--a habit which
occasionally "inspired feelings of no ordinary warmth" in the fair
objects of "his vain devotion." One such incident all but ended in a
permanent engagement. A MS. quotation from the poet's Diary, copied in
the margin of FitzGerald's volume, may possibly refer to this occasion.
Under date of September 22 occurs this entry: "Sidmouth. Miss Ridout.
Declaration. Acceptance." But under October 5 is written the ominous
word, "Mr. Ridout." And later: "Dec. 12. Charlotte's picture returned."
A tragedy (or was it a comedy?) seems written in these few words. Edward
FitzGerald adds to this his own note: "Miss Ridout I remember--an
elegant spinster; friend of my mother's. About 1825 she had been at
Sidmouth, and known Crabbe." The son quotes some very ardent verses
belonging to this period, but not assignable to any particular charmer,
such as one set beginning:

"And wilt thou never smile again;
Thy cruel purpose never shaken?
Hast thou no feeling for my pain,
Refused, disdain'd, despised, forsaken?"

The son indicates these amiable foibles in a filial tone and in
apologetic terms, but the "liberal shepherds" sometimes spoke more
frankly. An old squire remarked to a friend in reference to this
subject, "D--mme, sir! the very first time Crabbe dined at my house he
made love to my sister!" And a lady is known to have complained that on
a similar occasion Crabbe had exhibited so much warmth of manner that
she "felt quite frightened." His son entirely supports the same view as
to his father's almost demonstratively affectionate manner towards
ladies who interested him, and who, perhaps owing to his rising repute
as an author, showed a corresponding interest in the elderly poet.
Crabbe himself admits "the soft impeachment." In a letter to his newly
found correspondent, Mrs. Leadbeater (granddaughter of
Burke's old schoolmaster, Richard Shackleton), he confesses that women
were more to him than men:

"I'm alone now; and since my removing into a busy town
among the multitude, the loneliness is but more apparent and
more melancholy. But this is only at certain times; and then
I have, though at considerable distances, six female friends,
unknown to each other, but all dear, very dear, to me. With
them I do not much associate; not as deserting, and much less
disliking, the male part of society, but as being unfit for it;
not hardy nor grave, not knowing enough, nor sufficiently
acquainte