Tales of the Hall

Front matter

TON DON: FKIM'LD BY JHOMAS DAVISOM] WHITEFKIAKS V THE REV. GEORGE CRABBE, LL.B. LV TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE -STREET. 1819. BY THE REV. GEORGE CRABBE, LL.B. IN TWO VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON : JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE-STREET. 1819. TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF RUTLAND MADAM, IT is the privilege of those who are placed in that elevated situation to which your Grace is an ornament, that they give honour to the person upon whom they confer a favour. When I de dicate to your Grace the fruits of many years, and speak of my debt to the House of Rutland, I feel that I am not without pride in the confession nor insensible to the honour which such gratitude implies. Forty years have elapsed since this debt commenced. On my entrance into the cares of life, and while contending with its difficulties, a Duke and Duchess of Rut land observed and protected me — in my VI DEDICATION. progress a Duke and Duchess of Rutland favoured and assisted me — and, when I am retiring from the world, a Duke and Duchess of Rutland receive my thanks, and accept my offering.

All, even in this world of mutability, is not change : I have experienced unvaried favour — I have felt undiminished respect. With the most grateful remembrance of what I owe, and the most sincere con viction of the little I can return, I present these pages to your Grace's accept ance, and beg leave to subscribe myself, May it please your Grace, With respect and gratitude, Your Grace's Most obedient and devoted Servant, GEORGE CRABBE Troubridge, June, 1ST 9.

Preface

. IF I did not fear that it would appear to my readers like arrogancy, or if it did not seem to myself indecorous to send two volumes of considerable magnitude from the press without preface or apology, without one petition for the reader's attention, or one plea for the writer's defects, I would most willingly spare myself an address of this kind, and more especially for these reasons ; first, because a preface is a part of a book seldom honoured by a reader's perusal ; secondly, because it is both difficult and distressing to write that which we think will be disregarded ; and thirdly, because I do not conceive that I am called upon for such introductory matter by any of the mo-

PREFACE.

. VIII tives which usually influence an author when he composes his prefatory address. When a writer, whether of poetry or prose, first addresses the public, he has generally something to offer which relates to himself or to his work, and which he considers as a necessary prelude to the work itself, to prepare his readers for the entertainment or the instruction they may expect to receive, for one of these every man who publishes must suppose he affords — this the act itself implies ; and in proportion to his conviction of this fact must be his feeling of the diffi culty in which he has placed himself: the difficulty consists in reconciling the implied presumption of the undertaking, whether to please or to instruct mankind, with the dif fidence and modesty of an untried candidate for fame or favour. Hence originate the many reasons an author assigns for his appearance in that character, whether they actually exist,

PREFACE.

. IX or are merely offered to hide the motives which cannot be openly avowed ; namely, the want or the vanity of the man, as his wishes for profit or reputation may most pre vail with him. Now, reasons of this kind, whatever they may be, cannot be availing beyond their first appearance. An author, it is true, may again feel his former apprehensions, may again be elevated or depressed by the suggestions of vanity and diffidence, and may be again subject to the cold and hot fit of aguish ex pectation ; but he is no more a stranger to the press, nor has the motives or privileges of one who is. With respect to myself, it is certain they belong not to me. Many years have elapsed since I became a candidate for indulgence as an inexperienced writer ; and to assume the language of such writer now, and to plead for his indulgences, would be proof of my ignorance of the place assigned

PREFACE.

. X to me, and the degree of favour which I have experienced ; but of that place I am not un informed, and with that degree of favour I have no reason to be dissatisfied. It was the remark of the pious, but on some occasions the querulous author of the Night Thoughts, that he had ' been so long remembered, he was forgotten ;' an expres sion in which there is more appearance of discontent than of submission : if he had patience, it was not the patience that smiles at grief. It is not therefore entirely in the sense of the good Doctor that I apply these words to myself, or to my more early publica tions. So many years indeed have passed since their first appearance, that I have no reason to complain, on that account, if they be now slumbering with other poems of decent reputation in their day — not dead indeed, nor entirely forgotten, but certainly not the subjects of discussion or conversation

PREFACE.

. XI as when first introduced to the notice of the public, by those whom the public will not forget, whose protection was credit to their author, and whose approbation was fame to them. Still these early publications had so long preceded any other, that, if not altoge ther unknown, I was, when I came again before the public, in a situation which ex cused, and perhaps rendered necessary some explanation ; but this also has passed away, and none of my readers will now take the trouble of making any inquiries respecting my motives for writing or for publishing these Tales or verses of any description : known to each other as readers and authors are known, they will require no preface to bespeak their good wdl, nor shall I be under the necessity of soliciting the kindness which experience has taught me, endeavouring to merit, I shall not fad to receive. There is one motive — and it is a powerful

PREFACE.

. one — which sometimes induces an author, and more particularly a poet, to ask the attention of his readers to his prefatory address. This is when he has some favourite and peculiar style or manner which he would explain and defend, and chiefly if he should have adopted a mode of versification of which an uninitiated reader wTas not likely to perceive either the merit or the beauty. In such case it is natural, and surely pardonable, to assert and to prove, as far as reason will bear us on, that such me thod of writing has both ; to show in what the beauty consists, and what peculiar difficulty there is, which, when conquered, creates the merit. How far any particular poet has or has not succeeded in such attempt is not my business nor my purpose to inquire : I have no peculiar notion to defend, no poetical heterodoxy to support, nor theory of any kind to vindicate or oppose — that which I have used is probably the most common measure in our language; and therefore,

PREFACE.

. XIII whatever be its advantages or defects, they are too well known to require from me a description of the one, or an apology for the other. Perhaps still more frequent than any ex planation of the work is an account of the author himself, the situation in which he is placed, or some circumstances of peculiar kind in his life, education, or employment. How often has youth been pleaded for de ficiencies or redundancies, for the existence of which youth may be an excuse, and yet be none for their exposure. Age too has been pleaded for the errors and failings in a work which the octogenarian had the discernment to perceive, and yet had not the fortitude to suppress. Many other circumstances are made apologies for a writer's infirmities ; • his much employment, and many avocations, ad versity, necessity, and the good of mankind. These, or any of them, however availing in

PREFACE.

. themselves, avail not me. I am neither so young nor so old, so much engaged by one pursuit, or by many, — I am not so urged by want, or so stimulated by a desire of public benefit, — that I can borrow one apology from the many which I have named. How far they prevail with our readers, or with our judges, I cannot tell ; and it is unnecessary for me to inquire into the validity of arguments which I have not to produce. If there be any combination of circum stances which may be supposed to affect the mind of a reader, and in some degree to influence his judgment, the junction of youth, beauty, and merit in a female writer may be allowed to do this ; and yet one of the most forbidding of titles is ' Poems by a very young Lady,' and this although beauty and merit were largely insinuated. Ladies, it is true, have of late little need of any indulgence as authors, and names may readily be found

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. XV which rather excite the envy of man than plead for his lenity. Our estimation of title also in a writer has materially varied from that of our predecessors ; ' Poems by a Noble man' would create a very different sensation in our minds from that which was formerly excited when they were so announced. A noble author had then no pretensions to a seat so secure on the ■ sacred hill,' that authors not noble, and critics not gentle, dared not attack; and they delighted to take revenge by their contempt and derision of the poet, for the pain which their submission and re spect to the man had cost them. But in our times we find that a nobleman writes, not merely as well, but better than other men ; insomuch that readers in general begin to fancy that the Muses have relinquished their old partiality for rags and a garret, and are become altogether aristocratical in their choice. A conceit so well supported by fact would be readily admitted, did it not appear

PREFACE.

. at the same time, that there were in the higher ranks of society men, who could write as tamely, or as absurdly, as they had ever been accused of doing. We may, therefore, regard the works of any noble author as ex traordinary productions ; but must not found any theory upon them ; and, notwithstand ing their appearance, must look on genius and talent as we are wont to do on time and chance, that happen indifferently to all mankind. But whatever influence any peculiar situation of a writer might have, it cannot be a benefit to me, who have no such peculiarity. I must rely upon the wdlingness of my readers to be pleased with that which was designed to give them pleasure, and upon the cordiality which naturally springs from a remembrance of our having before parted without any feelings of disgust on the one side, or of mor tification on the other.

PREFACE.

. XVII With this hope I would conclude the pre sent subject ; but I am called upon by duty to acknowledge my obligations, and more especially for two of the following Tales : — the Story of Lady Barbara, in Book XVI. and that of Ellen in Book XVIII. The first of these I owe to the kindness of a fair friend, who will, I hope, accept the thanks which I very gratefully pay, and pardon me if I have not given to her relation the advantages which she had so much reason to expect. The other story, that of Ellen, could I give it in the language of him who related it to me, would please and affect my readers. It is by no means my only debt, though the one I now more particularly acknowledge ; for who shall describe all that he gains in the social, the unrestrained, and the frequent conversations with a friend, who is at once communicative and judicious? — whose opi nions, on all subjects of literary kind, are founded on good taste, and exquisite feeling P vol. i. b

PREFACE.

. It is one of the greatest ' pleasures of my memory' to recal in absence those con versations ; and if I do not in direct terms mention with whom I conversed, it is both because I have no permission, and my readers will have no doubt. The first intention of the poet must be to please ; for, if he means to instruct, he must render the instruction which he hopes to con vey palatable and pleasant. I will not assume the tone of a moralist, nor promise that my relations shall be beneficial to mankind ; but I have endeavoured, not unsuccessfully I trust, that, in whatsoever I have related or described, there should be nothing introduced which has a tendency to excuse the vices of man, by associating with them sentiments that demand our respect, and talents that compel our admiration. There is nothing in these pages which has the mischievous effect of confounding truth and error, or confusing

PREFACE.

. XIX our ideas of right and wrong. I know not which is most injurious to the yielding minds of the young, to render virtue less respect able by making its possessors ridiculous, or by describing vice with so many fascinating qualities, that it is either lost in the assem blage, or pardoned by the association. Man's heart is sufficiently prone to make excuse for man's infirmity ; and needs not the aid of poetry, or eloquence, to take from vice its native deformity. A character may be re spectable with all its faults, but it must not be made respectable by them. It is grievous when genius will condescend to place strong and evil spirits in a commanding view, or excite our pity and admiration for men of talents, degraded by crime, when struggling with misfortune. It is but too true that great and wicked men may be so presented to us, as to demand our applause, when they should excite our abhorrence ; but it is surely for the interest of mankind, and our own self-direc-

PREFACE.

. XX tion, that we should ever keep at unapproach able distance our respect and our reproach. I have one observation more to offer. It may appear to some that a minister of religion, in the decline of life, should have no leisure for such amusements as these ; and for them I have no reply ; — but to those who are more indulgent to the propensities, the studies, and the habits of mankind, I offer some apology when I produce these volumes, not as the occupations of my life, but the fruits of my leisure, the employment of that time which, if not given to them, had passed in the vacuity of unrecorded idleness ; or had been lost in the indulgence of unregistered thoughts and fancies, that melt away in the instant they are conceived, and ' leave not a wreck behind.' CONTENTS TO VOL. I.

Book I. The Hall

The Meetingof the Brothers, George and Richard — The Retirement of the elder to his native Village — Objects and Persons whom he found there — The Brother described in various Particulars — The Invitation and Journey of the younger — His Soliloquy and Arrival .... Page 1

Book II. The Brothers

Further Account of the Meeting — Of the Men — The Mother — The Uncle — The private Tutor — The second Husband — Dinner Conversation — School of the Rector and Squire — The Master 21

Book III. Boys At School

The School — School-Boys — The Boy-Tyrant — Sir Hector Blane — School-Boys in after Life how changed — how the same — The patronized Boy, his Life and Death — Reflections — Story of Harry Bland CONTENTS.

Book IV. Adventures Of Richard

Meeting of the Brothers in the Morning — Pictures, Music, Books— The Autumnal Walk— The Farm— The Flock- Effect of Retirement upon the Mind — Dinner — Richard's Adventure at Sea — George inquires into the Education of his Brother — Richard's Account of his Occupations in his early Life; his Pursuits, Associations, Partialities, Affections and Feelings — His Love of Freedom — The Society he chose — The Friendships he engaged in — and the Habits he contracted Page 59

Book V. Ruth

Richard resumes his Narrative — Visits a Family in a Sea-port —The Man and his Wife— Their Dwelling— Books, Number and Kind — The Friendship contracted — Employment there— Hannah, the Wife, her Manner ; open Mirth and latent Grief — She gives the Story of Ruth, her Daughter — Of Thomas, a Sailor — Their Affection — A Press-gang — Reflections — Ruth disturbed in Mind — A Teacher sent to comfort her — His Fondness— Her Reception of him Her Supplication— Is refused— She deliberates— Is decided. 85

Book VI. Adventures Of Richard Concluded

Richard relates his Illness and Retirement— A Village Priest and his two Daughters— His peculiar Studies— His Sim- CONTENTS. XXIII plicity of Character — Arrival of a third Daughter— Her Zeal in his Conversion — Their Friendship— How ter minated — An happy Day— Its Commencement and Pro gress—A Journey along the Coast— Arrival as a Guest — Company — A Lover's Jealousy — it increases — dies away An Evening Walk— Suspense— Apprehension — Resolution —Certainty Page 109

Book VII. The Elder Brother

Conversation — Story of the elderBrother — His romantic View s and Habits — The Scene of his Meditations — Their Nature — Interrupted by an Adventure — The Consequences of it — A strong and permanent Passion — Search of its Object — Long ineffectual — How found — The first Interview — The second — End of the Adventure — Retirement . . . 129

Book VIII. The Sisters

Morning WTalk and Conversation — Visit at a Cottage — Characters of the Sisters — Lucy and Jane — Their Lovers — Their Friend the Banker and his Lady — Their Intimacy — Its Consequence — Different Conduct of the Lovers — The Effect upon the Sisters — Their present State — The Influence of their Fortune upon the Minds of either .... 171

Book IX. The Preceptor Husband

The Morning Ride — Conversation — Character of one whom they meet — His early Habits and Mode of Thinking — The CONTENTS. XXIV Wife whom he would choose — The one chosen — His Attempts to teach — In History — In Botany — The Lady's Proficiency — His Complaint — Her Defence and Triumph —The Trial ends Page 217

Book X. The Old Bachelor

A Friend arrives at the Hall — Old Bachelors and Maids — Relation of one — His Parents — The first Courtship — The second — The third — Long Interval— Travel — Decline of Life — The fourth Lady — Conclusion 237

Book XI. The Maid's Story

A Mother's Advice — Trials for a young Lady — Ancient Lovers — The Mother a Wife — Grandmamma — Genteel Economy — Frederick, a young Collegian — Grandmamma dies — Retreat with Biddy — Comforts of the Poor — Return home — Death of the Husband — Nervous Disorders — Conversion — Frederick a Teacher — Retreat to Sidmouth — Self-examination — The Mother dies — Frederick a Soldier — Retirement with a Friend — Their Happiness how interrupted — Frederick an Actor— Is dismissed and supported— A last Adventure TALES OF THE HALL.

Book I

t, VOL. I. The Meeting of the Brothers, George and Richard — The Retirement of the elder to his native Village — Objects and Persons whom he found there — The Brother described in various Particulars — The Invitation and Journey of the younger — His Soliloquy and Arrival. TALES OF THE HALL.

BOOK I. THE

Brothers met who many a year had past Since their last meeting, and that seem'd their last ; They had no parent then or common friend Who might their hearts to mutual kindness bend ; Who, touching both in their divided state, Might generous thoughts and warm desires create ; For there are minds whom we must first excite And urge to feeling, ere they can unite ; As we may hard and stubborn metals beat And blend together, if we duly heat. The elder, George, had past his threescore years, A busy actor, sway'd by hopes and fears Of powerful kind ; and he had filfd the parts That try our strength and agitate our hearts. u TALES OF THE HALL. Boot 5 He married not, and yet he well approved The social state ; but then he rashly loved ; Gave to a strong delusion all his youth, Led by a vision till alarnsd by truth : That vision past, and of that truth possest, His passions wearied and disposed to rest, George yet had will and power a place to choose, "Where Hope might sleep, and terminate her views.

He chose his native village, and the hill He climb'd a boy had its attraction still ; With that small brook beneath, where he would stand And stooping fill the hollow of his hand To quench th1 impatient thirst — then stop awhile To see the sun upon the waters smile, In that sweet weariness, when, long denied, We drink and view the fountain that supplied The sparkling bliss — and feel, if not express, Our perfect ease in that sweet weariness. The oaks yet flourislVd in that fertile ground, Where still the church with lofty tower was found ; And still that Hall, a first, a favourite view, But not the elms that fornsd its avenue ; They fell ere George arrived, or yet had stood, For he in reverence held the living wood, That widely spreads in earth the deepening root, And lifts to heaven the still aspiring shoot ; From age to age they filfd a growing space, But hid the mansion they were meant to grace.

It was an ancient, venerable hall, And once surrounded by a moat and wall ; A part was added by a 'squire of taste, Who, while unvalued acres ran to waste, Made spacious rooms, whence he could look about And mark improvements as they rose without : He filTd the moat, he took the wall away, He thinn'd the park, and bade the view be gay : The scene was rich, but he who should behold Its wortli was poor, and so the whole was sold. Just then our merchant from his desk retired, And made the purchase that his heart desired ; The Hall of Binning, his delight a boy, That gave his fancy in her flight employ ; Here, from Ills father's modest home, he gazed, Its grandeur charm'd him, and its height amazed : Work of past ages; and the brick-built place Where he resided was in much disgrace ; But never in his fancy's proudest dream Did he the master of that mansion seem : Young was he then, and little did he know What years on care and diligence bestow ; Now young no more, retired to views well known, He finds that object of his awe his own ; The Hall at Binning ! — how he loves the gloom That sun-excluding window gives the room ; Those broad brown stairs on which he loves to tread ; Those beams within ; without, that length of lead, On which the names of wanton boys appear, Who died old men, and left memorials here, Carvings of feet and hands, and knots and flowers, The fruits of busy minds in idle hours.

Here, while our 'squire the modern part possess'd, His partial eye upon the old would rest ; That best his comforts gave — this sooth'd his feelino-s best. Here day by day, withdrawn from busy life, No child t' awake him, to engage no wife, When friends were absent, not to books inclined, He found a sadness steal upon his mind ; Sighing, the works of former lords to see, " I follow them," he cried, " but who will follow me ?" Some ancient men whom he a boy had known He knew again, their changes were his own ; Comparing now he view'd them, and he felt That time with him in lenient mood had dealt ; While some the half-distinguish'd features bore That he was doubtful if he saw before, And some in memory lived, whom he must see no more Here George had found, yet scarcely hoped to find, Companions meet, minds fitted to his mind; Here, late and loth, the worthy rector came, From College Dinners and a Fellow's fame ; Yet, here when fix'd, was happy to behold So near a neighbour in a friend so old : Boys on one form they parted, now to meet In equal state, their worships on one seat.

Here were a sister-pair, who seem'd to live With more respect than affluence can give ; TALES OF THE HALL Boo I 8 Although not affluent, they, by nature graced, Had sense and virtue, dignity and taste ; Their minds by sorrows, by misfortunes tried, Were vex'd and heal'd, were pain'd and purified. Hither a sage physician came, and plann'd, With books his guides, improvements on his land ; Nor less to mind than matter would he give His noble thoughts, to know how spirits live And what is spirit ; him his friends advised To think with fear, but caution he despised, And hints of fear provoked him till he dared Beyond himself, nor bold assertion spared, But fiercely spoke, like those who strongly feel, " Priests and their craft, enthusiasts and their zeal." More yet appear'd, of whom as we proceed — Ah ! yield not yet to languor — you shall read.

But ere the events that from this meeting rose, Be they of pain or pleasure, we disclose, It is of custom, doubtless is of use, That we our heroes first should introduce. L. Come, then, fair Truth ! and let me clearly see The minds I paint, as they are seen in thee ; To me their merits and their faults impart; Give me to say, " frail being ! such thou art," And closely let me view the naked human heart. Geoege loved to think ; but as he late began To muse on all the grander thoughts of man, He took a solemn and a serious view Of his religion, and he found it true ; Firmly, yet meekly, he his mind applied To this great subject, and was satisfied. He then proceeded, not so much intent, But still in earnest, and to church he went : Although they found some difference in their creed. He and his pastor cordially agreed ; Convinced that they who would the truth obtain By disputation, find their efforts vain ; The church he view'd as liberal minds will view, And there he fix'd his principles and pew.

He saw, he thought he saw, how Weakness, Pride, And Habit, draw seceding crowds aside: Weakness that loves on trifling points to dwell, Pride that at first from Heaven's own worship fell, And Habit, going where it went before, Or to the Meeting or the Tavern Door. George loved the cause of freedom, but reproved All who with wild and boyish ardour loved ; Those who believed they never could be free, Except when fighting for their liberty ; Who by their very clamour and complaint Invite coercion or inforce restraint : He thought a trust so great, so good a cause, Was only to be kept by guarding laws ; For public blessings firmly to secure, We must a lessening of the good endure. The public waters are to none denied, All drink the stream, but only few must guide ; There must be reservoirs to hold supply, And channels form'd to send the blessing by ; The public good must be a private care, None all they would may have, but all a share : So we must freedom with restraint enjoy, What crowds possess they will, uncheck'd, destroy ; And hence, that freedom may to all be dealt, Guards must be fix'd, and safety must be felt.

So thought our squire, nor wish'd the guards t' appear So strong, that safety might be bought too dear ; The Constitution was the ark that he Join'd to support with zeal and sanctity, Nor would expose it, as th' accursed son His father's weakness, to be gazed upon. I for that Freedom make, said he, my prayer, That suits with all, like atmospheric air ; That is to mortal man by heaven assign'd, Who cannot bear a pure and perfect kind : The lighter gas, that, taken in the frame, The spirit heats, and sets the blood in flame, Such is the freedom which when men approve, They know not what a dangerous thing they love. George chose the company of men of sense, But could with wit in moderate share dispense ; He wish'd in social ease his friends to meet, When still he thought the female accent sweet ; Well from the ancient, better from the young, He loved the lispings of the mother tongue.

He ate and drank, as much as men who think Of life's best pleasures, ought to eat or drink ; TALES OF THE HALL. Book I Men purely temperate might have taken less, But still he loved indulgence, not excess ; Nor would alone the grants of Fortune taste, But shared the wealth he judged it crime to waste And thus obtain'd the sure reward of care ; For none can spend like him who learns to spare. Time, thought, and trouble made the man appear- By nature shrewd — sarcastic and severe ; Still he was one whom those who fully knew Esteem'd and trusted, one correct and true ; All on his word with surety might depend, Kind as a man, and faithful as a friend : But him the many know not, knew not cause In their new squire for censure or applause ; Ask them, " Who dwelt within that lofty wall ?" And they would say, " the gentleman was tall ; " Look'd old when follow'd, but alert when met, " And had some vigour in his movements yet ; " He stoops, but not as one infirm ; and wears " Dress that becomes his station and his years."