the number of our enjoyments and transgressions, by imposing its present laws of refinement. A quotation from Mr. Warton will best explain the meaning I would convey in this observation. After having noticed some very indecorous scene in an ancient drama, where the patriarch Noah and his wife are the principal personages, the critic observes: Our ancestors intended no sort of impiety by these monstrous unnatural mixtures. Neither the writers nor the spectators saw their impropriety. They had no just idea of decorum, consequently but little sense of the ridiculous: what appears to us to be the highest burlesque upon these characters, made no sort of impression in those days.'

Having brought my two observations into a smaller space than I apprehended I should do, permit me now to say, in reply to that part of your letter in which you distinguish between the effects of seriousness and levity in the utterance of language dangerous to the hearer, that I can by no means consider levity as possessing any peculiar allurement to the passion commonly called Love.

For, as far as every serious description must impress our hearts and our understanding more deeply than a jocular one, so far I conceive there may be danger in those very warnings, however gravely delivered, which the fall of David and other holy persons in the Old Testament are meant to impart. The awfu! consequences which followed guilt in the unlawful loves of the Jews, will no doubt alarm; but they will also awaken the mind to the contemplation of those crimes so dearly purchased; and the magnitude of the temptation can in no way be so forcibly described, as by the magnitude of the punishment, which was sure to overtake the unhappy sinner, and yet was so often braved by the very favourites of Heaven.

But writings that are familiar to us lose very often (as other familiar things do) their natural effect; for I sincerely believe that many an actor would blush to read all the adventures of the Jewish people before an actress whom he esteemed, as much as an ecclesiastic would be ashamed to recite one of our most licentious comedies before the woman whom he wished to make his wife. My veneration for the Sacred History is in no shape diminished by this opinion; but my respect for the cavillers at plays is wholly overcome or destroyed by it.

There is a quotation in your work wherein Gisborne will not

admit on the stage even allusions offensive to modesty. This would seem highly proper, and every one would agree in such taste for purity did not the comparison of the 'beam and the mote' force itself upon recollection, and give rise to the suspicion, that he conceives there is a prerogative in indelicacy which only belongs to the Christian Church.

Dear Sir, your most obliged humble servant,

E. INCHBALD.

P.S.-If I were asked by an illiterate foreigner to explain to him the exact meaning of our word delicacy, I would conclude my definition by saying:-'And this very Delicacy is at present all the fashion; and the most beautiful and becoming fashion it is that ever was followed. The grave and the good are loudest in its praise; but no one loves and admires it so much as the Libertine. It is the lure to his pleasures and heightens all their gratifications. It conceals, as with a veil, all the vices of the artful wanton, and supplies her with bonds to secure the paramour whom delicacy has ensnared.'

CCVII.

When Crabbe was struggling for literary employment in London, and found himself on the verge of starvation, he addressed this letter to Burke relying on the great statesman's reputation for philanthropy. The result was, he went into Mr. Burke's room a poor young adventurer, and came out virtually secure of almost all the good fortune that afterwards fell to his lot.' Who must not regret that his generous patron did not live to read 'The Borough' and 'Sir Eustace Grey?'

-

George Crabbe to Edmund Burke.

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. 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 shown 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 endeavoured to circulate copies of the enclosed Proposals.

I am afraid, Sir, I disgust you with this very dull narration, but believe me punished in the misery that occasions it. You will conclude, 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 had every delay. The people with whom I live perceive my situation, and find me to be indigent and without friends. About ten days since, I was compelled to give a note for seven pounds, to avoid an arrest for about double that sum which I owe. I wrote 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 favour, a week's forbearance, when I am positively told, that I must pay the money, or prepare for a prison.

You will guess the purpose of so long an introduction. I appeal to you, Sir, as a good, and, let me add, a great man. I have no other pretensions to your favour 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 demonstration 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 ventured to solicit such favour; but you will forgive me, Sir, if you do not think proper to relieve. It is impossible that sentiments like yours can proceed from any but a humane and generous heart.

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. My 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 embitter 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,

GEORGE CRABBE.

CCVIII.

In the spring of 1782, when Edmund Burke was made a Privy Councillor and was appointed Paymaster-General of the forces in the second Rockingham Administration, Crabbe joined in the chorus of congratulation, and we may be sure his words were heartfelt. The post was the most lucrative in the Ministry, yielding in perquisites alone more than 25,000l. a year. This, with other wasteful expenditure, the new Minister swept away in an early measure of reform.

The Rev. George Crabbe to the Right Hon. Edmund Burke.

Sir, I have long delayed, though I much wished to write to you, not being willing to take up any part of your time with the impertinence of congratulation; but I now feel that I bad rather be thought an intruder on your patience, than not to be a partaker of the general joy. Most heartily, indeed, do I rejoice, being well assured that if the credit and happiness of this kingdom can be restored, the wisdom and virtues of my most honoured friend, and his friends, will bring forward so desirable an event; and if not, it will be some satisfaction to find such men lost to the confidence of the people, who have so long demonstrated their incapacity to make a proper use of it.

Having procured a successor to my curacies, I expect to be in town within a few days,—and for a few. I shall then hope once to see you; not bearing to suppose that any honours, or business, or even the calls of my country, should make me totally forgotten ; for you have directed, assisted, adopted me; and I cannot relinquish the happiness your favour gives me. I will be still your son, and my portion shall be to rejoice in my father's honour. I am also, with the highest respect, and most earnest good wishes,

Dear and excellent sir,

Your greatly obliged and grateful servant,
GEORGE CRABBE.

CCIX.

Godwin-Wollstonecraft-Shelley. There is no more interesting chapter in modern literary history than that embodied in the memorials of the lives and relationship of these strange characters. Letters from the pen of each are necessarily included in this volume. Godwin had risen into fame by his political writings and his novel of 'Caleb Williams,' before he inarried Mary Wollstonecraft. She died in child bed Sept. 1797. The daughter of the marriage was wedded to the poet Shelley. In 1798 Godwin edited the posthumous works of his wife, and soon after visited his friend Curran in Ireland. The great Irish barrister is thus brought before us.

William Godwin to Samuel Taylor Coleridge.

Dublin: September, 1800.

Dear Coleridge,-You scarcely expected a letter from me of the above date. But I received last September an invitation from