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quarrels with his father, who was always a man of strong passions and had now unfortunately given himself up to the seductions of the tavern and the ale-house. Habitual excesses increased the violence of his temper-at the slighest, or no provocation at all, the dishes were flung about the room-all was misery and terror-and by degrees his family were made to tremble at the sound of his returning footsteps. At the same time poor Crabbe's virtuous and pious mother was rapidly sinking under sorrows and an incurable disease. The knowledge of those domestic miseries which the poet afterwards painted with such fearful agonizing reality, was thus forced upon Crabbe in his youth, on his own hearth. Who can tell the bitterness of knowledge so acquired, except those who have shared the same family misfortunes? except those who have known what it is to shrink from a father that by nature they should love and reverence-to weep over a declining mother whose end is hastened by her annoyances and griefs,-to see all the household virtues, one by one, sacrificed to intemperance and consequent discord and poverty? It is true, that a son thus situated must attain, at an early period, a much deeper acquaintance with human life and every-day affairs, than one whose domestic circle has never been exposed to storms and tempests, but how dear is the price of this premature wisdom?-how deep and how lasting the sadness and heartsinking it brings with it?-a sadness that no future success in life, and no honourably acquired competence and comfort, can ever wholly obliterate. And then again, how many wanting Crabbe's elevation of taste and strength of mind fall early victims to the contagion of example, or contract habits of recklessness and vicious indulgence!

At last, however, the salt-master raised a little money, and the poet was sent in a trading sloop to London. He lodged with an Aldborough family who were established in some humble trade in Whitechapel. But his journey was fruitless. So scanty were his means that he was unable to carry forward his professional education with regularity; and when all his money was spent he returned to Suffolk without any great addition of surgical knowledge.

At Aldborough he engaged himself as an assistant in the shop of a Mr. Maskill," a surgeon and apothecary,-a stern and powerful man." After some time this despotic practitioner transferred his oaths and his business to another town, and Crabbe was encouraged to set up for himself in his native place.

But success was out of the question-he felt his lack both of nerve and knowledge; and, like a conscientious man, he never woke without shuddering at the thought that some important and difficult operation might be thrown in his way before night. His practice seems almost to have been confined to the doctoring of some militia-men who were quartered at Aldborough, and to the administering of" something comfortable" to the old women of the place, a good portion of whom were his own poor relations, and, of course, paid nothing.

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was while I gazed on it,' he said to my brother and me, one happy morning, that I determined to go to London and venture all."-Life, p. 43. Accordingly to London he went in the hold of a common trading sloop, living with the sailors of the vessel and partaking of their coarse fare during the voyage. He was then twenty-five years of age; his whole worldly substance consisted of a box of clothes, a small case of surgical instruments, and three pounds in money; and he had hardly a friend in the world save such as were as poor as himself. It is a curious fact that when he left his native place to rely upon poetry as his support, he had never heard of the fate of that other literary adventurer, the youthful Chaterton, who not long before had terminated his miseries by suicide. He said in after years, that had that awful story been familiar to him, he would probably have been deterred from the attempt he made.

The first and kindest friends he found on his arrival in town, were a Mr. and Mrs. Burcham, who kept a linendraper's shop in Cornhill. To be near these friends he took lodgings close to the Royal Exchange in the house of a hair dresser, with whom he afterwards removed to Bishopsgate-street. Immediately after his arrival he equipped himself with a fashionable tie-wig, "which," says his son, "must have made a considerable hole in his three pounds." He was soon reduced to that distress in which a shilling is precious. In his city lodging he copied and corrected the poems he had brought with him from the country, composed new pieces both in prose and verse, and put himself in communication with some of the booksellers. He first applied to Mr. Dodsley, who was the most eminent publisher of the day; but to have "two strings to the bow," he informs us, that he completed another manuscript, and sent it to Mr. Becket, another publisher, at the same time. This information, with much more of a most interesting description, is derived from the Poet's Journal,' which consists of memoranda drawn up at the time for the perusal of his aflianced wife. Few private documents so touching as these have ever met the eyes of the world.

One of the entries in his journal at this agonizing season of uncertainty is as follows:

"Mr. Dodsley's reply, just received.-' Mr. D. presents his compliments to the gentleman who favoured him with the enclosed poem, which he has returned, as he apprehends the sale of it would probably not enable him to give any consideration. He does not mean by this to insinuate a want of merit in the poem, but rather a want of attention in the public.-Once more, my Sarah, I'll try and write to Mr. Becket: if he fails me!—I know not how I shall ever get sufficient time to go through my principal design; but I have promised to keep up my spirits, and I will.-God help me!”

When the poor poet received a tardy answer from Mr. Becket, it was just the same as Mr. Dodsley's. The poem offered was "a pretty thing," but the town did not regard these little pieces. Mr. B. could not publish; but, perhaps, some other bookseller might.

Now poor Crabbe, who had to wait and to hunt out for this doubtful chance, was already in a state little short of starvation. When he received Mr. Becket's answer he was "possessed but of sixpence farthing in the world." He had already pawned his watch and his instruments, and sold part of his books and clothes; he had, indeed, left himself only a few things essential to decency of appearance; and to add to his misery, he was in debt to the people with whom he lodged.

Under these discouraging circumstances, however, Crabbe" cultivated his favourite science of botany, and so improved his Latin that he was enabled to enjoy Horace, and afterwards to pass through certain examinations necesary before he could be ordained a priest, with much credit. All this time, by letters and by frequent meetings he continued his tender friendship with Miss Elmy, the height of his ambition being to reach such a station in life that would permit him in prudence to marry. The sturdy yeoman, her uncle, who had more taste for brandy-punch than for literature, admired the poet's sterling qualities, but not unfrequently indulged at his expense in a rough sneer about the "d-d learning." These sneers did not prevent Crabbe from continuing his devotion to our own poets and his favourite Horace, or from writing fresh verses himself. Indeed, with the conviction forced upon him, that he should never succeed as a surgeon, he indulged more and more in dreams of literary reputation. "He deliberated often and long, resolved and re-resolved and again doubted; but well aware as he was of the hazard he was about to encounter, he at last made up his mind. One gloomy day, towards the close of the year 1779, he had strolled to a bleak and cheerless part of the cliff above Aldborough, called the Marsh Hill, brooding," as he went, over the humiliating necessities of his condition, and plucking every now and then, I have no doubt, the hundredth specimen of some common weed. He stopped opposite a shallow muddy piece of water, as desolate and gloomy as his own mind, called the Leech-pond,' and ' it

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After long search, and numerous heart-breaking disappointments, he at length fou d a bookseller who undertook the publication of an anonymous poem, entitled 'The Candidate. This production sold to a certain extent, and he was told that some profit-not much, indeed-would come to him; but alas! at this crisis, when little would have been much, the publisher failed, and Crabbe did not receive a farthing. Nor did fame and the praise of critics console him for loss of money. The poem soon sank into neglect, and the cotemporary Aristarchuses recommended that no encouragement should be given to this Candidate to stand a poll at Parnassus."

Absolute want now stared Crabbe in the face. To avoid its mortal grasp, he seems to have thought of relinquishing literary pursuits, and seeking the means of gaining his daily bread as a druggist's journeyman. In his worst extremities, his honest nature shrunk from borrowing money

without any prospect of repaying it. He determined, how-
ever, to make one effort more, and successively addressed
several men of high station, supplicating for a species of
literary patronage (and little else), which was rather more
efficient in those days than it is in our own, when, in reality,
the only useful patron of an author is the great body of the
public.
He wrote to the prime minister, Lord North, and after a
cruel delay, a message delivered by an insolent domestic
determined his suit in that quarter. Without giving way
to despair, he wrote to Lord Shelburne; but here again he
was repulsed. Several applications to Lord Chancellor
Thurlow were equally unsuccessful. Mr. Crabbe's biogra-
pher truly says, that " a spirit less manly and less religious
must have sunk altogether under such an accumulation of

sorrows."

Mr. Burke was at that time involved in the turmoils of politics, and was so far from being in affluent circumstances, that he derived a considerable portion of his own income from his literary exertions. But the last circumstance, and his own experience of the difficulties which beset a young literary aspirant, disposed him to ready sympathy. He was naturally a man of a kind and generous heart, and therefore, busied as he was, he lost no time in attending to Crabbe's application, and at once invited him to his house. He was possessed, moreover, of a keen perception_of_the beautiful in poetry, and of an exquisite taste; and these enabled him, in spite of sundry blemishes in the specimens submitted to his judgment, to discover at once that Crabbe was a poet of no common order. "The short interview that ensued," says the biographer, "entirely, and for ever, changed the nature of my father's worldly fortunes. He was, in the common phrase, ‘a made man from that hour.”. His son lays some stress on the fact that Crabbe in his interview with Burke exhibited a gentlemanly character and deportment without any affectation or offensive peculiarities of manner and address, and attributes part of the zeal with which the orator immediately took the poet into his patronage, and domesticated him for awhile under his own roof, to this trait in Crabbe's character. There may occasionally be exceptions, but, generally, intellect of high order is accompanied by that quality we call gentlemanly, and by an easy natural deportment, and a simple, straightforward style of conversation. Small wits and poetasters are those who sacrifice propriety to vanity, who think it necessary to be always on stilts, and who, not able to be either great or agreeable, labour to be peculiar. Burke, in speaking of Crabbe to Sir Joshua Reynolds, who, himself a man of humble birth, was an admirable specimen of the gentleman, said, "The young man has the mind and feelings of a gentleman." The extent and variety of his acquirements made Burke also say of him, that “he appears to know something of everything."

As Crabbe's mind was of a religious turn, as his friend thought the diversity of his information, his habits, and disposition were peculiarly adapted for the clerical profession, and as he "had Latin,” it was determined, as the best mode of providing for him, to attempt to obtain holy orders for him. There was some difficulty in doing this person not regularly educated;" but, backed by Mr. Dudley North and Mr. Charles Long, Burke eventually prevailed upon Dr. Yonge, who was then Bishop of Norwich, to ordain Crabbe.

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We should not know, indeed, where to find so admirable an example of patience, resignation, and even cheerfulness under the most trying misfortunes, as that offered by the poet during twelve long months of constant struggle and equally constant reverses. We earnestly recommend it to the study and for the consolation of all young men who have their way to make in the world. The number of literary adventurers like Crabbe is, fortunately, rather small; but the number of those who, unfriended and unknown, have to encounter obstacles and disappointments in humbler callings and pursuits, must always be great indeed. Instead of breaking forth, like his precursor Chatterton, in an alternation of inflated hope and exaggerated despair of boasting and blasphemy-Crabbe was always moderate in his expectations and firm under his disappointments, "turning affliction's better part outwards," and humbly praying to God for better days. After his sincere and rational piety, the sentiment that most supported and cheered him was his attachment to Miss Elmy. This he himself states several times in the Journal.' Instead of seeking an oblivion to his sorrows in dissipation, as so many have done, he formed an intimacy with several young men of talent and sober habits, who, as teachers of mathematics, or in other laborious vocations, had also to carry on a hard struggle with the world. They often met in the evening at a small coffee-house near the Exchange, where "prudence allowed only the most frugal refreshment," but where they could enjoy the more gratifying entertainment of conversing on subjects connected with literature and science. As Crabbe's health required much bodily exercise, he often accompanied one of his young friends when he went to give lessons at the various schools round London. This friend was the late Mr. Bonnycastle, who afterwards emerged from poverty and obscurity, and became Master of the Military Academy at Woolwich. Another of Crabbe's early friends was Mr. Isaac Dalby, who became Professor of Mathematics in the Military College at Marlow, &c.; and a third was the distinguished mathematician Reuben Burrow, who rose from the situation of a merchant's clerk, in the city, to a very high post in the service of the East India Company. Crabbe's choice of such companions was a proof that he was in the right way. Still more frequently he wandered alone into the country, with no other companion than a pocket edition of Horace, or Ovid, or Catullus. "His favourite haunt," says his son, 66 was Hornsey Wood, and there he often renewed his old occupation of searching for plants and insects." On one of the poet's excursions, he went so far that he felt himself unequal to the task of walking back to town. He was exhausted, but so was his purse. He could not afford to purchase the refreshment of a public-house, much less to pay for a bed; and thus, uncomplaining and cheerful, he laid himself down in the fields on a mow of fresh hay, read his Latin poet until it was dark, and there slept until morning. The cheerfulness and buoyancy of his spirits, which could have proceeded only from the virtuous and ennobling sources to which we have alluded, the constancy of his application to his favourite art by which he was then striving to live, and his ardour in the pursuit of knowledge under these dispiriting circumstances, cannot be sufficiently ad-lieved by that extraordinary man the Lord Chancellor mired.

After sustaining all the disappointments we have related, and one or two others, which the reader will find in his son's book, after he had been "spurned by the opulent, and rejected by the publishers, his last shilling gone, and all but his last hope with it," in a happy moment he thought of addressing himself and explaining his lamentable condition to the great statesman and orator, Edmund Burke.

In the meantime, Burke negociated with Dodsley the bookseller, who had rejected Crabbe's previous poems, and endeavoured to induce him to publish the "Library," a new and carefully corrected production. But not all the weight of such a recommendation as Burke's could influence Dodsley, who declined the hazard of publication. The sturdy bookseller, however, had the poem printed, and brought it out on account of the author; he, moreover, exerted all his trade powers to give it circulation, and generously resigned to Crabbe his share of the profits as publisher and vender.

"When The Library' was published, the opinion of Burke had its effect upon the conductors of the various periodical works of the time; the poet received commendatory critiques from the very gentlemen who had hitherto treated him with such contemptuous coldness; and though his name was not in the title-page, it was universally known."-Life, p. 101.

The poem sold to a considerable extent, but the profits derived from so small a publication-a mere pamphlet— could not have been great. Indeed, after its appearance, and after he had lived with Burke at his country-seat at Beaconsfield, had almost constantly occupied a place at his dinner-table in town, and had been introduced by him to the clubs and to most of the distinguished characters of the day, Crabbe often and painfully felt the want of even a trifling sum of money. From these difficulties he was re

Thurlow, to whom Burke had spoken of Crabbe as the poet deserved, begging at the same time for his lordship's efficient patronage in the church. Thurlow immediately wrote to the poet, inviting him to breakfast.

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He received Mr. Crabbe with more than courtesy, and most_condescendingly said, The first poem you sent me, sir, I ought to have noticed; and I heartily forgive the second.' They breakfasted together, and, at parting, his

lordship put a sealed paper into my father's hand, saying, Accept this trifle, sir, in the mean time, and rely on my embracing an early opportunity to serve you more substantially when I hear that you are in orders. As soon as he had left the house he opened the letter, expecting to find a present of ten, or perhaps twenty, pounds; it contained a bank note for a hundred."-pp. 101, 102. After this munificent gift, Crabbe never again felt the stings of poverty; and we must add, in justice to his own generosity of character, what his son states-though the information did not come from his father-" The first use he made of this good fortune was to seek out and relieve some objects of real indigence-poor scholars like himself, whom he had known when sharing their wretchedness in the city: and I must add, that whenever he visited London in later years, he made it his business to inquire after similar objects of charity, supposed to be of respectable personal character, and to do by them, as, in his own hour of distress, he would have been done by."-p. 102.

In the autumn of 1782, Crabbe being licensed as curate to the rector of Aldborough, returned to his native place. His poor mother, who would have been transported with joy at his success, was no more- -she had died of dropsy during his protracted absence; but Miss Elmy, who had encouraged him in his difficulties, was alive and well, to partake in his happiness. It would require a poet like Crabbe to describe such a meeting as theirs must have been. They were, however, still too poor, and Crabbe's situation was too precarious, to permit of a union even now. The manly prudence which the poet exercised in this respect, delaying his marriage with the woman whom he passionately loved until he had attained independence, is another most admirable trait in his character.

Thanks to the persevering friendship of Burke, the poet remained only a few months in the ill-paid and otherwise disagreeable situation of curate at Aldborough. He was recommended to the Duke of Rutland, and in 1783 that nobleman received Crabbe as his domestic chaplain at Belvoir Castle.

In May, of the same year, Crabbe published 'The Village,' which Dr. Johnson and Burke had read with great delight, both having suggested some trifling alterations in the manuscript. This poem greatly increased the fame he had procured by The Library; it became at once popular, and raised the name of Crabbe to a level with those of the first writers of the age. Charles Fox, and all the most accomplished men of the day, hailed its appearance with rapture, and (what was perhaps equally pleasing to the author) its home-truths touched the hearts of people in humbler walks of life. This sudden and great popularity had no evil effect on Crabbe. "The successful author continued as modest as the rejected candidate for publication had been patient and long-suffering." During his visit to town at this time, while his friends were concerting measures to obtain him a university degree, Lord Thurlow, in his usual summary manner, invited him to dinner, at which, telling him that "he was as like parson Adams as twelve to a dozen," he gave him two small livings in Dorsetshire.

Although the Duke and Duchess of Rutland, and other members of the family, treated Crabbe with a kindness and consideration for which he ever remained grateful and attached to that noble house, his situation at Belvoir Castle does not appear to have been a very pleasant one. The style and habits of a dependant and an appendage to rank were ill suited to Crabbe's manly, frank, and somewhat stern character. With a little too much subserviency to titles and wealth, with rather an overstrained veneration for the "thin partition" which divides the aristocracy of genius from the aristocracy of station, his son and biographer offers some sensible remarks on his relinquishing this post, which, in the eyes of the world, must finally have installed the poet "in a dignitary's seat in some Irish cathedral" at least. We have only space to remark, that, in addition to Crabbe's love of independence, there was his anxious desire to fulfil his engagements with Miss Elmy, and that when the Duke was appointed Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, Crabbe did not go with him, but, relying on the income from his two livings, which, though small, afforded the means of subsistence in a quiet, humble way, went into Suffolk and claimed the hand of his constant mistress. After an affection which had endured for thirteen years, and had been exposed to vicissitudes of no ordinary nature, the worthy couple were married at Beccles in the month of December,

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1783. For a year and a half they occupied an apartment in Belvoir Castle, kindly assigned to them by the absent Duke and Duchess. But even this degree of dependence was not to the taste of Crabbe, who, as soon as he procured the neighbouring curacy of Stathern, transferred his little family to the rustic parsonage of that place. Here he passed four years of tranquil study, and of the most perfect domestic happiness. The glare of the great world in which he had mixed never dazzled him for a moment, and his tastes remained as simple and unexpensive as in the days of his youth.

In 1785, he published The Newspaper,' another poem of high merit, which procured him anew the praises and encouragements of the critics and all his great friends. We are now come to a remarkable fact in the life of Crabbe: successful as had been his career as a poet, and flattering as had been his reception as a gentleman in the very highest circles, he from this time entirely withdrew, in both capacities, from the eyes of the world. His son says

"His Parish Register (his next work) was published at the interval of twenty-two years after The Newspaper;' and from his thirty-first year to his fifty-second, he buried himself completely in the obscurity of domestic and village life, hardly catching, from time to time, a single glimpse of the brilliant society in which he had for a season been welcomed, and gradually forgotten as a living author by the public.”—p. 131.

It must increase the interest of this part of his story to know, that when Crabbe did again make his re-appearance as a poet, his principal motive for so doing was to obtain such a sum of money by the sale of his works as might enable him to give his second son the benefits of a university education; and that, when he again mingled in society and received the homage of the great, the learned, the witty, the accomplished, and the beautiful, it was after the death of her who had given sweetness to his solitude, when the family was broken up, and the domestic habits of nearly thirty years' standing were terminated.

We have already said that Crabbe never rose very high in the church. It appears that a man self-educated, as our poet was to a great degree, cannot, under the existing constitution of our hierarchy, aspire to posts of great honour or great profit. It is equally evident, however, that Crabbe had no ambition of the sort, and never looked beyond the attaining of such an income as might enable him to enjoy domestic comfort, and to educate his two sons, who were all of his family that grew up and survived him.

After he had held the two poor livings in Dorsetshire about four years, Lord Thurlow, at the request of the Duchess Dowager of Rutland, exchanged them for two crown livings in the Vale of Belvoir, which together brought him in somewhat more than 4007. per annum. On this revenue, and the produce of a little property left him by his wife's uncle, to which we must add his literary gains, which were very limited, he not only educated both his sons at Cambridge, but contrived to spend considerable sums in charity every year. In 1814, the Duke of Rutland, on Crabbe's resigning the livings he held, gave him that of the large town of Trowbridge, in Wiltshire, together with the incumbency of Croxton, near Belvoir. This was the utmost extent of Crabbe's promotion; and now, according to one of his respectable parishioners- His income amounted altogether to about 800l. per annum, a large portion of which he spent in acts of charity. He was the common refuge of the unhappy

In every family,

Alike in every generation dear,

The children's favourite, and the grandsire's friend,
Tried, trusted, and beloved.'

"To him it was recommendation enough to be poor and wretched. He was extremely moderate in the exaction of tithes. When told of really poor defaulters, his reply was,

Let it be-they cannot afford to pay so well as I can to want it-Let it be.' His charity was so well known that he was regularly visited by mendicants of all grades. He listened to their long stories of wants and woes, gave them a trifle, and then would say, 'God save you-I can do no more for you; but he would sometimes follow them, on reflection, and double or quadruple his gift. He has been known to dive into those obscure scenes of wretchedness and want, where wandering paupers lodge, in order to relieve them. He was, of course, often imposed upon; which dis

covering, he merely said, 'God forgive them-I do.' Life, p. 260.

nics we do not mean the experimental course contained in popular works, but the logical deduction of particular pheEvery one must admire this exquisite kindness of heart, nomena from those more general ones which have obtained while some may reasonably complain of the evil, instead of the name of laws. Nor do we consider the mathematics good, done by charity so indiscriminately bestowed. It required as trifling in amount: a fair knowledge of geomust be remembered, however, that Crabbe was, at this metry, algebra, and trigonometry, such as will enable the time, an old and widowed man. In the vigour of his man- possessor to study this work, is not to be acquired in a day. hood, when he lived in the retirement of his country parishes, What we say is, that the expulsion of the differential calwhere he could know the character and circumstances of culus and its applications from the present edition, renders those he had to deal with, his benevolence, though not less a considerable quantity of knowledge accessible to the maexpansive, flowed in better or surer channels. He had rather thematical student of two years' standing, which was preimproved than forgotten his medical knowledge; and, in viously, in our language, only attainable by the one of four. those remote places, he was for years the physician, as well This halving of the mathematical price to be paid for a as the religious instructor, of the poor. He was constantly knowledge of the principles of equilibrium and motion, is a at the bed-side of the sick and afflicted-he prepared and useful accession to our cheap literature. gave them medicines-he prevented them from poisoning their constitutions with the nostrums of quackery and ignorance; and it is said that his skill and success in this way indicated that, though he was morally and physically disqualified from being a surgeon, he might have attained eminence as a physician.

The work is intended for the Cambridge student, and the previous editions were of a cast which must have principally confined them to the university, or similar schools of the higher analysis. The present edition may outstep these limits, not being, page for page, so difficult as Hutton's Course, and infinitely more philosophical. At the same time, the student of the differential calculus may avail himself of a supplement by the same author and publishers, entitled "Analytical Statics," in which the branches separated from the previous editions are collected.

It contains the theory of equilibrium and of motion, as far as the applications of uniformly accelerated motion. The former is established on the principle of first deducing the properties of the lever from the axioms employed by Archimedes. The effects of friction are explained and considered, by which a defect of most treatises is avoided. The part which relates to dynamics contains a very appropriate and much-wanted treatise on the method of estimating the useful effect of machines, and another on the connexion of pressure and impact, furnished by Professor Airy. This latter is the only part of the work in which the differ

very difficult. It is the work of a gentleman who always makes a given quantity of mathematics go farther in producing results than anybody else.

Throughout life he was an ardent advocate for the education of the working-classes. He felt that the vices and errors, the excesses and miseries, he described in his poems, were to be removed or moderated only by mental improvement, and the substitution of accessible, innocent pleasures, for vicious and brutalizing pleasures. He knew that the poor man, as well as the rich, has within him a natural want for occasional pastimes, and accordingly he promoted, both by precept and example, a taste for healthful, innocent amusement. The sufferings of his youth-the vices and miseries of the poor, which in his opinion sprang, for the most part, if not entirely, from the same sources,-cast a gloom over his mind, and gave the sad leading notes to his muse, by whose efforts he hoped to expose them, and in part to correct them. The same circumstances, and the character of his early friends, who were nearly all in the oppo-ential calculus is explicitly employed, but the form is not sition, influenced Crabbe's political bias, which was always mildly inclined towards the more liberal, or Whig party. No man had seen more closely, or had felt more acutely than he, the wretchedness, the degradation, the immorality, that had resulted from an obstinately maintained system of government. The effect of the prohibitory system and of absurdly high duties, which had drawn nearly half the population of our eastern coasts into a regular trade of smuggling-the effects of the game-laws and of the poor-lawsof the almost total neglect of popular education, in its proper sense, and of the open venality and gross corruption of boroughs and corporations, were all as familiar to Crabbe as the letters of the alphabet. He shuddered at the result of all this, as he saw it displayed in those around him and about him, and even partially in his own father; and with his heart's blood he mixed the colours with which he painted those pictures of rapine and brutality, tyranny and debasement, which ought of themselves to have obtained a Reform Bill,' and the changes and improvements consequent to it.

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It is scarcely necessary to follow the history of Mr. Crabbe's other productions. In the year 1817 Mr. Murray, the publisher, bought the copyright of all that had appeared for 30007., and these, with many additions, are now in the course of publication, in neat embellished monthly volumes, at the cheap rate of 5s. each. We trust that by these means the admirable and instructive works of Crabbe may be rapidly spread through the kingdom.

Our own admiration of his poems has been made sufficiently evident in the progress of this article. If we had to state, in a few words, the grounds on which this admiration rests, we should say they are Crabbe's wonderful fidelity to nature-his heart-searching yet subdued satire-his inimitable tenderness and pathos,-and his enlarged, generous sympathy with the great body of the people.

WHEWELL'S ELEMENTARY TREATISE ON
MECHANICS.

An Elementary Treatise on Mechanics. By W. Whewell, &c. &c.
Fellow and Tutor of Trinity College, Cambridge. Fourth Edi-
tion. Deighton, Cambridge; Whittaker and Arnot, London.
We notice this work, because, in its present form, there is
no other in our language from which so much of mechanics
can be learnt with so little mathematics. And by mecha-

We cannot enter into detailed discussion of any particular points, and shall therefore not waste our readers' patience by mere praise, which this successful effort to bring down a hard subject well deserves. But we should be withholding direct information if we did not make particular mention of the part relating to the separation of statics and dynamics, and the distinction between the principles on which the two are established. There seem to have been but two methods of proceeding on this point; one to explain the grounds for inferring the general laws from actual experiment, which has very rarely been done without some confusion of terms; the other, to presume such mathematical hypotheses as were considered necessary and sufficient, and, setting out with these as established, to proceed to deduce consequences. The French have generally adopted the latter method in their analytical treatises, leaving the first to be done by the writers on physics. In our country, where this division has not been so customary, or at least where treatises on experimental philosophy have been considered rather as popular reading than as the preliminary study of the young mathematician, works on mechanics have usually contained the experimental grounds of the general laws assumed. And here much want of system has frequently prevailed; we do not speak of minute or metaphysical points, on which men did, do, and always will differ, but of the confusion which has arisen from confounding statics with dynamics, and assuming laws and relations as necessary, which, duly considered, hardly appear even probable à priori. Mr. Whewell has completely avoided this fault, and, be he right or wrong, has most clearly stated what are the grounds on which he conceives the two sciences should be placed. If he errs at all, it is unquestionably on the side of separation, and this we feel convinced must be admitted by all to be the safe ground for a beginner: for if the latter afterwards see reason to imagine more connexion between two of his foundation stones than was originally presumed, he is safe in point of to admit that his first principles were a shade more sure than reasoning, and has been so throughout; all he has to do is he thought them. But if, on the other hand, he finds that he has presumed a connexion which succeeding arguments can shake, he must examine the whole body of his conclusions to see whether the truth of any one stands or falls with that connexion; and he must be of a very unsuspicious tem

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that there was no scrambling for favourite dishes,*** greediness, no impatience, and nothing which seemed for a single moment to interrupt the general harmony of the scene; and, though I scarcely heard a syllable of the buzz of conversation which surrounded me-although every moment I felt less and less disposed to attempt to eat what for

BUBBLES FROM THE BRUNNENS OF NASSAU. some time had gradually been coagulating in my plate—yet,

BY AN OLD MAN.

Post 8vo., p. 375. Murray.

THIS is the pleasantest light, gossiping little volume we have read for a long time; nor is it deficient in instruction, and in useful practical hints by which the sum of enjoyment of all classes may be raised and increased. The author, indeed, shows a lively interest in the condition of the people, on the subject of popular education, and in all that has a tendency to improve his native country and mankind generally. Writing in the character of a gentleman, he continually insists on what is due to the people, and on the necessity which our aristocracy lies under, of keeping up with the enlightenment of the lower classes. As to the preventing or retarding the progress of education among the people, he treats such an idea as a monstrous absurdity; and he exposes the plan of education pursued for the sons of the rich, in what he calls "those slaughterhouses of the understanding, our public schools," with well-merited severity. In common with all liberal and truly enlightened minds, he wishes to see wholesome instruction imparted to all classes of the community, the cheap elegances of life universally diffused, the thorny and infinitely subdivided barriers that occur in our society removed or softened down, and the intercourse of man with man, whatever may be their relative wealth or rank, rendered more easy and amiable. And all this he wishes, not for the sake of a revolutionary jumble, but as the true means of preventing revolution-not as a Millennium for sans-culottes and levellers, but as a feasible and wholesome state of things, in which every man may enjoy the fruits of his own inheritance or industry, and rank and wealth cease to be objects of envy and hatred. It is, indeed, worthy of remark, that our traveller finds a considerable portion of those things his heart most desires in the poor dominions of the almost absolute Duke of Nassau, where the most inveterate Tory can scarcely complain of any want of respect to established order, or to the privileges of birth and riches. In those states there is a national system of education; there are regularly organized schools, in which the boys and girls of Protestants, Catholics, and Jews alike receive the blessings and advantages" of cheap instruction; the children are taught vocal music; the mechanics and the peasants have their cheap recreations; the servants are neither over-dressed and over-fed, nor underrated as sensitive rational beings and treated with arrogance; and when people of all conditions of life, from the highest down almost to the very lowest, meet casually, as they are accustomed to do at their watering-places-their "Cheltenhams" and "Baths"-there is no restraint or mutual avoidance-no haughty superciliousness on the one side, or insolence or cringing on the other.

But on this last head, let us see our author's description of a public table d'hôte dinner in the hotel at LangenSchwalbach.

"The company which comes to the brunnens for health, and which daily assembles at dinner, is of a most heterogeneous description, being composed of princes, dukes, barons, counts, &c., down to the petty shopkeeper, and even the Jew of Frankfort, Mainz, and other neighbouring towns; in short, all the most jarring elements of society at the same moment enter the room, to partake together the same one shilling and eight-penny dinner.

"Even to a stranger, like myself, it was easy to perceive that the company, as they seated themselves round the table, herded together in parties and coteries, neither acquainted with each other, nor with much disposition to be acquainted; still, all those invaluable forms of society which connect the guests of any private individual were most strictly observed; and, from the natural good sense and good breeding in the country, this happy combination was apparently effected without any effort. No one seemed to be under any restraint; yet there was no freezing formality at one end of the table, nor rude boisterous mirth at the other. With as honest good appetites as could belong to any set of people under the sun, I particularly remarked

leaning back in my chair, I certainly did derive very great pleasure, and I hope a very rational enjoyment, in looking upon so pleasing a picture of civilized life."-p. 73.

remarks, which may advantageously be studied by all, and To this description our traveller appends some excellent are thus introduced

term 'society,' the particular class, clan, or clique in which "In England we are too apt to designate by the general we ourselves may happen to move, and if that little speck be sufficiently polished, people are generally quite satisfied with what they term the present state of society;' yet there exists a very important difference between this ideal civilization of a part or parts of a community, and the actual civilization of the community as a whole: and surely no country can justly claim for itself that title, until not only can its various members move separately among each other, but until, if necessary, they can all meet and act together. Now if this assertion be admitted, I fear it cannot be denied that we islanders are very far from being as highly polished as our continental neighbours, and that we too often take odd provincial habits of our own invention, for the broad, useful, current manners of the world."-p. 74.

much from the aristocracy of the land as from certain We see a host of narrow prejudices, not proceeding so hangers-on on the skirts of "fashion" or "gentility," marshalled to oppose the change desired by our truly gentlemanly traveller. Nevertheless, the change has begun, and will be carried to the length it ought to go, and no further; nor will it, on some not very distant day, strike the foreigner who visits England as one of the strangest of anomalies, that a country enjoying an essentially free government should be most slavish in its observance of the most arbitrary laws of etiquette and restriction-laws which, from their ceremoniousness, absurdity, and minute detail, might be compared to those of the Chinese Empire, were they not eternally shifting and changing.

humane disposition it everywhere evinces, and the readiness A great charm in the volume before us is the kindly, of the author to observe and be delighted with natural scenery and objects that are equally open to the humblest traveller or to the poorest peasant. He offers some valuable suggestions, derived from his observations of the practice of the Germans in those matters, as to the means of avoiding useless and injurious cruelty in the treatment of our domestic animals. The noble horse, the sweet-smelling cow, nay, consideration. His descriptions of these animals, and the even the despised pig, claim each a share in his merciful hills, woods, and valleys of Nassau, where he meets them, are spirited and graphic; and, indeed, all these portions of his book are to us exceedingly interesting. In the pure dry air of the country-in the sight of a harvest field, with of a little valley, as in the glorious prospect of the Rhine, the local peculiarities of reaping the corn-in the home view caught by climbing up a tree on the mountain's side-in the observation of the manners and habits of the quiet peasantry, or of the sporting of the little fire-flies by night, this amiable traveller finds a fund of enjoyment, which he largely imparts to his readers in his easy natural sketches. The tour he makes is short and cheap, which qualities, we suppose, are the reasons why our shoals of fashionable travellers they do of Negroland. Starting from the Custom-house never take that course, and know no more of Nassau than he presently reaches Holland and the great commercial Stairs, in a good steamer, with little expense and no trouble, town of Rotterdam. From Rotterdam, still proceeding by Coblenz, where he feasts his eyes on the celebrated hillsteam, he goes up the Rhine to the interesting city of fortress of Ehrenbreitstein. Leaving the steamer and the mized road, which cuts across the Duchy from Coblenz to Rhine at Coblenz, he travels inland" on a capital macadaMainz," and in a few hours reaches Ems, where are found the first "brunnens," or bubbling springs of mineral waters. He describes Ems as stiff and formal; in short, "a regular fashionable watering-place." This, of course, is not a place for him, so on he goes on the macadamized road, "passing through the old mouldering town of Nassau, and under the

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