and often repeat it, till it shall hardly fail of making an impression.

"I have this night been drawing out my letter to Lord North. I have diligently read it over, and believe it far the most consequential piece I ever executed, whether in prose or poetry. Its success will soon prove whether it is in the power of my talents to obtain me favour.

"To-morrow, my beloved Sally, I shall transcribe it for you and his Lordship; and if I could suppose you both had the same opinion of its writer, my business were done. You will perceive there is art in it, though art quite consistent with truth-for such is actually the case with me. My last shilling became eight-pence yesterday. The simplicity of the style is, I hope, not lost in endeavouring at the pathetic; and if his Lordship is indeed a literary man, I am not without hope that it may be a means of obtaining for me a better fortune than hitherto has befallen us.

“ May 22.—I have just now finished my book, and, if I may so say, consecrated it, by hegging of Him, who alone can direct all things, to give me success in it, or patience under any disappointment I may meet with from its wanting that. I have good hope from my letter, which I shall probably copy for you to-morrow, for I find I can't to-day. This afternoon I propose to set out for Westminster, and I hope shall not meet with much difficulty in getting the book delivered to his Lordship.

"I am now returned from Downing Street, Lord North's place of residence. Every thing at this time becomes consequential. I plagued myself lest I should err in little things-often the causes of a person's doing wrong. The direction of the letter, and the place to call at, puzzled me; I forgot his Lordship's name, and had no Court Calendar. See how trifles perplex us! However, my book is safely delivered, and I shall call again on Wednesday, when I hope to be told something.

"I know not how totally to banish hope, and yet can't encourage it. What a day will to-morrow be to me! a day of dread and expectation. Ah, dear Mira, my hopes are flying; I see now my attempt in its darkest side-twice, nay, three times unsuccessful in a month I have been here-once in my application to the person advertising, and twice in the refusal of booksellers. God help me, my Sally, I have but a cowardly heart, yet I bear up as well as I can; and if I had another shilling would get something to-night to keep these gloomy thoughts at bay, but I must save what I have, in hopes of having

a letter to pay for to-morrow. How, let me suppose, shall I be received? The very worst I can possibly guess will be to have my book returned by the servant, and no message; next to this a civil refusal. More than these I dare not dwell upon; and yet these alone are uncomfortable things.

"O! what pains do we take, what anxiety do we feel, in our pursuit of worldly good how reproachful a comparison does it make to our more important business! When was I thus solicitous for the truly valuable riches? O my GOD! forgive a creature who is frailty itself who is lost in his own vileness and littleness who would be happy, and knows not the means. My GoD, direct me! "May 23.-Here follows, my dearest Sally, a copy of my letter. I am in tolerable spirits this morning, but my whole night has been spent in waking and sleeping visions, in ideas of the coming good or evil; names, by the way, we learn early to misplace. Sometimes I have dwelt upon all my old views and romantic expectations; have run from disappointment to disappointment; and such as the past has been, so, said I, shall be the future. Then my vanity has told fairer things, and magnified my little talents, till I supposed they must be thought worthy of notice. So that from fear to flattery, and from hope to anxiety, I passed a varied and unquiet night. To-day I am at least more composed, and will give you the letter promised."

"Like some poor bark on the rough ocean tost,
My rudder broken, and my compass lost,
My sails the coarsest, and too thin to last,
Pelted by rains, and bare to many a blast,
My anchor, Hope, scarce fix'd enough to stay
Where the strong current Grief sweeps all away,
I sail along, unknowing how to steer,
Where quicksands lie and frowning rocks appear.
Life's ocean teems with foes to my frail bark,
The rapid sword-fish, and the rav'ning shark,
Where torpid things crawl forth in splendid shell,
And knaves and fools and sycophants live well.
What have I left in such tempestuous sea?
No Tritons shield, no Naiads shelter me!
A gloomy Muse, in Mira's absence, hears
My plaintive prayer, and sheds consoling tears
Some fairer prospect, though at distance, brings,
Soothes me with song, and flatters as she sings."

" June 5.-Heaven and its Host witness to me that my soul is conscious of its own demerit. I deserve nothing. I do nothing but what is worthy reproof. I expect nothing from what is nearest in my thoughts or actions to virtue. All fall short of it; much, very much, flies from it.

"I make no comparison with the children

of men. It matters not to me who is vile or who is virtuous. What I am is all to me; and I am nothing but in my dependence.

"O! Thou, who searchest all hearts, who givest, and who hast given, more than I deserve, or can deserve-who withholdest punishment, and proclaimest pardon-form my desires, that Thou mayest approve them, and approving gratify. My present, O! forgive and pity, and as it seemeth good to Thee, so be it done unto me."

" June 6.—I will now, my dearest Mira, give you my letter to Lord Shelburne, but cannot recollect an exact copy, as I altered much of it, and I believe, in point of expression, for the better. I want not, I know, your best wishes; those and her prayers my Mira gives God will give us peace, my love, in his time: pray chiefly that we may acquiesce in his righteous determinations.

me.

"To the Right Honourable the Earl of Shelburne.
"Ah! SHELBURNE, blest with all that 's good or great,
Tadorn a rich, or save a sinking state,
If public Ills engross not all thy care,
Let private Woe assail a patriot's ear,
Pity confined, but not less warm, impart,
And unresisted win thy noble heart :

Nor deem I rob thy soul of Britain's share,
Because I hope to have some interest there;
Still wilt thou shine on all a fostering sun,
Though with more fav'ring beams enlight'ning one,-
As Heaven will oft make some more amply blest,
Yet still in general bounty feeds the rest.

Oh hear the Virtue thou reverest plead;
She 'll swell thy breast, and there applaud the deed.
She bids thy thoughts one hour from greatness stray,
And leads thee on to fame a shorter way;
Where, if no withering laurel's thy reward,
There's shouting Conscience, and a grateful Bard;
A bard untrained in all but misery's school,
Who never bribed a knave or praised a fool ;-
"T is Glory prompts, and as thou read'st attend,
She dictates pity, and becomes my friend;
She bids each cold and dull reflection flee,
And yields her Shelburne to distress and me!-

"Forgive, my Lord, a free, and perhaps, unusual address; misfortune has in it, I hope, some excuse for presumption. Your Lordship will not, cannot, be greatly displeased with an unfortunate man, whose wants are the most urgent; who wants a a friend to assist him, and bread.

"I will not tire your Lordship with a recital of the various circumstances which have led to this situation. It would be too long a tale; though there are parts in it which, I will venture to assure your Lordship, would not only affect your compassion, but, I hope, engage your approbation. It is too dull a view of the progression from pleasing, though moderate expectation, to unavoidable penury.

"Your Lordship will pardon me the relation of a late and unsuccessful attempt to become useful to myself and the community I live in. Starving as an apothecary, in a little venal borough in Suffolk, it was there suggested to me that Lord North, the present minister, was a man of that liberal dispo

sition, that I might hope success from a representation of my particular circumstances to him. This I have done, and laid before his Lordship. I confess a dull, but a faithful account of my misfortunes.

My request had bounds the most moderate. I asked not to feed upon the spoils of my country, but by I needed. The most pressing part of my prayer an honest diligence and industry to earn the bread entreated of his Lordship his speedy determination, as my little stock of money was exhausted, and I was reduced to live in misery and on credit.

"Why I complain of his Lordship is not that he tion, but for his cruel and unkind delay. denied this, though an humble and moderate petiMy Lord, you will pardon me a resentment expressed in one of the little pieces I have taken the liberty of enclosing, when your Lordship considers the inhumanity I was treated with: my repeated prayers for my sentence were put off by a delay; and at length a lingering refusal, brought me by an insolent domestic, determined my suit, and my opinion of his Lordship's private virtues.

"My Lord, I now turn to your Lordship, and entreat to be heard. I am ignorant what to ask, but feel forcibly my wants-Patronage and Bread. I have no other claim on your Lordship than my necessities, but they are great, unless my Muse, and she has, I am afraid, as few charms; nor is it a time for such to flourish: in serener days, my Lord, I have produced some poetical compositions the public might approve, and your Lordship not disdain to patronise. I would not, my Lord, be vain farther than necessity warrants, and I pray your Lordship to pardon me this. May I not hope it will occur to you how I may be useful? My heart is humbled to all but villainy, and would live, if honestly, in any situation. Your lordship has my fortune in your power, and I will, with respect and submission, await your determination. I am, my Lord, &c. &c."

"You see, my dear Mira, to what our situation here may reduce us. Yet am I not conscious of losing the dignity becoming a man: some respect is due to the superiority of station; and that I will always pay, but I cannot flatter or fawn, nor shall my humblest request be so presented. If respect will not do, adulation shall not; but I hope it will; as I'm sure he must have a poor idea of greatness, who delights in a supple knee bending to him, or a tongue voluble in paltry praise, which conscience says is totally undeserved. One of the poetical pieces I sent to Lord Shelburne you have no copy of, and I will therefore give it you here.

"An Epistle to a Friend.

"Why, true, thou say'st the fools at Court denied,
Growl vengeance, and then take the other side:
The unfed flatterer borrows satire's power,
As sweets unshelter'd run to vapid sour.
But thou, the counsel to my closest thought,
Beheld'st it ne'er in fulsome stanzas wrought.
The Muse I caught ne'er fawn'd on venal souls,
Whom suppliants angle, and poor praise controls;
She, yet unskill'd in all but fancy's dream,
Sang to the woods, and Mira was her theme.

But when she sees a titled nothing stand The ready cipher of a trembling land,— Not of that simple kind that placed alone Are useless, harmless things, and threaten none, But those which, join'd to figures, well express A strengthen'd tribe that amplify distress, Grow in proportion to their number great, And help each other in the ranks of state;— When this and more the pensive Muses see, They leave the vales and willing nymphs to thee; To Court on wings of agile anger speed, And paint to freedom's sons each guileful deed. Hence rascals teach the virtues they detest, And fright base action from sin's wavering breast; For though the knave may scorn the Muse's arts, Her sting may haply pierce more timid hearts. Some, though they wish it, are not steel'd enough, Nor is each would-be villain conscience-proof. "And what, my friend, is left my song besides? No school-day wealth that roll'd in silver tides, No dreams of hope that won my early will, Nor love, that pain'd in temporary thrill; No gold to deck my pleasure-scorn'd abode, No friend to whisper peace,-to give me food ;Poor to the World I'd yet not live in vain, But show its lords their hearts, and

my

"Yet shall not Satire all my song engage

In indiscriminate and idle rage;

disdain.

True praise, where Virtue prompts, shall gild each line,
And long-if Vanity deceives not-shine.

For though in harsher strains, the strains of woe, And unadorn'd, my heart-felt murmurs flow, Yet time shall be when this thine humbled friend Shall to more lofty heights his notes extend. A Man-for other title were too poorSuch as 't were almost virtue to adore, He shall the ill that loads my heart exhale, As the sun vapours from the dew-pressed vale; Himself uninjuring shall new warmth infuse, And call to blossom every want-nipp'd Muse. Then shall my grateful strains his ear rejoice, His name harmonious thrill'd on Mira's voice; Round the reviving bays new sweets shall spring, And SHELBURNE'S fame through laughing valleys ring." "Pay me, dear, for this long morning's work, with your patience, and, if you can, your approbation. I suppose we shall have nothing more of this riot in the city, and I hope now to entertain you with better things. God knows, and we will be happy that it is not the work of accident. Something will happen, and perhaps now. Angels guide and bless you!

"June 8.-Yesterday, my own business being decided, I was at Westminster at about three o'clock in the afternoon, and saw the members go to the House. The mob stopped many persons, but let all whom I saw pass, excepting Lord Sandwich, whom they treated roughly, broke his coach windows, cut his face, and turned him back. A guard of horse and foot were immediately sent for, who did no particular service, the mob increasing and defeating them.

I left Westminster when all the members, that were permitted, had entered the House and came home. In my way I met a resolute

band of vile-looking fellows, ragged, dirty, and insolent, armed with clubs, going to join their companions. I since learned that there were eight or ten of these bodies in different parts of the City.

"About seven o'clock in the evening I went out again. At Westminster the mob were few, and those quiet, and decent in appearance. I crossed St. George's Fields, which were empty, and came home again by Blackfriars Bridge; and in going from thence to the Exchange, you pass the Old Bailey; and here it was that I saw the first scene of The terror and riot ever presented to me. new prison was a very large, strong, and beautiful building, having two wings, of which you can suppose the extent, when you consider their use; besides these, were the keeper's (Mr. Akerman's) house, a strong intermediate work, and likewise other parts, of which I can give you no description. Akerman had in his custody four prisoners, taken in the riot; these the mob went to his house and demanded. He begged he might send to the sheriff, but this was not permitted. How he escaped, or where he is gone, I know not; but just at the time I speak of they set fire to his house, broke in, and threw every piece of furniture they could find into the street, firing them also in an instant. The engines came, but were only suffered to preserve the private houses near the prison. "As I was standing near the there spot, approached another body of men, suppose 500, and Lord George Gordon in a coach, drawn by the mob towards Alderman Bull's, bowing as he passed along. He is a livelylooking young man in appearance, and nothing more, though just now the reigning hero.

By eight o'clock, Akerman's house was in flames. I went close to it, and never saw any thing so dreadful. The prison was, as said, a remarkably strong building; but, determined to force it, they broke the gates with crows and other instruments, and climbed up the outside of the cell part, which joins the two great wings of the building, where the felons were confined; and I stood where I plainly saw their operations. They broke the roof, tore away the rafters, and having got ladders they descended. Not Orpheus himself had more courage or better luck; flames all around them, and a body of soldiers expected, they defied and laughed at all opposition.

The prisoners escaped. I stood and saw about twelve women and eight men ascend from their confinement to the open air, and they were conducted through the street in their chains. Three of these were to be hanged on Friday. You have no conception of the phrensy of the multitude. This being

done, and Akerman's house now a mere shell of brickwork, they kept a store of flame there for other purposes. It became red-hot, and the doors and windows appeared like the entrance to so many volcanoes. With some difficulty they then fired the debtor's prison -broke the doors-and they, too, all made their escape.

"Tired of the scene, I went home, and returned again at eleven o'clock at night. I met large bodies of horse and foot soldiers coming to guard the Bank, and some houses of Roman Catholics near it. Newgate was at this time open to all; any one might get in, and, what was never the case before, any one might get out. I did both; for the people were now chiefly lookers on. The mischief was done, and the doers of it gone to another part of the town.

"But I must not omit what struck me most. About ten or twelve of the mob getting to the top of the debtors' prison, whilst it was burning, to halloo, they appeared rolled in black smoke mixed with sudden bursts of fire-like Milton's infernals, who were as familiar with flame as with each other. On comparing notes with my neighbours, I find I saw but a small part of the mischief. They say Lord Mansfield's house is now in flames."

With a short abstract of a sermon on the text "Awake, thou that sleepest," which I do not think it necessary to transcribe, the "Poet's Journal," as I have it, abruptly concludes. But my father kept, while resident in the City, another note-book, solely for himself, from which I consider it due to his memory-in order to complete the reader's impression of his character and conduct at this, the most melancholy period of his life-to make a very few ex

tracts.

I.

"O gracious Redeemer! fill me, I beseech thee, with Divine love; let me, O my Saviour! set my affections on thee and things above; take from me this over-carefulness and anxiety after the affairs of this mortal body, and deeply impress on my thoughts the care of my immortal soul. Let me love thee, blessed Lord! desire thee, and embrace thy cross when it is offered me. Set before me the

value of eternal happiness, and the true worth of human expectations.

"O! detach my heart from self-pleasing, from vanity, and all the busy passions that draw me from thee. Fix it on thy love; let it be my joy to contemplate thy condescension and thy kindness to man; may gratitude to my Redeemer wean me from inclination for his foes; may it draw me from the objects of the world, the dreams of the senses, and all the power and temptation of the Devil and his angels.

"Remember me, Lord, at thy table; behold I desire to be with thee: O be thou with me! If thou art absent, I cannot receive comfort even there; if thou art with me, I cannot miss it. The treasures of eternal life are thine; O Lord! give me of those treasures; give me a foretaste of thy pleasures, that I may look more indifferently upon the earth and its enjoyments. Lord! where are thy old loving-kindnesses ? Forgive me, most gracious Saviour; and restore me to thy favour. O give me the light of thy countenance, and I shall be whole. Amen!"

II.

"O, my Lord God, I will plead my cause before thee, let me not be condemned; behold, I desire to be thine. O, cast me not away from thee. My sins are great, and often repeated. They are a burthen to me, I sink under them; Lord, save me, Hold out thine hand; my faith or I perish. trembles; Lord, save me ere I sink.

"I am afflicted in mind, in body, in estate; Oh! be thou be my refuge! I look unto thee for help, from whence all help cometh; I cast off all dependence on the world or mine own endeavours: thou

art my God, and I will trust in thee alone.

"O Lord Jesus Christ, who didst deliver us from darkness and the shadow of death, illuminate,

enlighten me; comfort me, O Lord, for I go mourning. O be thou with me, and I shall live. Behold, I trust in thee, Lord, forsake me not. Amen."

III.

"I look back on myself,-myself, an ample field of speculation for me. I see there the infant, the child, and all the rapid progress of human life; the swifter progress of sin and folly, that came with every new day, but did not like the day depart to

return no more.

"If I die to-morrow-and it may be my lot— shall I not have cause to wish my death had happened at a former period? at a time when I felt strong hope and lively faith? and what inference will the wish lead me to draw.—a wish for stronger hope and livelier faith, an ardent prayer and due repentance? If not, my wishes will be my torment. Never again to be cheered with the comforts of divine grace, how sad! to be totally forsaken of it, how tremendous !

grow dormant in the brain, and all is over-all over with the clay, and with the immortal all to

come.

"Of the ten thousand vital vessels, the minute, intricate network of tender-framed machinery, how long have they wrought without destroying the machine! How many parts necessary to being, how long held in motion! Our hours are miracles: shall we say that miracles cease, when, by being, we are marvellous? No, I should not think the summons wonderful; nor partial, for younger have been summoned; nor cruel, for I have abused mercy; nor tyrannical, for I am a creature, a vessel in the hands of the potter: neither am I

without conviction that, if it be better for me to live another day, I shall not die this.

But what of awe, of fear, in such a call? where is he who then thinks not-if he has permission to think solemnly? God his Judge, and God his Redeemer; Terror visible, and Mercy slighted, are then to be heard:-the moment at hand that brings heaven, or hell! where is an opiate for the soul that wakes then?

"O thou blessed Lord, who openedst the gate of life, let me live in true faith, in holy hope: and let not my end surprise me! Ten thousand thoughts disturb my soul: be, thou greatest and fairest among ten thousand,-be thou with me, O my Saviour! Return! return! and bring me hope !”

IV.

"Amid the errors of the best, how shall my soul find safety? Even by thee, O Lord! Where is unlettered Hope to cast her anchor? Even in thy blessed Gospel! Serious examination, deep humility, earnest prayer, will obtain certainty.

"God is good. Christ is our only Mediator and Advocate. He suffered for our sins. By his stripes we are healed. As in Adam all die, so in

Christ all are made alive. Whoso believeth shall be saved. But faith without works is dead. Yet

it is the grace of God that worketh in us. Every good and every perfect work cometh from above. Man can do nothing of himself; but Christ is all in all; and, Whatsoever things ye shall ask in the name of Jesus, shall be granted. This is sufficient, this is plain; I ask no philosophic researches, no learned definitions; I want not to dispute, but to be saved. Lord! save me, or I perish. I only know my own vileness; I only know thy sufficiency; these are enough; witness Heaven and Earth, my trust is in God's mercy, through Jesus Christ, my blessed Redeemer. Amen!"

V.

"My God, my God, I put my trust in thee; my troubles increase, my soul is dismayed, I am heavy and in distress; all day long I call upon thee: be thou my helper in the needful time of trouble.

"Why art thou so far from me, O my Lord? why hidest thou thy face? I am cast down, I am in poverty and in affliction: be thou with me, O my God; let me not be wholly forsaken, O my Redeemer!

"Behold, I trust in thee, blessed Lord. Guide me, and govern me unto the end. O Lord, my salvation, be thou ever with me. Amen."

CHAPTER IV. 1781.

Mr. Crabbe's Letter to Burke, and its Consequences-The Publication of "The Library "-He is domesticated at Beaconsfield-Takes Orders-Is appointed Curate at Aldborough.

Ir is to be regretted that Mr. Crabbe's Journal does not extend over more than three months of the miserable year that he spent in the City. During the whole of that time he experienced nothing but disappointments and repulses. His circumstances were now, indeed, fearfully critical absolute want stared him in the face: a gaol seemed the only immediate refuge for his head; and the best he could hope for was, dismissing all his dreams of literary distinction, to find the means of daily bread in the capacity of a druggist's assistant. To borrow, without any prospect of repaying, was what his honesty shrunk from; to beg was misery, and promised, moreover, to be fruitless. A spirit less manly and less religious must have sunk altogether under such an accumulation of sorrows.

Mr. Crabbe made one effort more. In his "sketch," he says: "He did not so far mistake as to believe that any name can give lasting reputation to an undeserving work; but he was fully persuaded, that it must be some very meritorious and extraordinary performance, such as he had not the vanity to suppose himself capable of producing, that would become popular, without the introductory probat of some well-known and distinguished character. Thus thinking, and having now his first serious attempt nearly completed, afraid of venturing without a guide, doubtful whom to select, knowing many by reputation, none personally-he fixed, impelled by some propitious influence, in some happy moment, upon EDMUND BURKE-one of the first of Englishmen, and, in the capacity and energy of his mind, one of the greatest of human beings."

The letter which the young poet addressed to Burke must have been seen by Mr. Prior, when he composed his Life of the great statesman; but that work had been published for nine years before any of Mr. Crabbe's family were aware that a copy of it had been preserved; nor had they any exact knowledge of the extremity of distress which this remarkable letter describes, until the hand that penned it was in the grave. It is as follows:

"To Edmund Burke, Esq.

"SIR,-I am sensible that I need even your talents to apologise for the freedom I now take; but I have a plea which, however simply urged, will, with a mind like yours, Sir, procure me pardon: I am one of those outcasts on the world who are without a friend, without employment, and without bread.

E