHafc THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES I GEORGE CM.AB r-s. Y)..fv Wa n'C j Ta M yJ 'r, H ttf | 7 1 & U JW U HI a jfj rj p , j J 3 ! . , ^ -^ _ ^4 v) n fen peJ 2T< '(0 X, t . V, 17, S B •: CAkl.' i' GEORGE CRABBE'S ^aetiral Sfifata: PREFACE TO THE TALES: LIFE A. C. CUNNINGHAM ESQ. [Ihtfitratiflttsf. LONDON: CHARLES DALY. 17, GREVILLE STREET, HATTON GARDEN. LONDON. 3. DAVY AND SONS, PRINTERS, ]37, LONG ACEB. / CONTENTS. PAGE. Life of Crabbe iii Pklface to the Taxes xii TALES. I. The Dumb Orators; or, the Benefit of Society 1 II. The Parting Hour 12 III. The Gentleman Farmer 23 IV. Procrastination 35 V. The Patron 43 VI. The Frank Courtship 59 VII. The Widow's Tale 70 VIII. The Mother 80 IX. Arabella 88 X. The Lover's Journey 96 XL Edward Shore 104 XII. 'Squire Thomas; or, the Precipitate Choice 115 XIII. Jesse and Colin 124 XIV. The Struggles of Conscience 136 XV. Advice; or, The 'Squire and the Priest 147 XVI. The Confidant 157 XVII. Resentment 170 XVIII. The Wager 181 XIX. The Convert 188 XX. The Brothers 198 XXI. The Learned Boy 207 POEMS. THE LIBRARY 221 THE VILLAGE. In two Books. Book 1 236 II 244 THE NEWSPAPER 249 THE PARISH REGISTER. In Three Parts. Part I. Baptisms 260 II. Marriages 279 III. Burials 292 a 2 1.S07S2-1 IV CONTENTS. PAGE. THE BOROUGH. In Twenty-four Letters. Letter I. General Description 313 II. The Church 320 III. The Vicar— the Curate, etc 326 IV. Sects and Professions in Religion 334 V. The Election 346 VI. Professions — Law 351 VII. Professions — Physic 359 VIII. Trades 366 IX. Amusements 371 X. Clubs and Social Meetings 378 XI. Inns 387 XII. Players 394 XIII. The Alms-house and Trustees 402 XIV. Life of Blaney 409 XV. Inhabitants of the Alms-house. Clelia... 414 XVI. Inhabitants of the Alms-house. Benbow 419 XVII. The Hospital and Governors 425 XVIII. The Poor and their Dwellings 43 1 XIX. The Poor of the Borough. The Parish Clerk 440 XX. The Poor of the Borough. Ellen Orford 447 XXI. The Poor of the Borough. Abel Keene. . 454 XXII. The Poor of the Borough. Peter Grimes 461 XXIII. Prisons 469 XXIV. Schools 477 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The Birth of Flattery 489 Reflections 497 Sir Eustace Grey 499 The Hall of Justice, Part 1 509 Part II 512 Woman 515 Inebriety; a Poem 517 LIFE OF CRABBE. George Crabbe was born at Aldhorough, a small coast town in Suffolk, on the' 24th of December, 1754. His family was obscure, but in competent circumstances — the result of industry and application, and of an aptness lor business, which appears to have characterized the race in general. The grandfather of the Poet, who, as far as any genealogical record has determined, was the founder of the race, was at one time engaged in the service of the Government in tbe department of the Customs. The majority of the Poet's brothers em- barked in a seafaring career — in every case with success, but, nevertheless, with somewhat untoward issue. The Poet himself, who was the eldest of his generation, had, oddly enough for the son of a man who could barely read, or who had only been partly self-educated, a preference for learning rather than for physical em- ployments, especially such as coast- cruising. At a very early age George Crabbe was accordingly despatched to school, at a place called Bungay, in order that this lite- rary predisposition, which the father had not failed to observe, might have a fair opportunity of being developed ; where, however, it was very nearly smothered by the exemplary method of punishment reserved by the illus- trious pedagogue of the Bungay " Establishment for Young Gentlemen," From this academy young Crabbe was removed to one of greater pretensions, when about twelve years old; and under his second tutor, he certainly appears to have acquired considerable attainment. The natural bent which constituted a poetical turn of mind, with his lively susceptibility, tenderness of heart, simplicity of thought, and correctness of ear, soon as- sumed the trammels with the music of verse, and he had already perpetrated many a doggrel distich, and even many a creditable effusion. But the object of his enrol- ment in the - second academy was more especially to qualify him for medical honours. It had been determined to bring him up as a surgeon, and, accordingly, upon leaving this school, he was bound in apprenticeship to a country practitioner. But this was not effected without the lapse of one of those indefinite, indeterminate intervals Yl LIFE OF CKABBE. of idleness, or of favourite pursuit, which often seive tc stamp and consolidate the character for good or for evil, and to determine the subsequent career; and it is not unlikely that many of the minor pieces winch have heen bequeathed to the world as emanating from the pen of Crabbe, may be attributed to this interval, notwith- standing the obnoxious warehouse occupations in which his father employed him from time to time, until, in 1768 (that is, when 14 years old), he was duly apprenticed to a surgeon at an insignificant village near Bury St. Ed- mund's. The sense of desolation which seems to have accompanied him when removed from home is a circum- stance which serves to illustrate the homely, domesticated, gentle tenor of his character. Notwithstanding the agree- ment which had been entered into with the sm-geon who was Oabbe's first professional master, — inasmuch as the young Poet was rather employed as a species of errand- boy and servant of all work than as a medical student ; and as no indenture had regularly and effectually bound him to this master, — he was, three years later, removed to the care of a surgeon at Woodbridge, to complete his articles: and it was during this portion of his medical apprenticeship that he contracted an intimate acquain- tance with Miss Sarah Elmy, a young lady of a similarly literary turn of mind. This acquaintance, which soon assumed the most tender character, gave a new impulse to his versifying predilection. To this period may be traced the multitude of pieces addressed to " Mira"; and it was about the same time that he went so far as to venture upon the publication of his first printed poem, viz. " Inebriety," which was produced at Ipswich. Hitherto, however, we have only had occasion to men- tion Crabbe in the half-imaginary — visionary — cloudy — > bitter-sweet period of boyhood; and the real life of his career, with its cares, chagrins, crosses, vexations, disappointments, energies, &c, may be dated from about 1775, when he had completed his twentieth year, and when he also completed his apprenticeship. It was then that he returned to Aldborough, in the hope that his father would be able and willing to despatch him to the metropolis, there to complete his professional courses. But the elder Crabbe had not means to devote to such a purpose, and, however reluctantly, was compelled to find work in the warehouse for his son, to the infinite disgust of the now refined and delicate George. The consequence was, that the Poet resolved to fling himself upon the world, and to trust to his individual resources. By sonio means he gathered funds wherewith to proceed to LIFE OF CRABBE. \U London, with the object of further pursuing the study of medicine ; and, after a sojourn of from six to eight months, in which his scanty means were completely exhausted, he returned to Aldborough with no very bright prospects and anticipations, but shortly contriyed to secure a very uneasy situation as assistant.to a Mr. Maskill, a surgeon and apothecary of that town. Maskill shortly afterwards left Aldborough, however, to establish himself else where, and poor Crabbe was then driven to attempt the estab- lishment of a business of his own. The study of botany, which had become with hhn the favourite sister-sport of poesy, now turned to his disadvantage, when it should, in reason, have been most useful; and his predilection for rambles in the world of imagination, conjured before a heated fancy, and encouraged by the latent flame of passion which impelled him in his hopeless pursuit of independence, was no less injurious to the prospects of the professional man. He had, moreover, to overcome the established consideration of a very skilful competitor, without having either accurate medical knowledge, skill, or confidence, to recommend him; and with the excep- tion of the winters of 1778 and 1789, when two militia regiments were successively quartered at Aldborough, during which time he managed to secure some practice, his first independent professional career at Aldborough may be said to have been a complete failure. The reciprocal kindness and tenderness which sub- sisted between Crabbe and Sarah Elmy was, however, always present to lend buoyancy and bright hope when his spirits failed. On the one hand she was received and kindly entertained by his father and mother, and she — his own Sarah — was by his bed-side, to tend and nurse him during the whole course of a dangerous illness which attacked him. The little attention or praise received by his first published poem had for some time damped his poetic ardour, but circumstances of peculiar tenderness, as the mortification wore off, re- vived the latent flame; and, as he gradually seceded from his distasteful profession of medicine, study, and classical study in particular, became more exclusively his occupation. But there was a deep and growing uneasiness in his rnind at the humiliating and dependent position in which his circumstances retained him; and there was also an elevated consciousness of superior capacity, which urged him on to some serious venture; and thus it was that, in the close of the year 1779, notwithstanding his father's remonstrances, he resolved to hazard a literary life in the Vlii LIFE OF CRABBE. metropolis, and to trust to his talents alone for future livelihood, and as the only prospect of constructing for himself a moderate fortune, such as woidd enable him to marry and settle in life with some prospect of compe- tency. But in this project, again, he appeared likely to bo foiled, for his friends could not muster enough to equip and despatch bun; and in this dilemma he actually wrote to Mr. Dudley North, — whose connexion with Aid- borough consisted in the fact that his brother was at that time a candidate for the representation of the Borough, — to request a temporary loan. The request was so ex- traordinary, and was made with so much reason and modesty, that Mr. North's subsequent account of the transaction is, that he assented without " a second thought." It is certain that he promptly remitted five pounds, a sum of some consequence in those days, and that, after discharging a few small claims, and making a few provisions, Crabbe embarked in a coasting vessel for London, with about three pounds and some wearing appa- rel as his sole patrimony; and with a selection of his desultory productions in MS. as his only credentials. There was, however, one consolatory circumstance which was destined to relieve the intense desolation of his position. Mrs. Burcham, the wife of a linen-draper in Coruhill, had been the early associate and intimate friend of Miss Elmy, and her house was thrown open to him whenever he was willing to avail himself of its hos- pitality. Wherefore, having taken lodgings close to the Exchange, as was the custom of the time, he resorted to a neighbouring tavern, the meeting-place of several toiling but equally poor men of talent, where he became acquainted with Bonnycastle of mathematical fame, and with Mr. Bar- row, whose subsequent services in the employment of the East India Company established a merited reputation. With the conversation of such acquaintances, and occasional country rambles, diversified with botanical or entomological researches, or devoted to classical study, and with the more regular record of his thoughts in verse, he whiled away his time, until, in 1780, he published his poem called the "Candidate"; but, unfortunately, the poem did not make much way, and the Ihilure of the publisher, Mr. Payne of Pall Mall, completed the disaster, and left poor Crabbe penniless, to make fruitless appli- cations for relief to Lord North and Lord Shelbourne in succession, and afterwards also to the Lord Chancellor Tliurlow, with no better success. Erom these repulses he would return for consolation to the journal of his own doings, tenderly dedicated to Sarah Elmy, under the fic- titious name of Mini." LIFE OF CRABBE. IX la 1781, however, in the extremity of distress, and or rhe point of being immured in a debtor's prison, poo Crabbe made one more vigorous effort, which, like that of Bruce, resulted in success. He applied in a long, touching, sensible and deprecatory letter to Edmund Burke, the hero of all that was generous, lofty and clas- sical ; and, perhaps to his own surprise that so great a man should have had leisure to consider his petition, he was immediately taken by the hand, — rescued from misery, — became the inmate of Beaconsfield (Burke's favourite country residence and farm), and the admired associate of Burke, Charles J. Fox, Sir Joshua Reynolds, and many of the most illustrious literary men of the day. Crabbe had already a desire to take holy orders, to which also Burke seemed to consider him peculiarly well adapted ; and by dint of exerting his own influence, com- bined with that of Mr. Long aud Mr. North, the Bishop of Norwich, Dr. Yonge, was induced to overlook the lack of regular academical courses, The circle in which Burke moved was now as much that of Crabbe also. At the house of Sir Joshua Reynolds our Poet met with Dr. Johnson, upon whom the pure, nervous, undecorated tenor of his writings made much impression. Crabbe was also the especial favourite of Mrs. Burke and her niece, and as the winter season and town residence re- turned, the Poet took adjacent lodgings, and formed one of the family party at table. The publication of " The Library" now established Crabbe's reputation, and his influential friends exerted themselves to the utmost to promote its sale. On the 21st of December, 1781, however, after having submitted to an examination, in which he acquitted him- self with honour, Crabbe was didy ordained by the Bishop of Norwich, and licensed as Curate to the Rector of the Parish Church of Aldborough (Mr. Bennett.) A circum- stance which for a time removed him from the circle of his eminent patrons and friends to the less gorgeous, but more sweet and pleasing scenes of his home, his youth, his patrimony, and his love. How pure, how gratifying, how noble, must have been the sentiments of conscious, successful and consecrated rectitude to the once poor, abandoned, profitless exile, on first re-entering the home, the haunts, and the threshold which had last seen him eo, as an honoured and honourable man ! What must have been the tender, gentle and silent, but proud appreciation and gratification of his true friends and of Miss Elmy in particular! But there was one bitter draught to alloy so much sweetness; his mother, — X LIl'E OF CRABBE. the tender, loving, doating mother, — whom he had left already a prey to care aud disease, was now no more! At least there was not her bright, exulting and com- mending glance to greet him. Very shortly after his appointment to the Curacy of Aldborough (in 1782), George Crabbe was again smn- moned from home by a flattering letter from Burke, in which this constant patron informed the young Clergy- man and Poet, that he had secured for him the private Chaplaincy to the Duke of Rutland, and that that noble- man was prepared to receive and install him iu his new office at Belvoir Castle. It must be admitted, however, that notwithstanding the distinguished patronage and the hopes of preferment which he enjoyed, and notwith- standing moreover, the kind consideration and familiar partiality which the Duke manifested towards him, the reserve, ceremony, and all the trammels of a noble es- tablishment, were little in accordance with the retiring inclinations and simple habits of the new Chaplain. It was here, however, that he made the acquaintance of many men of influence and eminence, with whom he ever ingratiated himself by his simplicity and goodness of heart, and by his unassuming demeanour. Amongst such personages may be mentioned in particular, the Duke of Queensberry, the Bishop of Llandaff (Dr. Wat- son), Dr. Glynn, the Marquis of Lothian, &c. It was quite at the close of the year 1782, or rather at the beginning of 1783, when the family of the Duke of Rutland proceeded to London for the parliamentary season, that " The Village " was completed, — the MS. of which was first entrusted to Dr. Johnson for perusal and revision, being afterwards published in the month of May of the latter year, and which at last rewarded his toil, by securing a really popular reputation. The next incidents which characterised his life, were his entry on the boards of Trinity College, Cambridge, by the intercession of Dr. Watson, to graduate without residence; an invitation from Lord Thurlow, at whose entertainment he received the livings of Evershot and Frome St. Quintin, (both small), in Dorsetshire; and his consequent application for the honorary degree of Bache- lor of Laws, from tho Archbishop of Canterbury, who readily conferred the honour, and thereby qualified him at once for his benefices. The Duke of Rutland being nominated as Lord-Lieu- tenant of Ireland at the close of the year 1783, and Crabbe being little qualified to assume any high ecclesi- astical dignity, or being disinclined to remove to too great LIFE OF CRABBE. XI B distance from Miss Elmy, or, consequently, to follow his noble patron to Ireland, the Chaplaincy now ceased, with every promise of preferment from the Duke, as soon as any worthy living in his gift should fall vacant. His means were now adequate ta sustain a family in comfort, and therefore the great era winch had heeii the beacon in all his sufferings and difficulties shone brightly upon him, in the early expectation of consummating all his hopes of domestic happiness. It was in December, 1783, that the marriage of George Crabbe to Sarah Elmy was duly solemnized at Beccles; and it was not long before Mr. and Mrs. Crabbe availed themselves of the Duke of Rutland's kind invitation to reside at Belvoir during his absence, and until they had some fixed abode. It was at Belvoir that the first (a still-born) child was delivered; and soon after this occurrence, they removed to the Vicarage of Strathern, near Belvoir, where Crabbe had undertaken to officiate as Curate, and where another child (who survived) was born in 1785, and another again in 1787, and a daughter (who did not survive many months) again in 1789. During this period we find Crabbe once more appearing amongst the literary men of his day, at least by his pub- lications, however secluded, domesticated and private might have been his social life. It- was in 1785 that he published " The Newspaper," which, like " The Library," was received with considerable approbation in literary circles. In the meanwhile, his chief literary productions had consisted of contributions to magazines. After this period, however, he totally secluded himself from the world, and confined his whole attention to his family and to his cures, until the appearance of the " Parish Register" in 1806, revived the recollection of him as a former can- didate for literary laurels. As it may not be superfluous to touch upon the salient points of the private history of our author, during the retirement of his domesticated career, we may mention amongst other incidents, that in 1792 he returned with his wife and family into Suffolk, to re-visit Parham, — the former scene of his courtship, — and the home of his earlier days. But he indeed found Parham sadly altered. Mr. Tovell, his former rough, but hearty and considerate friend, had expired; and he was succeeded by Mrs. Crabbe's mother and a maidenly sister, with no hope of inheritors; so that by the latter Crabbe and his wife were looked upon as interlopers, for the simple reason that they were the next nearest relations of the late proprietor of a hanoome estate, which this maiden aunt could only Xll LIFE OF CRABBE enjoy for her own natural life, and then only in partici- pation with the mother in law and grandmother of the heirs presumptive. During Crabbe's residence at Parham, his chief, neigh- bour and one of his best friends was Mr. Dudley North, at whose house he was frequently entertained in common with many of the most illustrious men of the day, and by whom he was treated with very marked consideration. About this time also he undertook to officiate as Curate at Great Glemham and at Sweffling; and in the early part of the Spring of 1796, the Poet had to deplore the loss of one of his children (viz. his third son) to all of whom he was most dearly attached. A negotiation set on foot with Mr. Hatchard the publisher, in 1799, for the production of a number of Poetical Tales, was .thrown aside at the instance of Crabbe's judicious friend and adviser Mr. Richard Turner, the Rector of Sweffling. In 1801 Crabbe removed with his family to Glemham, and in the Summer of 1802 he re- visited Muston, for the last time. The residence at Muston renewed the old associations, and revived the slumbering activity of the Poet's fancy and pen ; and the publication of the " Parish Register" re-opened a kind of public coi*respondence with many eminent writers, amongst whom was Mr. Scott, afterwards Sir Walter Scott. His induction as Minister of Trowbridge on the 3rd of June, 1814, led to a new change of residence. The presentation of this living was the fulfilment of the last promise made by his great patron, the previous Duke of Rutland, executed in just observance of the former noble- man's word. Crabbe's latent poetical inclination seems to have been revived, as well indeed as his predilection for the natural sciences. At this period he especially de- voted himself to the investigation of fossils. In 1817 and 1818, the Poet devoted his whole at- tention to the progress of the last work of any conse- quence which he bequeathed to the world, namely the " Tales of the Hall," which was accordingly published by Murray in 1819, after the publisher had given £3,000. for the copyright of all of Mr. Crabbe's Works then in circulation. During the latter periods of his literary labours, Crabbe is desci-ibed as having become less easily abstracted, and consequently compelled to devote the tranquil hours of night to his toil, and to have become less precise in his personal cleanliness, a merit which had hitherto remarkably distinguished him. He appears also to have resorted to very copious snuff taking, to stimulate his less active faculties, and latterly he seems to have been LIFE OF CRABEE. Xl'ii a prey to acute nervous suffering, probably induced by diminished rest and strained application. Alter the publi- cation of the " Tales of the Hall," we have little further occasion to notice the works of Crabbe; his advanced age had by this time rendered him still less capable of toil, and as years began to weigh upon his constitution, we may recognise the Poet rather as a veteran, honoured for good deeds past, respected for the purity of his cha- racter, admired for the lofty independance, scrupulous morality, and Christian benevolence of his principles, and courted, perhaps, as much because he had been the asso- ciate of great men, and could convey anecdotes of illus- trious personages, and would seem to honour a drawing- room by representing the illustrious there, as for the very decided and distinctive merit of his works. We may meet with him as the acquaintance, companion, or friend of Sir Walter Scott, Lockhart, Jeffrey, Leslie, Bowles, Moore, and of many noblemen recognised as the patrons of letters; and we may pursue him, rather on excursions of pleasure, or in quest of health, than as heretofore, — and in his early days — on fortune-hunting adventures, or in the research of nature, art and learning. Such continued to be the habits and occupations of Crabbe until the close of the year 1831 and the opening of 1832, when his health, already failing, was precipitately broken by a severe cold, dated about the 26th of January. The illness which followed was too severe to be of long duration, especially with a man of such advanced age; and early in the morning on the 3rd of February, he breathed his last, after a calm, resigned and placid interval. It is rare that any man " is a prophet in his own country;" and it is still more rare that a rustic population can appreciate the merits of a man like Crabbe, whose talents and acquirements were rather of the classical than of the popular order. But it must be recollected that there are humbler virtues and high Christian qualifications which win the heart, where genius fails to strike the in- telligence; and it is certainly amongst the purest tributes to the good qualities of Crabbe, that his parishioners were the first to record their admiration of him, by raising funds amongst themselves for the erection of a worthy monument to his memory. PREFACE TO THE TALES. That the appearance of the present work before the public is occasioned by a favourable reception of the former, I hesitate not to acknowledge ; because, while the confession may be regarded as some proof of gratitude, or at least of attention, from an author to his readers, it ought not to be considered as an indication of vanity. But were it true that something of the complacency of self-approbation would insinuate itself into an author's mind with the idea of success, the sensation would not be that of unalloyed pleasure; it would perhaps assist him to bear, but it would not enable him to escape, the mor- tification he must encounter from censures, which, though he may be unwilling to admit, yet he finds himself unable to confute; as well as from advice, which at the same time that he cannot but approve, he is compelled to reject. There has been recommended to me an unity of subject, and that arrangement of my materials which connects the whole and gives additional interest to every part; in fact, if not an Epic Poem, strictly so denominated, yet such composition as would possess a regular succession of events, and a catastrophe to which every incident should be subservient, and which every character, in a greater or less degree, should conspire to accomplish. In a Poem of this nature, the principal and inferior characters in some degree resemble a general and his army, where no one pursues his peculiar objects and ad- ventures, or pursues them in unison with the movements and grand purposes of the whole body. But if these characters which seemed to be at my dis- posal were not such as would coalesce into one body, nor were of a nature to be commanded by one mind, so neither on examination did they appear as an unconnected mul- titude, accidentally collected, to be suddenly dispersed ; but rather beings ol whom might be formed groups and 62 PREFACE XV smaller societies, the relations of whose adventures and pursuits might bear that kind of similitude to an Heroic Poem, which these minor associations of men have in points of connection and importance with a regular and disciplined army. Allowing this comparison, it is manifest that, while much is lost for want of unity of subject and grandeur of design, something is gained by greater variety of incident and more minute display of character, by accuracy of de- scription and diversity of scene. In one continued and connected poem, the reader is, in general, ln'ghly gratified or severely disappointed ; by many independent naiTatives, he has the renovation of hope, although he has been dissatisfied, and a prospect of reiterated pleasure, should he find himself entertained. It may probably be remarked, that Tales, however dis- similar, might have been connected by some associating circumstance to which the whole number might bear equal affinity, and that examples of such union are to he found in Chaucer, in Boccace, and other collectors and inventors of Tales, which, considered in themselves, are altogether independent ; and to this idea I gave so much considera- tion as convinced me that I coidd not avail myself of the benefit of such artificial mode of affinity. The attempt at union, therefore, has been relinquished, and these relations are submitted to the public, connected by no other circumstance than their being the productions of the same author, and devoted to the same purpose, the entertainment of his readers. It has been already acknowledged, that these composi- tions have no pretensions to be estimated with the more lofty and heroic kind of jioems; but I feel great reluctance in admitting, that they have not a fair and legitimate claim to the poetic character; and I trust something more of the poetic character will be allowed to the succeeding pages, than what the heroes of the Dunciad might share with the author: nor was I aware that, by describing, as faith- fully as I could, men, manners, and things, I was for- feiting a just title to a name which bas been freely granted to many, whom to equal, and even to excel, is but very stinted commendation. In this case it appears, that the usual comparison be- tween Poetry and Painting entirely fails : the artist who takes an accurate likeness of individuals, or a faithful representation of scenery, may not rank so high in the public estimation as one who paints an historical event, or an heroic action ; but he is nevertheless a painter, and his accuracy is so far from diminisliiug bis reputation, XVI PREFACE. tint it procures for liirn in general both fame and emolu- ment: nor is it perhaps with strict justice determined that the credit and reputation of those verses which strongly and faithfully delineate character and manners, should be lessened in the opinion of the public by the very accuracy which gives value and distinction to the productions of the pencil. All that kind of satire wherein character is skilfully delineated must (this criterion being allowed) no longer be esteemed as genuine poetry ; and for the same reason many affecting narratives which are founded on real events, and borrow no aid whatever from the imagination of the writer, must likewise be rejected. _ These things considered, an author will find comfort in his expulsion from the rank and society of Poets, by reflecting that men much his superiors are likewise shut out, and more especially when he finds also that men not much liis superiors are entitled to admission. But, in whatever degree I may venture to differ from any others in my notions of the qualifications and charac- ter of the true Poet, I most cordially assent to their opinion who assert, that his principal exertions must be made to engage the attention of his readers ; and furtner, I must allow that the effect of poetry should be to lift the mind from the painful realities of actual existence, from its every-day concerns, and its perpetually-occurring vexations, and to give it repose by substituting objects in their place which it may contemplate with some degree of interest and satisfaction : but, what is there in all this, which may not be effected by a fair representation of ex- isting character? Fiction itself, we know, and every work of fancy, must for a time have the effect of realities. Having thus far presumed to claim for the ensuing pages the rank and title of poetry, I attempt no more, nor venture to class or compare them with any other kinds of poetical composition; their place will doubtless be found for them. TALE I. THE DUMB ORATORS; OB, THE BENEFIT OF SOCIETT. With fau round belly, with good capon lined, With eyes severe — Full of wise saws aud modern instances. — As You Like It. That all men would be cowards if they dare, Some men we know have courage to declare ; And this the life of many a hero shows, That, like the tide, man's courage ebbs and flows: With friends and gay companions round them, then Men boldly speak and have the hearts of men ; Who, with opponents seated, miss the aid Of kind applauding looks, and grow afraid ; Like timid travelers in the night, they fear Th' assault of foes, when not a friend is near. In contest mighty, and of conquest proud. Was Justice Bolt, impetuous, warm, and loud; His fame, his prowess all the country knew, And disputants, with one so fierce, were few : He was a younger son, for law design'd, With dauntless look and persevering mind; While yet a clerk, for disputation famed, No eflbrts tired him, and no conflicts tamed. Scarcely he bade his master's desk adieu, When both his brothers from the world withdrew. An ample fortune he from them possess'd, And was with saving care and prudence bless'd. Now would he go and to the country give Example how an English 'squire should live; How bounteous, yet how frugal man may be By a well-order'd hospitality; He would the rights of all so well maintain, That none should idle be, and none complain. All tbis and more he purposed — and what man Could do, he did to realize his plan: B 2 THE DUMB ORATORS. But time convinced him that we cannot keep A breed of reasoners like a flock of sheep; For they, so far from following as we lead, Make that a cause why they will not proceed. Man will not follow where a rule is shown, But loves to take a method of his own ; Explain the way with all your care and skill, This will he quit, if but to prove he will. — Yet had our Justice honour — and the crowd, Awed by his presence, their respect avow'd. In later years he found his heart incline, More than in youth, to gen'rous food and wine; But no indulgence check'd the powerful love He felt to teach, to argue, and reprove. Meetings, or public calls, he never miss'd — To dictate often, always to assist, Oft he the clergy join'd, and not a cause Pertain'd to them but he could quote the laws; He upon tithes and residence display'd A fund of knowledge for the hearer's aid; And could on glebe and farming, wool and grain A long discourse, without a pause, maintain. To his experience and his native sense He join'd a bold imperious eloquence ; The grave, stern look of men inform'd and wise, A full command of feature, heart and eyes, An awe-compelling frown, and fear-inspiring size. When at the table, not a guest was seen With appetite so lingering, or so keen ; But when the outer man no more required, The inner waked, and he was man inspired, His subjects then were those, a subject true Presents in fairest form to public view; Of church and state, of law, with mighty strength Of words he spoke, in speech of mighty length : And now, into the vale of years declined, He hides too little of the monarch-mind : He kindles anger by untimely jokes, And opposition by contempt provokes; Mirth he suppresses by his awful frown, And humble spirits, by disdain, keeps down; Blamed by the mild, approved by the severe, The prudent fly him, and the valiant fear. For overbearing is his proud discourse, And overwhelming of his voice the force ; And overpowei-ing is he when he shows What floats upon a mind that always overflows. This ready man at every meeting rose, Something to hint, determine, or propose; THE DUMB OEATOKS. And grew so fond of teaching, that be taught Those who instruction needed not or sought : Happy our hero, when he could excite Some thoughtless talker to the wordy fight : Let him a subject at his pleasure choose, Physic or law, religion or the muse; On all such themes he was prepared to shine, — Physician, poet, lawyer, and divine. Hemm'd in by some tough argument, borne down By press of language and the awful frown, In vain for mercy shall the culprit plead ; His crime is past, and sentence must proceed : All ! suffering man, have patience, bear thy woes— For lo ! the clock — at ten the Justice goes. This powerful man, on business, or to please A curious taste, or weary grown of ease, On a long journey travell'd many a mile Westward, and halted midway in our isle; Content to view a city large and fair, Though none had notice — what a man was there ! Silent two days, he then began to long Again to try a voice so loud and strong; To give his favourite topics some new grace, And gain some glory in such distant place ; To reap some present pleasure, and to sow Seeds of fan fame, in after-time to grow : Here will men say " We heard, at such an hour, The best of speakers — wonderful his power." Inquiry made, he found that day would meet A learned club, and in the very street : Knowledge to gain and give, was the design; To speak, to hearken, to debate, and dine: This pleased our traveller, for he felt his force In either way, to eat or to discourse. Nothing more easy than to gain access To men like these, with his polite address: So he succeeded, and first look'd around, To view his objects and to take his ground; And therefore silent chose awhile to sit, Then enter boldly by some lucky hit; Some observation keen or stroke severe, To cause some wonder or excite some fear. Now, dinner past, no longer he supprest His strong dislike to be a silent guest ; Subjects and words were now at his command — When disappointment frown'd on all he plann'd; For, hark ! — he heard amazed, on every side, His church insulted and her priests belied; b2 * THE DITMB ORATORS. The laws reviled, the ruling power abused, The land derided, and its foes excused: — He heard and ponder' d — What, to men so vile, Should be his language? — For his tlireat'ning style, They were too many; — if his speech were meek, They would despise such poor attempts to speak: At other times with every word at will, He now sat lost, perplex'd, astonish'd, still. Here were Socinians, Deists, and indeed All who, as foes to England's church, agreed; But still with creeds unlike, and some without a creed : Here, too, fierce friends of liberty he saw, "Who own'd no prince and who obey no law ; There were reformers of each different sort, Foes to the laws, the priesthood, and the court; Some on their favourite plans alone intent, Some purely angry and malevolent : The rash were proud to blame their country's laws; The vain, to seem supporters of a cause; One eall'd for change, that he would dread to see ; Another sighed for Gallic liberty ! And numbers joining with the forward crew, For no one reason — hut that numbers do. 