the Literary Fund, an institution then of some twenty years'
standing, and as yet without its charter, applied to Crabbe for a copy
of verses that might be appropriate for recitation at the annual dinner
of the Society, held at the Freemasons' Tavern. It was the custom of the
society to admit such literary diversions as part of the entertainment.
The notorious William Thomas Fitzgerald had been for many years the
regular contributor of the poem, and his efforts on the occasion are
remembered, if only through the opening couplet of Byron's _English
Bards and Scotch Reviewers_, where Fitzgerald is gibbeted as the
_Codrus_ of Juvenal's satire:

"Still must I hear? shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl
His creaking couplets in a Tavern-Hall?"

His poem for this year, 1809, is printed at length in the _Gentleman's
Magazine_ for April--and also Crabbe's, recited at the same dinner.
Crabbe seems to have composed it for the occasion, but with the
intention of ultimately weaving it into the poem on which he was then
engaged. A paragraph prefixed to the lines also shows that Crabbe had a
further object in view. "The Founder of this Society having intimated a
hope that, on a plan which he has already communicated to his particular
Friends, its Funds may be sufficiently ample to afford assistance and
relief to learned officiating Clergymen in distress, though they may not
have actually commenced Authors--the Author, in allusion to this hope,
has introduced into a Poem which he is preparing for the Press the
following character of a learned Divine in distress."

Crabbe's lines bearing on the proposed scheme (which seems for a time at
least to have been adopted by the administrators of the Fund) were left
standing when _The Borough_ was published, with, an explanatory note.
They are effective for their purpose, the pathos of them is genuine, and
worthy of attention even in these latter days of the "Queen Victoria
Clergy Fund." The speaker is the curate himself:

"Long may these founts of Charity remain,
And never shrink, but to be filled again;
True! to the Author they are now confined,
To him who gave the treasure of his mind,
His time, his health,--and thankless found mankind:
But there is hope that from these founts may flow
A side-way stream, and equal good bestow;
Good that may reach us, whom the day's distress
Keeps from the fame and perils of the Press;
Whom Study beckons from the Ills of Life,
And the