reading; but it is written with very unusual power of language, and shows Mr. 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 progeny: 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 establishment, 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 led 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 degree, 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 therefore sure to feel all that pleasure, from a faithful representation of them, which result from the perception of a perfect and successful 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 disagreeable; 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

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 sub-
jects 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

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 beings-
and 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 poet-
by his judicious selection of circumstances-
by the force and vivacity of his style, and the
clearness and brevity of his representations.

higher merit, and imparts a far higher grati-ors, ploughmen, and artificers. If the poet fication. 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 affec-it is sometimes surrounded, serve no other tions 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 In point of fact, we are all touched more and affections that belong to our universal na- deeply, as well as more frequently, in real ture, are always, if tolerably represented, in- life, with the sufferings of peasants than of finitely more captivating, in spite of their princes; and sympathise much oftener, and apparent commonness and simplicity, than more heartily, with the successes of the poor, those that are peculiar to certain situations, than of the rich and distinguished. The ochowever they may come recommended by casions of such feelings are indeed so many, novelty or grandeur. The familiar feeling of and so common, that they do not often leave maternal tenderness and anxiety, which is any very permanent traces behind them, but every day before our eyes, even in the brute pass away, and are effaced by the very rapidity creation and the enchantment of youthful of their succession. The business and the love, which is nearly the same in all charac- cares, and the pride of the world, obstruct the ters, ranks, and situations—still contribute far development of the emotions to which they more to the beauty and interest of poetry than would naturally give rise; and press so close all the misfortunes of princes, the jealousies of and thick upon the mind, as to shut it, at most heroes, and the feats of giants, magicians, or seasons, against the reflections that are perladies in armour. Every one can enter into petually seeking for admission. When we the former set of feelings; and but a few have leisure, however, to look quietly into our into the latter. The one calls up a thousand hearts, we shall find in them an infinite mulfamiliar and long-remembered emotions-titude of little fragments of sympathy with which are answered and reflected on every our brethren in humble life-abortive moveside by the kindred impressions which ex-ments of compassion, and embryos of kindness perience 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

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 perma nent emotions, than can ever be excited by the fate of princesses and heroes. Independent 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 al most 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 to

us, by the recollection of our own exemption from them, and by the feeling, that we frequently have it in our power to relieve them. From these, and from other causes, it appears to us to be certain, that where subjects, taken from humble life, can be made sufficiently interesting to overcome the distaste and the prejudices with which the usages of polished society too generally lead us to regard them, the interest which they excite will commonly be more profound and more lasting than any that can be raised upon loftier themes; and the poet of the Village and the Borough be oftener, and longer read, than the poet of the Court or the Camp. The most popular passages of Shakespeare and Cowper, we think, are of this description: and there is much, both in the volume before us, and in Mr. 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.

and anatomical precision; and must make both himself and his readers familiar with the ordinary traits and general family features of the beings among whom they are to move, before they can either understand, or take much interest in the individuals who are to engross their attention. Thus far, there is no excess or unnecessary minuteness. But this faculty of observation, and this power of description, hold out great temptations to go further. There is a pride and a delight in the exercise of all peculiar power; and the poet, who has learned to describe external objects exquisitely, with a view to heighten the effect of his moral designs, and to draw characters with accuracy, to help forward the interest or the pathos of the picture, will be in great danger of describing scenes, and drawing characters, 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 his 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.

true character and situation of the lower orders 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.

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 Such, we conceive, are some of the advan- too unfavourable an aspect; or that the distages of the subjects which Mr. Crabbe has taste which his poetry sometimes produces, in a great measure introduced into modern is owing merely to the painful nature of the poetry--and such the grounds upon which scenes and subjects with which it abounds. we venture to predict the durability of the On the contrary, we think he has given a justreputation which he is in the course of ac-er, as well as a more striking picture, of the quiring. 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, in the simple fact, that pain is a far stronger sensation than pleasure, in human existence; and that the cardinal virtue of all things that are intended to delight the mind, is to produce a strong sensation. Life itself appears to consist in sensation; and the universal passion of all beings that have life, seems to be, that they should be made intensely conscious of it, by a succession of powerful and engrossing emotions. All the mere gratifications or natural pleasures that are in the power even of the most fortunate, are quite insufficient to fill this

The poet of humble life must describe a great deal and must even describe, minutely, many things which possess in themselves no beauty or grandeur. The reader's fancy must be awaked-and the power of his own pencil displayed: a distinct locality and imaginary reality must be given to his characters and agents: and the ground colour of their common condition must be laid in, before his peculiar and selected groups can be presented with any effect or advantage. In the same way, he must study characters with a minute