When Crabbe published his _Parish Register_, the novels of the day were largely the vapid productions of the Minerva Press, without atmosphere, colour, or truth.

Miss Edgeworth alone had already struck the note of a new development in her _Castle Rackrent_, not to mention the delightful stories in _The Parents' Assistant, Simple Susan, Lazy Lawrence_, or _The Basket-Woman_.

Galt's masterpiece, _The Annals of the Parish_, was not yet even lying unfinished in his desk.

The Mucklebackits and the Headriggs were still further distant.

Miss Mitford's sketches in _Our Village_--the nearest in form to Crabbe's pictures of country life--were to come later still.