"When Prudence fail'd, when Courage grew dismay'd,
"When the Strong fainted, and the Wicked pray'd,—
"Then in the yawning Gulph far down we drove
"And gaz'd upon the billowy Mount above:
"Till up that Mountain, swinging with the Gale,
"We view'd the horrors of the watery Vale."'

"The trembling Children look with steadfast Eyes,
And panting, sob involuntary Sighs:

Soft Sleep awhile his torpid touch delays,

And all is Joy and Piety and Praise.' p. 143.

In some of Mr. Crabbe's graver descriptions there is a tone of chaste and unambitious serenity, which has a powerful influence on the heart, and affects it like the quiet glow of a mild evening. Thus in the character of Eusebius

'Tis thine to wait on Woe! to soothe! to heal!
With Learning social, and polite with Zeal:
In thy pure Breast, although the Passions dwell,
They're train'd by Virtue and no more rebel;
But have so long been active on her side,
That Passion now might be itself the Guide.

'Law, Conscience, Honour, all obey'd; all give
Th' approving voice, and make it bliss to live:
While Faith, when Life can nothing more supply,
Shall strengthen Hope and make it bliss to die.'-p. 228.

'Meek as the poorest Publican is he,

And strict as lives the straitest Pharisee;

Of both, in him unite the better part,

The blameless Conduct and the humble Heart.'-ibid.

In reading of the passions of Eusebius habitually rallying on the side of virtue, we are forcibly reminded of one of the sublimest traits in modern writing. It is the circumstance of the dying missionary in Elizabeth,' who spends his last breath in prayer, not for himself but for his orphan charge- il sembloit encore prier pour elle, quand déjà la mort l'avoit frappé; tant étoit grande en son, ame l'habitude de la charité ; tant durant le cours de sa longue vie, il avoit negligé ses propres intérêts, pour ne songer qu'à ceux d'autrui, puisqu'au moment terrible de comparoître devant le trône du souveraine juge, et de tomber pour toujours dans les abimes de l'éternité ce n'etoit pas encore à lui qu'il pensoit.'

Largely as we have already quoted from our author, we must bespeak the attention of our readers for one more narrative, with which we shall close our extracts.-Longinus somewhere mentions that it was a question among the critics of his age whether the sublime could be produced by tenderness. If this question had not

been already determined, the following history would have gone far to bring it to a decision:

'Yes! there are real Mourners-I have seen
A fair, sad Girl, mild, suffering, and serene;
Attention (through the day) her duties claim'd,
And to be useful as resign'd she aim'd;
Neatly she drest, nor vainly seem'd t' expect
Pity for grief, or pardon for neglect;
But when her wearied Parents sunk to sleep,
She sought her place to meditate and weep:
Then to her mind was all the past display'd,
That faithful Memory brings to Sorrow's aid:
For then she thought on one regretted Youth,
Her tender trust, and his unquestion'd truth;
In ev'ry place she wander'd, where they'd been,
And sadly-sacred held the parting scene;
Where last for Sea he took his leave-that place
With double interest would she nightly trace:
For long the Courtship was, and he would say,
Each time he sail'd-"This once, and then the day:"
Yet prudence tarried, but when last he went,
He drew from pitying Love a full consent.

'Happy he sail'd, and great the care she took,
That he should softly sleep, and smartly look;
White was his better linen, and his check
Was made more trim than any on the deck;
And every comfort Men at Sea can know,
Was her's to buy, to make, and to bestow :
For he to Greenland sail'd, and much she told,
How he should guard against the climate's cold;
Yet saw not danger; dangers he'd withstood,
Nor could she trace the Fever in his blood:
His Messmates smil'd at flushings in his cheek,
And he too smil'd, but seldom would he speak;
For now he found the danger, felt the pain,
With grievous symptoms he could not explain;
Hope was awaken'd, as for home he sail'd,
But quickly sank, and never more prevail'd.

He call'd his friend, and prefac'd with a sigh
A Lover's message-" Thomas, I must die:
"Would I could see my Sally, and could rest
"My throbbing temples on her faithful breast,
"And gazing go!-if not, this trifle take,
"And say till death I wore it for her sake;

"Yes! I must die-blow on, sweet breeze, blow on!
"Give me one look, before my life be gone,
"Oh! give me that, and let me not despair,

"One last fond look-and now repeat the prayer."

'He had his wish, had more; I will not paint The Lovers' meeting: she beheld him faint,With tender fears, she took a nearer view, Her terrors doubling as her hopes withdrew; He tried to smile, and, half succeeding, said, "Yes! I must die," and hope for ever fled.

'Still long she nurs'd him; tender thoughts meantime
Were interchang'd, and hopes and views sublime.
To her he came to die, and every day

She took some portion of the dread away;
With him she pray'd, to him his Bible read,
Sooth'd the faint heart, and held the aching head:
She came with smiles the hour of pain to cheer;
Apart she sigh'd; alone, she shed the tear;
Then, as if breaking from a cloud, she gave
Fresh light, and gilt the prospect of the grave.
'One day he lighter seem'd, and they forgot
The care, the dread, the anguish of their lot;
They spoke with cheerfulness, and seem'd to think,
Yet said not so" perhaps he will not sink :"
A sudden brightness in his 100k appear'd,
A sudden vigour in his voice was heard ;-
She had been reading in the Book of Prayer,
And led him forth, and plac'd him in his chair;
Lively he seem'd, and spoke of all he knew,
The friendly many, and the favourite few;
Nor one that day did he to mind recall,
But she has treasur'd, and she loves them all;
When in her way she meets them, they appear
Peculiar people-death has made them dear.
He nam'd his Friend, but then his hand she prest,
And fondly whisper'd, "Thou must go to rest;"
"I go," he said, but as he spoke, she found
His hand more cold, and fluttering was the sound;
Then gaz'd affrighten'd; but she caught a last,
A dying look of love, and all was past!

'She plac'd a decent Stone his Grave above,
Neatly engrav'd-an offering of her Love;
For that she wrought, for that forsook her bed,
Awake alike to Duty and the Dead;

She would have griev'd, had Friends presum❜d to spare
The least assistance-'twas her proper care.

Here will she come and on the Grave will sit,

Folding her arms, in long abstracted fit;

But if Observer pass, will take her round,

And careless seem, for she would not be found;

Then go again, and thus her hour employ,

While Visions please her, and while Woes destroy.'-pp. 23, 27.

Why is the harp that can utter such warblings ever tuned to other notes than those of love and tenderness?

We could prolong our extracts, and should be happy to adorn our pages with the account of the water party,' the almshouse,' the highwayman's dream,' and some select sketches of character. But it is time to draw to a close; and we shall content ourselves with throwing together a few detached lines which struck us as eminently happy.

Of the inhabitants of the poor-house

'Nothing to bring them joy, to make them weep,

The day itself is like the night asleep.”

A criminal under sentence of death is represented as absorbed in that one prospect,

'This makes his Features ghastly, gives the tone

Of his few words resemblance to a groan.'-p. 324.

and, in his sleep, he

'Dreams the very thirst that then will be.'

These two lines are singularly capressive

'When half the pillow'd Man the Palsy chains,

And the Blood falters in the bloated Veins.'—p. 146.

and the second of these that relate the finishing of the hospital 'Skill, Wealth, and Vanity, obtain the fame,

And Piety, the joy that makes no claim.'-p. 227.

The feeling of tenderness with which the dead are regarded is well described

Now to their Love and Worth of every kind,

A soft compunction turns th' afflicted Mind.'-p. 22.

From these specimens our readers will receive a very favourable impression of the poetical talent of Mr. Crabbe: and of this impression we are now content to leave them to the uninterrupted indulgence. That it should be the tendency of the former part of our criticism, to excite somewhat different feelings, would be to us a matter of much self-reproach, if we were not convinced that, in commenting on a writer at once of such powers and such celebrity, a frank exposition of our sentiments was due both to him and to ourselves. Should these imperfect strictures be fortunate enough to meet the eye of Mr. Crabbe, we have so much reliance on his candour as to believe that he will forgive their freedom. If however we are mistaken in this conjecture, we can only express our hope that he may speedily revenge himself, as he is well able, by the production of some work which shall compel our unqualified praise.

ART. II. The Natural Defence of an Insular Empire, earnestly recommended; with a Sketch of a Plan to attach real Seamen to the Service of their Country. By Philip Patten, Admiral of the White Squadron of His Majesty's Fleet. 4to. pp. 102. Southampton, Hatchard, 1810.

ON the list of flag-officers belonging to the royal navy, there will be found a certain number of veterans, who, it would seem, from the dates of their commissions as post-captains, must have entered the service about the middle of the last century; many of them too, from the nature of the service, can have seen little or nothing of it for the last twenty or thirty years. Of this number, we find a few who have distributed themselves, in little groups, in the neighbourhood of the principal sea-port towns of the kingdom, attracted, no doubt, by a predilection for that element, on which their youthful days had been spent. Meeting over a can of flip, they discuss the news and politics of the day, relate their mutual grievances, lament the good old times that are past, and growl at the present, till, at length, they succeed in persuading each other, and perhaps those around them, that they are, or at least ought to be, exceedingly miserable, as every thing is going on in the worst of all possible manners in this worst of all possible worlds. This may be very harmless to the parties immediately concerned, and not unamusing to their audience; but if, in an unlucky hour, some member of the little knot should resolve to dip his pen in gall, for the laudable purpose of setting the world right, the chances are ten to one that he will, though unintentionally, succeed, and, by a silly book, reconcile his readers to the system of which he is at once the victim and the apology.

We by no means intend to insinuate, much less to affirm, that 'Philip Paten, Admiral of the White Squadron of His Majesty's Fleet,' is a member of any of the clubs above-mentioned; but we maintain that every page of his book bears, on the face of it, the strongest testimony that he is, at all events, one of the numerous and agreeable society of croakers. In fact he tells us, in terms not to be misunderstood, that every thing has gone ill, and is growing worse, in the naval service, through the ignorance, presumption, and insanity of statesmen,' whom he accuses indiscriminately of yielding to the natural impulse of ambition, in retaining the management of the navy without possessing sufficient knowledge of the subject;' and after hinting, pretty broadly, that his own experience and skill are superior to what has generally fallen to the lot of others, he thinks it his duty, and determines accordingly, 'to give information without regard to the doctrines or opinions of any set of statesmen whatever.' (Pref. 5.)

VOL. IV. NO. VIII.

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