The following anecdote, though trifling, is so characteristic of the placidity and evenness of temper possessed by this distinguished man, that we are induced to comply with the request of one of his parishioners for its insertion.
It is known that Crabbe was a great geologist, as well as a poet, and peculiarly fond of the exercise of long walks. He frequently visited, attended by his son, a small village in the neighbourhood of Trowbridge, abounding with curious stones. On one occasion, he alighted from the vehicle, tied the horse to a crag, ascended the cliff, and taking his hammer from his pocket, commenced working away. On moving a stone, a part of the quarry gave way, and rolled down the declivity with such a noise as frightened the horse, who made away from the crag, and smashed the gig. The good man, unmoved, looked at it for a little while; and when he saw it stopped, and the danger over, he smiled, and said to his son, "Well, John, it might have been worse."