to discipline himself for a due discharge of its awful obligations, by cultivating the virtues of Christianity in his heart, and, in as far as his opportunities extended, making himself fit to minister to the spiritual necessities of others. But I am bound to add, that in a later period of life, and more especially during the last ten years of it, he became more conscious of the importance of dwelling on the doctrines as well as the practice of Christianity, than he had been when he first took orders; and when a selection of his Sermons is placed, as I hope it ere long will be, before the public, it will be seen that he had gradually approached, in substantial matters, though not exactly in certain peculiar ways of expression, to that respected body usually denominated Evangelical Christians of the Church of England; with whom, nevertheless, he was never classed by others, nor, indeed, by himself. And what, it will naturally be asked, was his reception by the people of Aldborough, when he re-appeared among them in this new character? "The prophet is not without honour, save in his own country:"-this Scriptural proverb was entirely exemplified here. The whisper ran through the town, that a man who had failed in one calling, was not very likely to make a great figure in a new one. Others revived, most unjustly, old stories, in which my father did not appear with quite clerical decorum: and others again bruited about a most groundless rumour that he had been, when in London, a preacher among the Methodists. For this last report there was, indeed, no foundation at all, except that an Aldborough sailor, happening one day to enter Mr. Wesley's chapel at Moorfields, had perceived my father, who had gone thither, like himself, from pure curiosity, standing on the steps of the pulpit; the place being so crowded that he could find no more convenient situation. But perhaps the most common, as well as unworthy, of all the rumours afloat, was, that he had been spoiled by the notice of fine folks in town, and would now be too proud to be bearable among his old equals. When I asked him how he felt when he entered the pulpit at Aldborough, for the first time, he answered, "I had been unkindly received in the place--I saw unfriendly countenances about me, and, I am sorry to say, I had too much indignation, though mingled, I hope, with better feelings, to care what they thought of me or my sermon.' Perhaps, as he himself remarked, all this may have been well ordered for my father. Had there been nothing to operate as an antidote, the circumstances of his altered position in life might have tempted human infirmity, even in him, to a vain-glorious self-esteem. He appears to have ere long signified some uneasiness of feeling to the Lord Chancellor, whose very kind answer concluded in these words:"I can form no opinion of your pre sent situation or prospects, still less upon the agreeableness of it; but you may imagine that I wish you well, and, if you make yourself capable of preferment, that I shall try to find an early opportunity of serving you. I am, with great regard, dear Sir, your faithful friend and servant, THURLOW." CHAPTER V. 1782-1783. Mr. Crabbe's Appointment as domestic Chaplain to the Duke of Rutland-Removes to Belvoir Castle-Publication of "The Village." My father continued to be curate at Aldborough for only a few months, during which his sister resumed the charge of his domestic affairs, in a small lodging apart from the rest of the family. His brother Robert, a man in many respects closely resembling himself, of strong faculties and amiable disposition, was now settled at Southwold; but the two brothers, much attached to each other's society, made a point of meeting one evening of each week at Blythborough, about half way between their places of residence. I need hardly add, that my father passed also a considerable part of his time under the same roof with Miss Elmy, who still prudently resisted every proposition of immediate marriage, being resolved not to take such a step until her lover should have reached some position less precarious than that of a mere curate. Most persons who had done as much for one in my father's situation as Mr. Burke had already accomplished, would, no doubt, have been disposed to say, or to think, "Now, young man, help yourself:" but it was far otherwise with Mr. Crabbe's illustrious benefactor. He was anxious to see his protégé raised as high as his friendship could elevate him; and he soon was the means of placing him in a station such as has, in numerous instances, led to the first dignities of the church. My father received a letter from Mr. Burke, informing him that, in consequence of some conversation he had held with the Duke of Rutland, that nobleman would willingly receive him as his domestic chaplain at Belvoir Castle, so soon as he could get rid of his existing engagements at Aldborough. was a very unusual occurrence, such situations in the mansions of that rank being commonly filled either by relations of the noble family itself, or by college acquaintances, or dependants recommended by political service and local attachment. But, in spite of political difference, the recommendation of Burke was all-powerful with the late Duke of Rutland, the son of the great Marquis of Granby; for this nobleman, though not what is usually called a literary man, had a strong partiality for letters, a refined taste This for the arts, and felt that a young author of such genius as Burke had imputed to my father would be a valuable acquisition to the society of his mansion, where, like a genuine English peer of the old school, he spent the greater portion of his time in the exercise of boundless hospitality and benevolence. My father did not hesitate, of course, to accept the offered situation; and, having taken farewell for a season of his friends at Parham, he once more quitted Aldborough, but not now in the hold of a sloop, nor with those gloomy fears and trembling anticipations which had agitated his mind on a former occasion. He was now morally sure of being, within no long interval, placed in a situation that would enable him to have a house of his own and to settle for life in the enjoyment of at least a moderate competency. literary topics, quote verses, and criticise plays. Their Graces' children were at this period still in the nursery. The immediate chiefs of the place, then, were all that my father could have desired to find them; but their guests, and, above all, perhaps, their servants, might not always treat him with equal respect. I must add, that although the state at the castle was by no means more strict than is usual in great establishments and certainly not marked by the princely dignity and grandeur that have distinguished Belvoir in our own day-yet it could not but have been oppressive to a person of Mr. Crabbe's education and disposition. He might not, I can well believe, catch readily the manners appropriate to his station, his tact was not of that description, and he ever had an ardent passion for What his hopes exactly amounted to when personal liberty, inconsistent with enjoyment this change took place, or what apprehensions under the constraint of ceremony. With great chequered them when he approached Belvoir, pleasure, then, did he always hear of the preor what were his impressions on his first re- parations for removing to Cheveley, about the ception there, are questions which I never ven- periods of the Newmarket races; for all there tured to ask of him. It would have been highly was freedom and ease; that house was small, interesting, certainly, to have his remarks on the servants few, and the habits domestic. what now befell him at the opening of so new a There was another occasion, also, on which scene of life, recorded in another "Journal to ceremony was given to the winds-when the Mira;" but none such has been discovered. family resorted to Croxton Park (a small seat He always seemed to shrink from going into near Belvoir), to fish in the extensive ponds, oral details on the subject. The numberless &c. These times of relaxation contrasted deallusions to the nature of a literary dependant's lightfully with the etiquette at the castle. After existence in a great lord's house, which occur more than usual ceremony, or more abundant in my father's writings, and especially in the conviviality, I have heard him speak of the tale of "The Patron," are, however, quite relief and pleasure of wandering through the enough to lead any one who knew his character deep glades and secluded paths of the woods, and feelings to the conclusion that, notwith-catching beetles, moths, butterflies, and collectstanding the kindness and condescension of the Duke and Duchess themselves-which were, I believe, uniform, and of which he always spoke with gratitude-the situation he filled at Belvoir was attended with many painful circumstances, and productive in his mind of some of the acutest sensations of wounded pride that have ever been traced by any pen. 1 The Duchess was then the most celebrated beauty in England; and the fascinating grace of her manners made the due impression on my father. The Duke himself was a generous man, "cordial, frank, and free;" and highly popular with all classes. His establishments of racehorses, hunters, and hounds were extensive, because it was then held a part of such a nobleman's duty that they should be so; but these things were rather for the enjoyment of his friends than for his own. He was sufficiently interested in such recreations to join in them occasionally; but he would frequently dismiss a splendid party from his gates, and himself ride, accompanied only by Mr. Crabbe, to some sequestered part of his domain, to converse on 1 Lady Mary-Isabella Somerset, daughter of the fourth Duke of Beaufort. She died in 1831. ing mosses, lichens, or other botanical specimens; for this employment carried his imagination to those walks in which he had wandered so frequently with his best friend, his chosen companion; and he already longed for the period when he could call a country parsonage his own: may, he was sometimes tempted to wish to exchange his station for a much more humble dwelling, and in this mood he once composed some verses, which I have heard him repeat, acknowledging they were not of the most brilliant description: "Oh! had I but a little hut, That I might hide my head in; I'd take the jokes of other folks, And mine should then succeed 'em, Or heed a little freedom." &c. &c. Such lines might easily run from the pen from which came, in after-days "Strive not too much for favour-seem at ease, ... "When ladies sing, or in thy presence play, Do not, dear John, in rapture melt away: I have heard my father mention but few occurrences in this period of his life; and if I had, the privacy of a family is not to be invaded because of its public station. But one incident I cannot forbear to mention, as it marked a trait in the Duke's mind peculiarly pleasing his strong affection for his brother, Lord Robert Manners, who died of wounds received in leading his Majesty's ship Resolution against the enemy's line, in the West Indies, on the memorable 12th of April, 1782. Some short time previous to his Lordship's death, his hat, perforated with balls, was sent at the Duke's request to Belvoir Castle. The Duke first held it up with a shout of exultation and triumphglorying in the bravery of his beloved brother; and then, as the thought of his danger flashed suddenly into his mind, sank on his chair in a burst of natural and irrepressible feeling. Mr. Crabbe was particularly attached to the unfortunate Mr. Robert Thoroton, a relative of the family, who generally resided at the Castle. He was, it is true, a man of pleasure, and of the world, but distinguished by warm, frank-hearted kindness, and ever evinced a particular predilection to my father. He was remarked, even in the Belvoir hunt, for intrepid boldness, and once spurred his horse up the steep terraces to the castle-walls-a mad feat! Nor was he much less rash when, as my father one day (in an unusual fit of juvenile merriment) was pursuing him, he sprang over the boundary of the glacis a steep and formidable precipice. He afterwards accompanied the Duke to Ireland, and is mentioned in the singular work of Sir Jonah Barrington. After the Duke's death, he was involved in difficulties; and, under the maddening sufferings of an incurable disorder, he terminated his existence. Among the public characters of that time, the visiters at Belvoir who paid the most attention to Mr. Crabbe were the Duke of Queensberry, the Marquis of Lothian, Dr. Watson the celebrated Bishop of Llandaff, and Dr. Glynn. A few months after Lord Robert's death, my father accompanied his Grace for a few days to London, and went with him to the studio of the royal academician Stothard, where he consoled his sorrow by giving directions for the painting of the beautiful picture from which the wellknown print of the melancholy event is engraved. It seems to have been on this occasion that he received the following letter From Mr. Burke. "DEAR SIR,-I do not know by what unlucky accident you missed the note I left for you at my house. I wrote besides to you at Belvoir. If you had received these two short letters, you could not want an invitation to a place where every one considers himself as infinitely honoured and pleased by your presence. "Mrs. Burke desires her best compliments, and trusts that you will not let the holidays pass over without a visit from you. I have got the poem; but I have not yet opened it. I don't like the unhappy language you use about these matters. You do not easily please such a judgment as your ownthat is natural; but where you are difficult every one else will be charmed. I am, my dear sir, ever most affectionately yours, "EDMUND BURKE." By the time the family left Belvoir for the London season, my father had nearly completed for the press his poem of "The Village," the conclusion of which had been suggested by the untimely death of Lord Robert Manners. Through Sir Joshua Reynolds, he transmitted it to Dr. Johnson, whose kindness was such that he revised it carefully, and whose opinion of its merits was expressed in a note which, though it has often been printed, I must allow myself the gratification of transcribing here. Dr. Johnson to Sir Joshua Reynolds. "March 4, 1783. which I read with great delight. It is original, "SIR,-I have sent you back Mr. Crabbe's poem, vigorous, and elegant. The alterations which I have made I do not require him to adopt; for my lines are, perhaps, not often better than his own: but he may take mine and his own together, and, perhaps, between them, produce something better than either. He is not to think his copy wantonly defaced: a wet sponge will wash all the red lines away, and leave the pages clean. His dedication will be least liked: it were better to contract it into a short sprightly address. I do not doubt of Mr. Crabbe's success. I am, sir, your most humble "SAMUEL JOHNSON." servant, Boswell says, "The sentiments of Mr. Crabbe's admirable poem, as to the false notions of rustic happiness and rustic virtue, were quite congenial with Dr. Johnson's own; and he took the trouble not only to suggest slight corrections and variations, but to furnish some lines, when he thought he could give the writer's meaning better than in the words of the manuscript. I shall give an instance, marking the original by Roman, and Johnson's substitution in Italic characters :" "In fairer scenes, where peaceful pleasures spring, "On Mincio's banks, in Casar's bounteous reign, If Tityrus found the golden age again, F Must sleepy bards the flattering dream prolong, No sleeping apartment being vacant at the Duke of Rutland's residence in Arlington Street, Mr. Crabbe accidentally procured the very rooms shortly before occupied by the highly talented, but rash and miserable Hackman, the infatuated admirer and assassin of the beautiful mistress of the Earl of Sandwich. Here he Library," about as strong a revulsion in my father's mind as a ducal chaplaincy in his circumstances; but there was no change in his temper or manners. The successful author con"Here," says Boswell, "we find Dr. John- tinued as modest as the rejected candidate for son's poetical and critical powers undiminished. publication had been patient and long-sufferI must, however, observe, that the aids he ing. gave to this poem, as to The Traveller' and Deserted Village' of Goldsmith, were so small, as by no means to impair the distinguished merit of the author." Mr. Boswell ought to have added, that the six lines he quotes formed the only passage in the poem that was not in substance quite the author's own. The manuscript was also again submitted to the inspection of Mr. Burke; and he proposed one or two trivial alterations, which my father's grateful feelings induced him to adopt, although they did not appear to himself improvements. There were not wanting, I have heard, friends in Suffolk, who, when "The Village came out, whispered that "the manuscript had been so cobbled by Burke and Johnson, that Crabbe did not know it again when it was returned to him." If these kind persons survived to read "The Parish Register," their amiable conjectures must have received a sufficient rebuke. "The Village" was published in May, 1783; and its success exceeded the author's utmost expectations. It was praised in the leading journals; the sale was rapid and extensive; and my father's reputation was, by universal consent, greatly raised, and permanently established by this poem. "The Library," and "The Village," are sufficient evidence of the care and zeal with which the young poet had studied Pope; and, without doubt, he had gradually; though in part perhaps unconsciously, formed his own style mainly on that polished model. But even those early works, and especially "The Village," fairly entitled Mr. Crabbe to a place far above the "mechanick echoes of the British Virgil. Both poems are framed on a regular and classical plan,—perhaps, in that respect, they may be considered more complete and faultless than any of his later pieces; and though it is only here and there that they exhibit that rare union of force and minuteness for which the author was afterwards so highly distinguished, yet such traces of that marked and extraordinary peculiarity appeared in detached places—above all, in the description of the Parish Workhouse in "The Village"-that it is no wonder the new poet should at once have been hailed as a genius of no slender preten sions. again found himself in that distinguished society into which Mr. Burke had introduced him. He now very frequently passed his mornings at the easel of Sir Joshua Reynolds, conversing on a variety of subjects, while this distinguished artist was employed upon that celebrated painting the Infant Hercules, then preparing for the Empress of Russia. I heard him speak of no public character of that time (except Mr. Burke) with that warmth of feeling with which he regarded Sir Joshua. have no doubt but that, in some respects, there was a similarity of character- an enlarged mind, and the love of ease and freedom, were common to both; but it is probable that those qualities also prepossessed my father greatly in his favour which he himself did not possess. Sir Joshua was never apparently discomposed by anything under the sun-under all circumstances, and at all times, he was ever the same cheerful, mild companion, the same perfect gentleman-happy, serene, and undisturbed. My passed at that house, when his Grace of Rutfather spoke with particular pleasure of one day land and a select company dined there-Miss chioness of Thomond, presiding. The union Palmer the great artist's niece, afterwards Marof complete, and even homely, comfort and ease with perfect polish and the highest manners, had in it a charm which impressed the day especially on his memory. It was now considered desirable that Mr. Crabbe, as the chaplain to a nobleman, should have a university degree; and the Bishop of Llandaff (Dr. Watson) very kindly entered his name on the boards of Trinity College, Cambridge, that he might have the privilege of a degree, after a certain number of terms, and without residence. made, when he received an invitation to dine This arrangement, however, had hardly been with Lord Thurlow; and this is another of those incidents in his life, which I much regret that he himself has given no account of; for I should suppose many expressions characteristic of the rough old Chancellor might have been re 2 Sir Joshua mentioned that this was his fourth painting on the same canvass. corded. My father only said, that, before he left the house, his noble host, telling him, that, "by G-d, he was as like Parson Adams as twelve to a dozen," gave him the small livings of Frome St. Quintin, and Evershot, in Dorsetshire; and Mr. Crabbe, that he might be entitled to hold this preferment, immediately obtained the degree of LL.B. from the Archbishop of Canterbury (Dr. Moore), instead of waiting for it at Cambridge. In the autumn of 1783, after a long absence, my father went to Suffolk; and Miss Elmy being then at Beccles with her mother, he bent his steps thither; and it was in one of their rides in that neighbourhood, that they had the good fortune to view the great and memorable meteor which appeared in the month of August in that year. At that moment my mother and he were returning, in the evening, over a wide open common near Beccles. It was late, dull, and cloudy in an instant the dark mass opened just in front of them. The clouds were rolled back like a scroll; and the glorious phenomenon burst forth as large as the moon, but infinitely more brilliant; majestically sailed across the heavens, varying its form every instant, and, as it were, unfolding its substance in successive sheaths of fire, and scattering lesser meteors, as it moved along. My mother, who happened to be riding behind, said that, even at that awful moment (for she concluded that the end of all things was at hand), she was irresistibly struck with my father's attitude. He had raised himself from his horse, lifted his arm, and spread his hand towards the object of admiration and terror, and appeared transfixed with astonish ment. Mr. Crabbe returned from thence to Belvoir, and again went to London with the family at the latter end of the year. Being now in circumstances which enabled him to afford himself a view of those spectacles which he had hitherto abstained from, and with persons who invited him to accompany them, he went occasionally to the theatres, especially to see Mrs. Siddons. Of her talents he expressed, of course, the most unbounded admiration; but I have heard him also speak of Mrs. Abingdon and Mrs. Jordan (the latter especially, in the character of Sir Harry Wildair), in such terms as proved that he fully appreciated the exquisite grace, and then unrivalled excellency, of those comic actresses. Being one night introduced by Mr. Thoroton into the box of the Prince of Wales's equerries, his royal highness inquired, with some displeasure, who he was that had so intruded there; but hearing it was the poetical chaplain of his friend the Duke of Rutland, he expressed himself satisfied, and a short time after, Mr. Crabbe was presented to his royal highness by his noble patron. Before the end of the year 1783, it was fixed that his Grace of Rutland should soon be appointed Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland. Had the Chancellor's livings, which Mr. Crabbe held, been of any considerable value, he would no doubt have embraced this opportunity to retire and settle; but the income derived from them was very trifling, and, as it happened, no preferment on the Belvoir list was then vacant; and therefore, when it was decided that he should remain on this side the Channel and marry, the Duke very obligingly invited him to make the castle his home, till something permanent could be arranged. At parting, the Duke presented him with a portrait of Pope, by Sir Godfrey Kneller, and assured him it was his intention to place him in an eligible situation on the first opportunity. He little thought at that time (his Grace being by but a few months his senior) that he should never see his kind and noble patron again. By some it has been thought remarkable that Mr. Crabbe, recommended to the Duke of Rutland by such a character as Mr. Burke, and afterwards by his own reputation and conduct, should not have accompanied his Grace to Dublin, and finally been installed in a dignitary's seat in some Irish cathedral. Whether he had the offer of proceeding to Ireland I do not know, but it would have been extremely inconsistent with his strong attachment to Miss Elmy, and his domestic disposition and habits, to have accepted it; and his irregular education was an effectual bar to any very high preferment in the church. That he should not desire to retain his chaplaincy, was not only to be attributed to his wish to settle, but his consciousness that he was by no means calculated to hold such an office. In fact, neither nature nor circumstances had qualified him for it. The aristocracy of genius approaches too near the aristocracy of station superiority of talent is apt, without intention, to betray occasional presumption. It is true, subserviency would be always despised; but a cool, collected mind-never thrown off its guard-pleased with what passes-entering into the interests of the day, but never betrayed into enthusiasm,-is an indispensable qualification for that station. Mr. Crabbe could never conceal his feelings, and he felt strongly. He was not a stoic, and freedom of living was prevalent in almost all large establishments of that period; and, when the conversation was interesting, he might not always retire as early as prudence might suggest; nor, perhaps, did he at all times put a bridle to his tongue, for he might feel the riches of his intellect more than the poverty of his station. It is also probable that, brought up in the warehouse of Slaughden, and among the uneducated, though nature had given him the disposition of a gentleman- the politeness of a mild and Christian spirit-he may at that early period have retained some repulsive |