reaang; but it is written with very unusual power of language, and shows M:. Crabbe to have great mastery over the tragic passions of pity and horror. The volume closes with some verses of no great value in praise of Women. We part with regret from Mr. Crabbe; but we hope to meet with him again. If his muse, to be sure, is prolific only once in twenty-four years, we can scarcely expect to live long enough to pass judgment on her future pro geny: But we trust, that a larger portion of public favour than has hitherto been dealt to him will encourage him to greater efforts; and that he will soon appear again among the worthy supporters of the old poetical estab lishment, and come in time to surpass the revolutionists in fast firing, as well as in weight of metal. (April, 1810.) The Borough: a Poem, in Twenty-four Letters. By the Rev. GEORGE CRABBE, LL. B. 8vo. pp. 344. London: 1810. We are very glad to meet with Mr. Crabbe so soon again; and particularly glad to find, that his early return has been occasioned, in part, by the encouragement he received on his last appearance. This late spring of public favour, we hope, he will yet live to see ripen into mature fame. We scarcely know any poet who deserves it better; and are quite certain there is none who is more secure of keeping with posterity whatever he may win from his contemporaries. The present poem is precisely of the character of The Village and The Parish Register. It has the same peculiarities, and the same faults and beauties; though a severe critic might perhaps add, that its peculiarities are more obtrusive, its faults greater, and its beauties less. However that be, both faults and beauties are so plainly produced by the peculiarity, that it may be worth while, before giving any more particular account of it, to try if we can ascertain in what that consists. And here we shall very speedily discover, that Mr. Crabbe is distinguished from all other poets, both by the choice of his subjects, and by his manner of treating them. All his persons are taken from the lower ranks of life; and all his scenery from the most ordinary and familiar objects of nature or art. His characters and incidents, too, are as common as the elements out of which they are compounded are humble; and not only has he nothing prodigious or astonishing in any of his representations, but he has not even attempted to impart any of the ordinary colours of poetry to those vulgar materials. He has no moralising swains or sentimental tradesmen; and scarcely ever seeks to charm us by the artless graces or lowly virtues of his personages. On the contrary, he has represented his villagers and humble burghers as altogether as dissipated, and more dishonest and discontented, than the profligates of higher life; and, instead of conducting us through blooming groves and pastoral meadows, has 'ed us along filthy lanes and crowded wharfs, to hospitals, alms-houses, and gin-shops. In some of these delineations, he may be considered as the Satirist of low life-an occupation sufficiently arduous, and, in a great detree, new and original in our language. But by far the greater part of his poetry is of a different and a higher character; and aims at moving or delighting us by lively, touching, and finely contrasted representations of the dispositions, sufferings, and occupations of those ordinary persons who form the far greater part of our fellow-creatures. This, too, he has sought to effect, merely by placing before us the clearest, most brief, and most striking sketches of their external conditionthe most sagacious and unexpected strokes of character-and the truest and most pathetic pictures of natural feeling and common suffering. By the mere force of his art, and the novelty of his style, he forces us to attend to objects that are usually neglected, and to enter into feelings from which we are in general but too eager to escape;-and then trusts to nature for the effect of the representation. It is obvious, at first sight, that this is not a task for an ordinary hand; and that many ingenious writers, who make a very good figure with battles, nymphs, and moonlight landscapes, would find themselves quite helpless, if set down among streets, harbours, and taverns. The difficulty of such subjects, in short, is sufficiently visible-and some of the causes of that difficulty: But they have their advantages also;-and of these, and their hazards, it seems natural to say a few words, before entering more minutely into the merits of the work before us. The first great advantage of such familia subjects is, that every one is necessarily wel acquainted with the originals; and is there. fore sure to feel all that pleasure, from faithful representation of them, which results from the perception of a perfect and success. ful imitation. In the kindred art of painting. we find that this single consideration has been sufficient to stamp a very high value upon accurate and lively delineations of objects, in themselves uninteresting, and even disagree able; and no very inconsiderable part of the pleasure which may be derived from Mr Crabbe's poetry may probably be referred to its mere truth and fidelity; and to the brevity and clearness with which he sets before his readers, objects and characters with which they have been all their days familiar. In his happier passages, however, he has a higher merit, and imparts a far higher gratification. The chief delight of poetry consists, not so much in what it directly supplies to the imagination, as in what it enables it to supply to itself-not in warming the heart by its passing brightness, but in kindling its own latent stores of light and heat;-not in hurrying the fancy along by a foreign and accidental impulse, but in setting it agoing, by touching its internal springs and principles of activity. Now, this highest and most delightful effect can only be produced by the poet's striking a note to which the heart and the affections naturally vibrate in unison;-by rousing one of a large family of kindred impressions; by dropping the rich seed of his fancy upon the fertile and sheltered places of the imagination. But it is evident, that the emotions connected with common and familiar objects-with objects which fill every man's memory, and are necessarily associated with all that he has ever really felt or fancied, are of all others the most likely to answer this description, and to produce, where they can be raised to a sufficient height, this great effect in its utmost perfection. It is for this reason that the images and affections that belong to our universal nature, are always, if tolerably represented, infinitely more captivating, in spite of their apparent commonness and simplicity, than those that are peculiar to certain situations, however they may come recommended by novelty or grandeur. The familiar feeling of maternal tenderness and anxiety, which is every day before our eyes, even in the brute creation and the enchantment of youthful love, which is nearly the same in all characters, ranks, and situations-still contribute far more to the beauty and interest of poetry than all the misfortunes of princes, the jealousies of heroes, and the feats of giants, magicians, or ladies in armour. Every one can enter into the former set of feelings; and but a few into the latter. The one calls up a thousand familiar and long-remembered emotionswhich are answered and reflected on every side by the kindred impressions which experience or observation have traced upon every memory: while the other lights up but a transient and unfruitful blaze, and passes away without perpetuating itself in any kindred and native sensation. Now, the delineation of all that concerns the lower and most numerous classes of society, is, in this respect, on a footing with the pictures of our primary affections-that their originals are necessarily familiar to all men, and are inseparably associated with their own most interesting impressions. Whatever may be our own condition, we all live surrounded with the poor, from infancy to age-we hear daily of their sufferings and misfortunes;and their toils, their crimes, or their pastimes, are our hourly spectacle. Many diligent readers of poetry know little, by their own experience, of palaces, castles, or camps; and still less of tyrants, warriors, and banditti;but every one understands about cottages, streets, and villages; and conceives, pretty correctly, the character and condition of sail ors, ploughmen, and artificers. If the poet can contrive, therefore, to create a sufficient interest in subjects like these, they will infal libly sink deeper into the mind, and be more prolific of kindred trains of emotion, than subjects of greater dignity. Nor is the difficulty of exciting such an interest by any means so great as is generally imagined. For it is common human nature, and common human feelings, after all, that form the true source of interest in poetry of every description ;— and the splendour and the marvels by which it is sometimes surrounded, serve no other purpose than to fix our attention on those workings of the heart, and those energies of the understanding, which alone command all the genuine sympathies of human beingsand which may be found as abundantly in the breasts of cottagers as of kings. Wherever there are human beings, therefore, with feel ings and characters to be represented, our at tention may be fixed by the art of the poetby his judicious selection of circumstancesby the force and vivacity of his style, and the clearness and brevity of his representations In point of fact, we are all touched more deeply, as well as more frequently, in real life, with the sufferings of peasants than of princes; and sympathise much oftener, and more heartily, with the successes of the poor, than of the rich and distinguished. The oc casions of such feelings are indeed so many, and so common, that they do not often leave any very permanent traces behind them, but pass away, and are effaced by the very rapidity of their succession. The business and the cares, and the pride of the world, obstruct the development of the emotions to which they would naturally give rise; and press so close and thick upon the mind, as to shut it, at most seasons, against the reflections that are per petually seeking for admission. When we have leisure, however, to look quietly into our hearts, we shall find in them an infinite multitude of little fragments of sympathy with our brethren in humble life-abortive movements of compassion, and embryos of kindness and concern, which had once fairly begun to live and germinate within them, though with ered and broken off by the selfish bustle and fever of our daily occupations. Now, all these may be revived and carried on to maturity by the art of the poet ;-and, therefore, a powerful effort to interest us in the feelings of the humble and obscure, will usually call forth more deep, more numerous, and more permanent emotions, than can ever be excited by the fate of princesses and heroes. Indepen dent of the circumstances to which we have already alluded, there are causes which make us at all times more ready to enter into the feelings of the humble, than of the exalted part of our species. Our sympathy with their enjoyments is enhanced by a certain mixture of pity for their general condition, which, by purifying it from that taint of envy which almost always adheres to our admiration of the great, renders it more welcome and satisfactory to our bosoms; while our concern for their sufferings is at once softened and endeared t ns, by the recollection of our own exemption and anatomical precision; and must make from them, and by the feeling, that we fre- both himself and his readers familiar with the quently have i. in our power to relieve them. ordinary traits and general family features of From these, and from other causes, it ap- the beings among whom they are to move, bepears to us to be certain, that where subjects, fore they can either understand, or take much taken from humble life, can be made suffi- interest in the individuals who are to engrosa ciently interesting to overcome the distaste their attention. Thus far, there is no excess and the prejudices with which the usages of or unnecessary minuteness. But this faculty polished society too generally lead us to re- of observation, and this power of description, gard them, the interest which they excite will hold out great temptations to go further. commonly be more profound and more lasting There is a pride and a delight in the exercise than any that can be raised upon loftier of all peculiar power; and the poet, who has themes; and the poet of the Village and the learned to describe external objects exquiBorough be oftener, and longer read, than the sitely, with a view to heighten the effect of poet of the Court or the Camp. The most his moral designs, and to draw characters popular passages of Shakespeare and Cowper, with accuracy, to help forward the interest or we think, are of this description: and there is the pathos of the picture, will be in great danmuch, both in the volume before us, and inger of describing scenes, and drawing charMr. Crabbe's former publications, to which we might now venture to refer, as proofs of the same doctrine. When such representations have once made an impression on the imagination, they are remembered daily, and for ever. We can neither look around, nor within us, without being reminded of their truth and their importance; and, while the more brilliant effusions of romantic fancy are recalled only at long intervals, and in rare situations, we feel that we cannot walk a step from our own doors, nor cast a glance back on our departed years, without being indebted to the poet of vulgar life for some striking image or touching reflection, of which the occasions were always before us, but-till he taught us how to improve them-were almost always allowed to escape. acters, for no other purpose, but to indulge his taste, and to display his talents. It cannot be denied, we think, that Mr. Crabbe has, on many occasions, yielded to this temptation He is led away, every now and then, by hie lively conception of external objects, and by his nice and sagacious observation of human character; and wantons and luxuriates in descriptions and moral portrait painting, while his readers are left to wonder to what end so much industry has been exerted. His chief fault, however, is his frequent lapse into disgusting representations; and this, we will confess, is an error for which we find it far more difficult either to account or to apologise. We are not, however, of the opinion which we have often heard stated, that he has represented human nature under too unfavourable an aspect; or that the distaste which his poetry sometimes produces, is owing merely to the painful nature of the scenes and subjects with which it abounds. On the contrary, we think he has given a juster, as well as a more striking picture, of the true character and situation of the lower or ders of this country, than any other writer, whether in verse or in prose; and that he has made no more use of painful emotions than was necessary to the production of a pathetic effect. Such, we conceive, are some of the advantages of the subjects which Mr. Crabbe has in a great measure introduced into modern poetry-and such the grounds upon which we venture to predict the durability of the reputation which he is in the course of acquiring. That they have their disadvantages also, is obvious; and it is no less obvious, that it is to these we must ascribe the greater part of the faults and deformities with which this author is fairly chargeable. The two great errors into which he has fallen, are-that he has described many things not worth describ- All powerful and pathetic poetry, it is obing;-and that he has frequently excited dis-vious, abounds in images of distress. The gust, instead of pity or indignation, in the delight which it bestows partakes strongly of breasts of his readers. These faults are ob- pain; and, by a sort of contradiction, which vious-and, we believe, are popularly laid to has long engaged the attention of the reflecthis charge: Yet there is, in so far as we have ing, the compositions that attract us most observed, a degree of misconception as to the powerfully, and detain us the longest, are true grounds and limits of the charge, which those that produce in us most of the effects of we think it worth while to take this opportu- actual suffering and wretchedness. The sonity of correcting. lution of this paradox is to be found, we think, The poet of humble life must describe a in the simple fact, that pain is a far stronger great deal-and must even describe, minutely, sensation than pleasure, in human existence; many things which possess in themselves no and that the cardinal virtue of all things that beauty or grandeur. The reader's fancy must are intended to delight the mind, is to produce be awaked-and the power of his own pencil a strong sensation. Life itself appears to condisplayed:-a distinct locality and imaginary sist in sensation; and the universal passion reality must be given to his characters and of all beings that have life, seems to be, that agents: and the ground colour of their com- they should be made intensely conscious of mon condition must be laid in, before his pe-it, by a succession of powerful and engrossing culiar and selected groups can be presented emotions. All the mere gratifications or natu with any effect or advantage. In the same ral pleasures that are in the power even of the way, he must study characters with a minute most fortunate, are quite insufficient to fill this vast craving for sensation: And accordingly, | Crabbe, to his condemnation. Every form of distress, whether it proceed from passion of we see every day, that a more violent stimu- there be great power or energy, however, unequivocal; and it is universally admitted, that all mention of them must be carefully excluded from every poetical description. With regard, again, to human character, action, and feeling, we should be inclined to term every thing disgusting, which represented misery, without making any appeal to our love, resIf any thing of this kind, however, can be pect, or admiration. If the suffering person traced in real life-if the passion for emotion be amiable, the delightful feeling of love and be so strong as to carry us, not in imagination, affection tempers the pain which the contembut in reality, over the rough edge of present plation of suffering has a tendency to excite, pain-it will not be difficult to explain, why it and enhances it into the stronger, and thereshould be so attractive in the copies and fic-fore more attractive, sensation of pity. If tions of poetry. There, as in real life, the great demand is for emotion; while the pain with which it may be attended, can scarcely, by any possibility, exceed the limits of endurance. The recollection, that it is but a copy and a fiction, is quite sufficient to keep it down to a moderate temperature, and to make it welcome as the sign or the harbinger of that agitation of which the soul is avaricious. It is not, then, from any peculiar quality in painful emotions that they become capable of The only sufferers, then, upon whom we affording the delight which attends them in cannot bear to look, are those that excite pain tragic or pathetic poetry-but merely from the by their wretchedness, while they are too decircumstance of their being more intense and praved to be the objects of affection, and too powerful than any other emotions of which weak and insignificant to be the causes of the mind is susceptible. If it was the consti- misery to others, or, consequently, of indignatution of our nature to feel joy as keenly, or to tion to the spectators. Such are the depraved, sympathise with it as heartily as we do with abject, diseased, and neglected poor-creasorrow, we have no doubt that no other sensa- tures in whom every thing amiable or restion would ever be intentionally excited by pectable has been extinguished by sordid pasthe artists that minister to delight. But the sions or brutal debauchery;-who have no fact is, that the pleasures of which we are ca- means of doing the mischief of which they pable are slight and feeble compared with the are capable-whom every one despises, and pains that we may endure; and that, feeble no one can either love or fear. On the charas they are, the sympathy which they excite acters, the miseries, and the vices of such falls much more short of the original emotion. beings, we look with disgust merely: and, When the object, therefore, is to obtain sen- though it may perhaps serve some moral pursation, there can be no doubt to which of the pose, occasionally to set before us this humitwo fountains we should repair; and if there liating spectacle of human nature sunk to be but few pains in real life which are not, in utter worthlessness and insignificance, it is some measure, endeared to us by the emo- altogether in vain to think of exciting either tions with which they are attended, we may pity or horror, by the truest and most forcible be pretty sure, that the more distress we in- representations of their sufferings or their troduce into poetry, the more we shall rivet enormities. They have no hold upon any of the attention and attract the admiration of the the feelings that lead us to take an interest in reader. our fellow-creatures; we turn away from There is but one exception to this rule them, therefore, with loathing and dispassion. and it brings us back from the apology of Mr. | ate aversion-we feel our imaginations pol luted by the intrusion of any images con- | altogether of a succession of unconnected nected with them; and are offended and descriptions, and is still more miscellaneous disgusted when we are forced to look closely in reality, than would be conjectured from the upon those festering heaps of moral filth and titles of its twenty-four separate compartcorruption. ments. As it does not admit of analysis, therefore, or even of a much more particular description, we can only give our readers a just idea of its execution, by extracting a few of the passages that appear to us most characteristic in each of the many styles it exhibits. One of the first that strikes us, is the following very touching and beautiful picture of innocent love, misfortune and resignationall of them taking a tinge of additional sweetness and tenderness from the humble condition of the parties; and thus affording a striking illustration of the remarks we have ventured to make on the advantages of such letter, where the author has been surveying, with a glance half pensive and half sarcasti cal, the monuments erected in the churchyard. He then proceeds:— It is with concern we add, that we know no writer who has sinned so deeply in this respect as Mr. Crabbe-who has so often presented us with spectacles which it is purely painful and degrading to contemplate, and bestowed such powers of conception and expression in giving us distinct ideas of what we must ever abhor to remember. If Mr. Crabbe had been a person of ordinary talents, we might have accounted for his error, in some degree, by supposing, that his frequent success in treating of subjects which had been usually rejected by other poets, had at length led him to disregard, altogether, the common impressions of mankind as to what was allow-subjects. The passage occurs in the second able and what inadmissible in poetry; and to reckon the unalterable laws by which nature has regulated our sympathies, among the prejudices by which they were shackled and impaired. It is difficult, however, to conceive how a writer of his quick and exact observation should have failed to perceive, that there is not a single instance of a serious interest being excited by an object of disgust; and that Shakespeare himself, who has ventured every thing, has never ventured to shock our feelings with the crimes or the sufferings of beings absolutely without power or principle. Independent of universal practice, too, it is still more difficult to conceive how he should have overlooked the reason on which this practice is founded; for though it be generally true, that poetical representations of suffering and of guilt produce emotion, and consequently delight, yet it certainly did not require the penetration of Mr. Crabbe to discover, that there is a degree of depravity which counteracts our sympathy with suffering, and a degree of insignificance which extinguishes our interest in guilt. We abstain from giving any extracts in support of this accusation; but those who have perused the volume before us, will have already recollected the story of Frederic Thompson, of Abel Keene, of Blaney, of Benbow, and a good part of those of Grimes and Ellen Orford -besides many shorter passages. It is now time, however, to give the reader a more particular account of the work which contains them. The Borough of Mr. Crabbe, then, is a detailed and minute account of an ancient English sea-port town, of the middling order; containing a series of pictures of its scenery, and of the different classes and occupations of its inhabitants. It is thrown into the form of letters, though without any attempt at the epistolary character; and treats of the vicar and curate-the sectaries-the attornies-the apothecaries; and the inns, clubs, and strolling-players, that make a figure in the place: -but more particularly of the poor, and their characters and treatment; and of almshouses, prisons, and schools. There is, of course, no unity or method in the poem-which consists 46 "Yes! there are real Mourners-I have seen "He had his wish; had more; I will not paint Were interchang'd, and hopes and views subline |