his own house, anxiously waiting upon this wife in her long and hopeless
malady. A sad history! It is no wonder that he gives so melancholy a
picture of human life."

Save for Mrs. Crabbe's broken health and increasing melancholy, the four
years at Glemham were among the most peaceful and happiest of Crabbe's
life. His son grows eloquent over the elegance of the house and the
natural beauties of its situation. "A small well-wooded park occupied
the whole mouth of the glen, whence, doubtless, the name of the village
was derived. In the lowest ground stood the commodious mansion; the
approach wound down through a plantation on the eminence in front. The
opposite hill rose at the back of it, rich and varied with trees and
shrubs scattered irregularly; under this southern hill ran a brook, and
on the banks above it were spots of great natural beauty, crowned by
whitethorn and oak. Here the purple scented violet perfumed the air, and
in one place coloured the ground. On the left of the front in the
narrower portion of the glen was the village; on the right, a confined
view of richly wooded fields. In fact, the whole parish and
neighbourhood resemble a combination of groves, interspersed with fields
cultivated like gardens, and intersected with those green dry lanes
which tempt the walker in all weathers, especially in the evenings, when
in the short grass of the dry sandy banks lies every few yards a
glowworm, and the nightingales are pouring forth their melody in every
direction."

It was not, therefore, for lack of acquaintance with the more idyllic
side of English country-life that Crabbe, when he once more addressed
the public in verse, turned to the less sunny memories of his youth for
inspiration. It was not till some years after the appearance of _The
Parish Register_ and _The Borough_ that the pleasant paths of inland