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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.


Let me not have this gloomy view
About my room, around my bed;
But morning roses, wet with dew,

To cool my burning brows instead;
As flowers that once in Eden grew,
Let them their fragrant spirits shed,
And every day their sweets renew,
Till I, a fading flower, am dead.

Oh let the herbs I loved to rear

Give to my sense their perfumed breath!
Let them be placed about my bier,
And grace the gloomy house of death.
I'll have my grave beneath a hill,
Where only Lucy's self shall know,
Where runs the pure pellucid rill
Upon its gravelly bed below:
There violets on the borders blow,
And insects their soft light display,
Till, as the morning sunbeams glow,
The cold phosphoric fires decay.

That is the grave to Lucy shown;

The soil, a pure and silver sand;
The green cold moss above it grown,
Unpluck'd of all but maiden hand.
In virgin earth, till then unturn'd,

There let my maiden form be laid;
Nor let my changed clay be spurn'd,

Nor for new guest that bed be made.
There will the lark, the lamb, in sport,
In air, on earth, securely play:
And Lucy to my grave resort,

As innocent, but not so gay.

I will not have the churchyard ground
With bones all black and ugly grown,
To press my shivering body round,
Or on my wasted limbs be thrown.

With ribs and skulls I will not sleep,
In clammy beds of cold blue clay,
Through which the ringed earthworms creep,
And on the shrouded bosom prey.

I will not have the bell proclaim
When those sad marriage rites begin,
And boys, without regard or shame,

Press the vile mouldering masses in.

Say not, it is beneath my care

I cannot these cold truths allow;
These thoughts may not afflict me there,
But oh! they vex and tease me now!
Raise not a turf, nor set a stone,

That man a maiden's grave may trace,
But thou, my Lucy, come alone,
And let affection find the place!

Oh! take me from a world I hate,
Men cruel, selfish, sensual, cold;
And, in some pure and blessed state,
Let me my sister minds behold:
From gross and sordid views refined,
Our heaven of spotless love to share,
For only generous souls design'd,

And not a man to meet me there.'


Pilgrim, burden'd with thy sin,
Come the way to Zion's gate;
There, till mercy let thee in,

Knock, and weep, and watch, and wait.
Knock-he knows the sinner's cry;

Weep-he loves the mourner's tears;

Watch-for saving grace is nigh;

Wait-till heavenly light appears.

Hark! it is the Bridegroom's voice,
"Welcome, pilgrim, to thy rest;"
Now, within the gate, rejoice,

Safe, and seal'd, and bought, and blest.
Safe from all the lures of vice;

Seal'd-by signs the chosen know;
Bought by love, and life the price;
Blest-the mighty debt to owe.

Holy pilgrim! what for thee

In a world like this remain?

From thy guarded breast shall flee

Fear, and shame, and doubt, and pain.

Fear-the hope of heaven shall fly;

Shame-from glory's view retire;
Doubt-in certain rapture die;

Pain-in endless bliss expire.

"The characters of the two sisters are drawn with infinite skill and minuteness, and their whole story narrated with great feeling and beauty. The wanderings of Jane's reason are represented in a very affecting manner. The concluding stanzas appear to us to be eminently beautiful, and make us regret that Mr. Crabbe should have indulged us so seldom with those higher lyrical effusions.”—JEFFREY.


SIR-I am sensible that I need even your talents to apologize 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.

Pardon me a short preface. I had a partial father, who gave me a better education than his broken fortune would have allowed; and a better than was necessary, as he could give me that only. I was designed for the profession of physic; but, not having wherewithal to complete the requisite studies, the design but served to convince me of a parent's affection, and the error it had occasioned. In April last I came to London, with three pounds, and flattered myself this would be sufficient to supply me with the common necessaries of life till my abilities should procure me more; of these I had the highest opinion, and a poetical vanity contributed to my delusion. I knew little of the world, and had read books only. I wrote, and fancied perfection in my compositions; when I wanted bread, they promised me affluence, and soothed me with dreams of reputation, whilst my appearance subjected me to contempt. Time, reflection, and want have showed me my mistake. I see my trifles in that which I think the true light; and, whilst I deem them such, have yet the opinion that holds them superior to the common run of poetical publications.

I had some knowledge of the late Mr. Nassau, the brother of Lord Rochford; in consequence of which, I asked his lordship's permission to inscribe my little work to him. Knowing it to be free from all political allusions and personal abuse, it was no very material point to me to whom it was dedicated. His lordship thought it none to him, and obligingly consented to my request.

I was told that a subscription would be the more profitable method for me, and therefore endeavored to circulate copies of the enclosed proposals.

I am afraid, sir, I disgust you with this very dull believe me punished in the misery that occasions it.

narration, but You will con

"Mr. Crabbe's journal of his London life, extending over a period of three months, is one of the most affecting documents which ever lent an interest to biography. Arriving in the metropolis in the beginning of 1800, without money, friends, or introductions, he rapidly sank into penury and suffering. His landlord threatened him, and hunger and a jail already stared him in the face. In this emergency, he ventured to solicit the notice of three individuals, eminent for station and influence. He applied to Lord North, Lord Shelburne, and Lord Thurlow, but without success. In a happy moment the name of Burke entered his mind, and he appealed to his sympathy in the following letter. The result is well known. In Burke the happy poet found not only a patron and a friend, but a sagacious adviser and an accomplished critic."-WILLMOTT.

"The tears stood in Crabbe's eyes, while he talked of Burke's kindness to him in his distress; and I remember he said-The night after I delivered my letter at his door. I was in such a state of agitation, that I walked Westminster bridge, backward and forward util daylight."-LOCKHART.



clude that, during this time, I must have been at more expense than I could afford; indeed, the most parsimonious could not have avoided it. The printer deceived me, and my little business has About ten had every delay. The people with whom I live perceive my situation, and find me to be indigent and without friends. I wrote days since, I was compelled to give a note for seven pounds, to avoid an arrest for about double that sum, which I owe. to every friend I had, but my friends are poor likewise; the time of payment approached, and I ventured to represent my case to Lord Rochford. I begged to be credited for this sum till I received it of my subscribers, which I believe will be within one month; but to this letter I had no reply, and I have probably offended by my importunity. Having used every honest means in vain, I yesterday confessed my inability, and obtained, with much entreaty, and as the greatest favor, a week's forbearance, when I am positively told that I must pay the money, or prepare for a prison. the of so long an introduction. I appeal I have no You will purpose guess to you, sir, as a good, and, let me add, a great man. other pretensions to your favor than that I am an unhappy one. It is not easy to support the thoughts of confinement; and I am coward enough to dread such an end to my suspense.

Can you, sir, in any degree, aid me with propriety? Will you ask any demonstrations of my veracity? I have imposed upon myself, but I have been guilty of no other imposition. Let me, if possible, interest your compassion. I know those of rank and fortune are teased with frequent petitions, and are compelled to refuse the requests even of those whom they know to be in distress it is, therefore, with a distant hope I venture to solicit such favor; but do not think proper to relieve. It you you will forgive me, sir, if is impossible that sentiments like yours can proceed from humane and generous heart.


but a

My I will call upon you, sir, to-morrow; and if I have not the happiness to obtain credit with you, I must submit to my fate. existence is a pain to myself, and every one near and dear to me are distressed in my distresses. My connections, once the source of happiness, now imbitter the reverse of my fortune; and I have only to hope a speedy end to a life so unpromisingly begun: in which, (though it ought not to be boasted of,) I can reap some consolation from looking to the end of it. I am, sir, with the greatest respect, your obedient and most humble servant,



JAMES MACKINTOSH,1 one of the most distinguished men of his time, and who attained eminence in literature, philosophy, history, and politics, was born in Aldourie, on the banks of Loch Ness, Scotland, on the 24th of October, 1765. At a very early age, he exhibited a remarkable fondness for abstruse speculations, and read such books as fell in his way; among which were the works of Pope and Swift. In 1780, he went to the College of Aberdeen, where he was recognized, by common consent, as the first scholar there; while his courteous demeanor, refined manners, playful fancy, and easy flow of elocution rendered him a general favorite among his companions. His chief associate was the Rev. Robert Hall, whom the exclusive system of the English universities had forced to seek, in this northern seminary, that academical education which was denied to him, as a "Dissenter," in his own country. The society and conversation of Hall had great influence on Mackintosh's mind, and their intellectual combats were almost unceasing.

In 1784, having taken his degree, he set out for Edinburgh to commence the study of physic, which he had made choice of as a profession. Here a new world was opened to him, and he was introduced into the first literary society of that renowned metropolis. But metaphysical, and political, and scientific speculation, rather than the study of his profession, engrossed his attention; and, after three years spent in irregular application, he became a candidate for a degree. Having obtained his diploma, he quitted Edinburgh in September, 1787, with a large stock of miscellaneous information, but without having concentrated his powers upon any one pursuit, or given to professional subjects that systematic attention which is indispensable to the attainment of professional eminence.

Early in 1788 he set out for London, and arrived at that great theatre of action at one of the most critical periods of the world's history. "An ardent enthusiast for political amelioration, he came in contact with society when it was already heaving with the first throes of that great convulsion which was soon to overturn all the institutions of a neighboring country, and to shake those of every other to their lowest foundations." In the discussions which were then going on, he was eager to take a part; and his failure to receive a medical appointment, which he had expected, led him to think seriously of abandoning the profession he had chosen. Early in 1789, he was married to Miss Catharine Stuart, a young lady of a respectable Scotch family, and, at the age of twenty-four, he found himself

In 1803, he received the "honor (?) of knighthood," and was then "the Right Honorable Sir James Mackintosh."

"Behold the child, by nature's kindly law,

Pleased with a rattle, tickled with a straw:
Some livelier plaything gives his youth delight,
A little louder, but as empty quite;

Scarfs, garters, gold amuse his riper stage,
And beads and prayer-books are the toys of age.”

POPE, Essay on Man.

*Alluding to the superstitious devotees of the Papal Church.

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