I "The night-bird's song that sweetly floats "Lo! yonder shines that window's light, When those dear eyes can chine no more. "Then hurry from this place away! may For Death has made its charm his prey, introduce, in connection with the above, some lines which were long afterwards found written on a paper in which my dear mother's wedding-ring, nearly worn through before she died, was wrapped: "The ring so worn, as you behold, So thin, so pale, is yet of gold: The passion such it was to prove ; Worn with life's cares, love yet was love." - On the 3d of June, 1814, he was inducted to Trowbridge church by the Rev. Mr. Fletcher. His diary has, among others, the following very brief entries:"5th June,- first sermon at Trowbridge. 8th, Evening-solitary walk-night- change of opinion -easier, better, happier." To what these last words refer, I shall not guess; but I well remember that, even after he had mingled with the lively society of Trowbridge, he was subject to very distressing fits of melancholy. My brother and I did not for some little time follow him to that place The evening of our arrival, seeing us conversing cheerfully as we walked together in the garden before his window, it seemed to have brought back to his memory the times when he was not alone; for, happening to look up, I saw him regarding us very earnestly, and he appeared deeply affected. That connection had been broken, which no other relationship can supply. These visitations of depression were, however, gradually softened; - he became contented and cheerful, and I hope I may add, positively happy. CHAPTER IX. 1814 1819. MR. CRABBE'S RESIDENCE AND HABITS OF LIFE AT TROWBRIDGE. HIS STUDY OF FOSSILS. HIS CORRESPONDENCE WITH MARY LEADBEATER.-HIS JOURNAL KEPT DURING A VISIT TO LONDON.-LETTERS TO AND FROM MR. CRABBE. HIS TALES OF THE HALL," ETC. WHEN my brother and myself arrived, on the occasion already alluded to, within a mile of Trowbridge, my father appeared on the road, having walked out to meet us; and, as he returned with us in the chaise, the manner in which he pointed out various houses to our notice satisfied us that he had met with a very gratifying reception among the principal inhabitants of his new parish. On the very night of his coming to Trowbridge, he had been most cordially received by the family of the late Mr. Waldron; and there, but not there only, we found the foundations already laid of intimacy, that soon ripened into friendship which death alone could break; for such casual variations of humour as he was subject to, serve only to prove the strength of the sentiment that survived them. We were soon satisfied that Mr. Crabbe had made a wise and happy choice in this change of residence. While my mother lived, her infirm health forbade her mingling much in society, nor, with her to care for, did he often miss it; but he was naturally disposed for, and calculated to find pleasure in, social intercourse; and after his great loss, the loneliness of Muston began to depress him seriously. In answering the Duke of Rutland's kind letter, offering him the rectory of Trowbridge, he said, "It is too true that Muston is no longer what it has been to me: here I am now a solitary with a social disposition, -a hermit without a hermit's resignation." What wonder that he was healthfully excited by the warm reception he was now experiencing among the most cultivated families of Trowbridge and its vicinity: by the attractive attentions of the young and gay among them, in particular, who, finding the old satirist in many things very different from what they had looked for, hastened to show a manifest partiality for his manners, as well as admiration of his talents? - We were surprised, certainly, as well as delighted, to observe the tempered exuberance to which, ere many weeks had passed, his spirits, lately so sombre and desponding, were raised, how lively and cheerful he appeared in every company, pleased with all about him, and evidently imparting pleasure wherever he went. But a physical change that occurred in his constitution, at the time of the severe illness that followed close on my mother's death, had, I believe, a great share in all these happy symptoms. It always seemed to be his own opinion that at that crisis his system had, by a violent effort, thrown off some weight or obstruction which had been, for many years previously, giving his bodily condition the ap pearances of a gradual decline,-afflicting him with occasional fits of low fever, and vexatiously disordering his digestive organs. In those days, "life is as tedious as a twice-told tale," was an expression not seldom in his mouth; and he once told me, he felt that he could not possibly live more than six or seven years. But now it seemed that he had recovered not only the enjoyment of sound health, but much of the vigour and spirit of youthful feelings. Such a renovation of health and strength at sixty is rare enough; and never, I believe, occurs unless there has been much temperance in the early period of life. Perhaps, he had never looked so well, in many respects, as he did about this time; his temples getting more bare, the height of his well-developed forehead appeared as increased, and more than ever like one of those heads by which Wilkie makes so many converts to the beauty of human decay. He became stouter in person than he had been, though without fatness; and, although he began to stoop, his limbs and motions were strong and active. Notwithstanding his flattering reception among the principal people of the place, he was far from being much liked, for some years, by his new parishioners in general: nor, in truth, is it at all difficult to account for this. His immediate predecessor, the curate of the previous rector, had been endeared to the more serious inhabitants by warm zeal and a powerful talent for preaching extempore, and had, moreover, been so universally respected, that the town petitioned the Duke of Rutland to give him the living. His Grace's refusal had irritated many |