is a little too fond of
bringing his villains to the gallows, he is preoccupied less by the
external consequences than by the natural working of evil passions. With
him sin is not punished by being found out, but by disintegrating the
character and blunting the higher sensibilities. He shows--and the
moral, if not new, is that which possesses the really intellectual
interest--how evil-doers are tortured by the cravings of desires that
cannot be satisfied, and the lacerations inflicted by ruined
self-respect. And therefore there is a truth in Crabbe's delineations
which is quite independent of his more or less rigid administration of
poetical justice. His critics used to accuse him of having a low opinion
of human nature. It is quite true that he assigns to selfishness and
brutal passion a very large part in carrying on the machinery of the
world. Some readers may infer that he was unlucky in his experience, and
others that he loved facts too unflinchingly. His stories sometimes
remind one of Balzac's in the descriptions of selfishness triumphant
over virtue. One, for example, of his deeply pathetic poems is called
'The Brothers;' and repeats the old contrast given in Fielding's Tom
Jones and Blifil. The shrewd sly hypocrite has received all manner of
kindnesses from the generous and simple sailor, and when, at last, the
poor sailor is ruined in health and fortune, he comes home expecting to
be supported by the gratitude of the brother, who has by this time made
money and is living at his ease. Nothing can be more pathetic or more in
the spirit of some of Balzac's stories than the way in which the rich
man receives his former benefactor; his faint recognition of fraternal
feelings gradually cools down under the influence of a selfish wife;
till at last the poor old sailor is driven from the parlour to the
kitchen, and from the kitchen to the loft, and finally deprived of his
only comfort, his intercourse with a young nephew not yet broken into
hardness of heart, on the plea that the lad is not to be corrupted by
the coarse language of his poor old uncle. The rich brother suspects
that the sailor has broken this rule, and is reviling him for his
ingratitude, when suddenly he discovers that he is abusing a corpse.
The old sailor's heart is broken at last; and his brother repents too
late. He tries to comfort his remorse by cross-examining the boy, who
was the cause of the last quarrel:--

'Did he not curse me, child?'