doubt chiefly on account of this nfluence and favour that we and others are rashly desirous to see him take part against our adversaries— forgetting that those very qualities which render his assistance valuable, would infallibly desert him the moment that he complied with our desire, and vanish in the very act of his compliance.

Being Whigs ourselves, for example, we could not but take it a little amiss, that one born and bred a republican, and writing largely on the present condition of England, should make so little distinction between that party and its opponents and should even choose to attach himself to a Tory family, as the proper type and emblem of the old English character. Nor could we well acquit him of being "pigeon- The question then comes to be, not properly livered and lacking gall," when we found whether there should be any neutrals in great that nothing could provoke him to give a pal-national contentions-but whether any man pable hit to the Ministry, or even to employ should be allowed to aspire to distinction by his pure and powerful eloquence in reproving acts not subservient to party purposes?—a the shameful scurrilities of the ministerial press. We were also a little sore, too, we believe, on discovering that he took no notice of Scotland! and said absolutely nothing about our Highlanders, our schools, and our poetry. Now, though we have magnanimously chosen to illustrate this grudge at his neutrality in our own persons, it is obvious that a dissatisfaction of the same kind must have been felt by all the other great and contending parties into which this and all free countries are necessarily divided. Mr. Crayon has rejected the alliance of any one of these; and resolutely refused to take part with them in the struggles to which they attach so much importance; and consequently has, to a certain extent, offended and disappointed them all. But we must carry our magnanimity a step farther, and confess, for ourselves, and for others, that, upon reflection, the offence and disappointment seem to us altogether unreasonable and unjust. The ground of complaint is, that we see talents and influence-innocently, we must admit, and even beneficially employed-but not engaged on our side, or in the particular contest which we may feel it our duty to wage against the errors or delusions of our contemporaries. Now, in the first place, is not this something like the noble indignation of a recruiting serjeant, who thinks it a scandal that any stout fellow should degrade himself by a pacific employment, and takes offence accordingly at every pair of broad shoulders and good legs which he finds in the possession of a priest or a tradesman? But the manifest absurdity of the grudge consists in this. First, That it is equally reasonable in all the different parties who sincerely believe their own cause to be that which ought to prevail; while it is manifest, that, as the desired champion could only side with one, all the rest would be only worse off by the termination of his neutrality; and secondly, That the weight and authority, for the sake of which his assistance is so coveted, and which each party is now so anxious to have thrown into its scale, having been entirely created by virtues and qualities which belong only to a state of neutrality, are, in reality, incapable of being transferred to contending parties, and would utterly perish and be annihilated in the attempt. A good part of Mr. C.'s reputation, and certainly a very large share of his influence and popularity with all parties, has been acquired by the indulgence with which he has treated all, and his abstinence from all sorts of virulence and hostility; and it is no

question which, even in this age of party and polemics, we suppose there are not many who would have the hardihood seriously to propound. Yet this, we must be permitted to repeat, is truly the question:-For if a man may lawfully devote his talents to music, or architecture, or drawing, or metaphysics, or poetry, and lawfully challenge the general admiration of his age for his proficiency in those pursuits, though totally disjoined from all political application, we really do not see why he may not write prose essays on national character and the ingredients of private happiness, with the same large and pacific pur poses of pleasure and improvement. To Mr. C. especially, who is not a citizen of this country, it can scarcely be proposed as a duty to take a share in our internal contentions; and though the picture which he professes to give of our country may be more imperfect, and the estimate he makes of our character less complete, from the omission of this less tractable element, the value of the parts that he has been able to finish will not be lessened, and the beneficial effect of the representation will, in all probability, be increased. For our own parts, we have ventured, on former occasions, to express our doubts whether the polemical parts, even of a statesman's duty, do not hold too high a place in public esteemand are sure, at all events, that they ought not to engross the attention of those to whom such a station has not been intrusted. It should never be forgotten, that good political institutions, the sole end and object of all our party contentions, are only valuable as means of promoting the general happiness and virtue of individuals;-and that, important as they are, there are other means, still more direct and indispensable for the attainment of that great end. The cultivation of the kind affec tions, we humbly conceive, to be of still more importance to private happiness, than the good balance of the constitution under which we live; and, if it be true, as we most firmly believe, that it is the natural effect of political freedom to fit and dispose the mind for all gentle as well as generous emotions, we hold it to be equally true, that habits of benevolence, and sentiments of philanthropy, are the surest foundations on which a love of liberty can rest. A man must love his fellows before he loves their liberty; and if he has not learned to interest himself in their enjoyments, it is impossible that he can have any genuine con. cern for that liberty, which, after all, is only valuable as a means of enjoyment. We cor

MISCELLANEOUS.

sider, therefore, the writers who seek to soften and improve our social affections, not only as aiming directly at the same great end which politicians more circuitously pursue, but as preparing those elements out of which alone a generous and enlightened love of political freedom can ever be formed-and without which it could neither be safely trusted in the hands of individuals, nor prove fruitful of individual enjoyment. We conclude, therefore, that Mr. Crayon is in reality a better friend to Whig principles than if he had openly attacked the Tories and end this long, and perhaps needless apology for his neutrality, by discov-where every air breathed of the balmy pasture and ering, that such neutrality is in effect the best nursery for the only partisans that ever should be encouraged-the partisans of whatever can be shown to be clearly and unquestionably right. And now we must say a word or two more of the book before us.

There are not many of our readers to whom it can be necessary to mention, that it is in substance, and almost in form, a continuation of the Sketch Book; and consists of a series of little descriptions, and essays on matters principally touching the national character and old habits of England. The author is supposed to be resident at Bracebridge Hall, the Christmas festivities of which he had

commemorated in his former publication, and among the inmates of which, most of the familiar incidents occur which he turns to account in his lucubrations. These incidents can scarcely be said to make a story in any sense, and certainly not one which would admit of being abstracted; and as we are under a vow to make but short extracts from popular books, we must see that we choose well the few passages upon which we may venture. There is a short Introduction, and a Farewell, by the author; in both which he alludes to the fact of his being a citizen of America in a way that appears to us to deserve a citation. The first we give chiefly for the beauty of the writing.

sient and perishing glories of art, amidst the ever springing and reviving fertility of nature. "But, in fact, to me every thing was full of matter: The footsteps of history were every where sanctified the land. I experienced the delightful to be traced; and poetry had breathed over and freshness of feeling of a child, to whom every thing is new. I pictured to myself a set of inhabitants and a mode of life for every habitation that I saw; from the aristocratical mansion, amidst the lordly straw-thatched cottage, with its scanty garden and repose of stately groves and solitary parks, to the its cherished woodbine. I thought I never could be sated with the sweetness and freshness of a country so completely carpeted with verdure; upon some little document of poetry, in the blos the honeysuckled hedge. I was continually coming somed hawthorn, the daisy, the cowslip, the primrose, or some other simple object that has received a supernatural value from the Muse. The first time that I heard the song of the nightingale, I was and I shall never forget the thrill of ecstasy with intoxicated more by the delicious crowd of remem. bered associations, than by the melody of its notes; which I first saw the lark rise, almost from beneath my feet, and wing its musical flight up into the morning sky."-Vol. i. pp. 6—9.

melody of this concluding sentence; and if We know nothing more beautiful than the think he has no right to admire the Vision of the reader be not struck with its music, we Mirza, or any of the other delicious cadences

of Addison.

it is matter to which we shall miss no fit occasion to recur,-being persuaded not only The Farewell we quote for the matter; and that it is one of higher moment than almost any other to which we can now apply our selves, but one upon which the honest perseverance, even of such a work as ours may in We allude to the animosity which intemperate time produce practical and beneficial effects. writers on both sides are labouring to create, or exasperate, between this country and America, and which we, and the writer be

fore us, are most anxious to allay. There is no word in the following quotation in which with peculiar satisfaction the assurances of we do not most cordially concur. We receive the accomplished author, as to the kindly disposition of the better part of his country. men; and are disposed to place entire confidence in it, not only from our reliance on his judgment and means of information, but from the accuracy of his representation of the sort of persons to whom the fashion of abusing the Americans has now gone down, on this side of the Atlantic. Nothing, we think, can be more handsome, persuasive, or grateful, than the whole following passage.

"England is as classic ground to an American, as Italy is to an Englishman; and old London teems with as much historical association as mighty Rome. "But what more especially attracts his notice, are those peculiarities which distinguish an old country, and an old state of society, from a new one. I have never yet grown familiar enough with the crumbling monuments of past ages, to blunt the intense interest with which I at first beheld them. Accustomed always to scenes where history was, in a manner, in anticipation; where every thing in art was new and progressive, and pointed to the future rather than to the past; where, in short, the works of man gave no ideas but those of young existence, and prospective improvement; there was something inexpressibly touching in the sight of enormous piles of architecture, grey with thankful feelings, at the effect produced by one of "And here let me acknowledge my warm, my antiquity, and sinking to decay.. I cannot describe my trivial lucubrations. I allude to the essay in the mute but deep-felt enthusiasm with which I the Sketch-Book, on the subject of the literary have contemplated a vast monastic ruin, like Tin- feuds between England and America. I cannot tern Abbey, buried in the bosom of a quiet valley, express the heartfelt delight I have experienced at and shut up from the world, as though it had existed the unexpected sympathy and approbation with merely for itself; or a warrior pile, like Conway which those remarks have been received on both Castle, standing in stern loneliness, on its rocky sides of the Atlantic. I speak this not from any height, a mere hollow, yet threatening phantom of paltry feelings of gratified vanity; for I attribute departed power. They spread a grand and melan. the effect to no merit of my pen. choly, and, to me, an unusual charm over the land-question was brief and casual, and the ideas it con. scape. I for the first time beheld signs of national veyed were simple and obvious. 'It was the cause The paper in old age, and empire's decay; and proofs of the tran- it was the cause' alone. There was a predisposi

"I hail, therefore, the success of that brief paper, as showing how much good may be done by a kind word, however feeble, when spoken in season-as showing how much dormant good feeling actually From the body of the work, we must inexists in each country, towards the other, which dulge ourselves with very few citations. But only wants the slightest spark to kindle it into a we cannot resist the following exquisite degenial flame-as showing, in fact, what I have all scription of a rainy Sunday at an inn in a along believed and asserted, that the two nations would grow together in esteem and amity, if med-country town. It is part of the admirable dling and malignant spirits would but throw by their mischievous pens, and leave kindred hearts to the kindly impulses of nature.

"I once more assert, and I assert it with increased conviction of its truth, that there exists, among the great majority of my countrymen, a "It was a rainy Sunday, in the gloomy month favourable feeling towards England. I repeat this of November. I had been detained, in the course assertion, because I think it a truth that cannot too of a journey, by a slight indisposition, from which often be reiterated, and because it has met with I was recovering; but I was still feverish, and some contradiction. Among all the liberal and en- was obliged to keep within doors all day, in an inn lightened minds of my countrymen, among all those of the small town of Derby. A wet Sunday in a which eventually give a tone to national opinion, country inn! whoever has had the luck to experithere exists a cordial desire to be on terms of cour- ence one can alone judge of my situation. The tesy and friendship. But, at the same time, there rain pattered against the casements; the bells unfortunately exists in those very minds a distrust tolled for church with a melancholy sound. I of reciprocal goodwill on the part of England. went to the windows in quest of something to They have been rendered morbidly sensitive by the amuse the eye; but it seemed as if I had been attacks made upon their country by the English placed completely out of the reach of all amusepress; and their occasional irritability on this sub-ment. The windows of my bed-room looked out ject has been misinterpreted into a settled and unnatural hostility.

along. There was no variety even in the rain; it was one dull, continued, monotonous patter-patter-patter, excepting that now and then I was enlivened by the idea of a brisk shower, from the rattling of the drops upon a passing umbrella. It was quite refreshing (if I may be allowed a hackneyed phrase of the day) when, in the course of the morning, a horn blew, and a stage coach whirled through the street, with outside passengers stuck all over it, cowering under cotton umbrellas, and seethed together, and reeking with the steams of wet box-coats and upper Benjamins. The sound brought out from their lurking-places a crew of vagabond boys, and vagabond dogs, and the carroty-headed hostler, and that nondescript animal ycleped Boots, and all the other vagabond race that infest the purlieus of an inn; but the bustle was transient. The coach again whirled on its way, and boy and dog, and hostler and Boots, all slunk back again to their holes. The street again became

silent, and the rain continued to rain on.

"The evening gradually wore away. The travellers read the papers two or three times over. Some drew round the fire, and told long stories about their horses, about their adventures, their overturns, and breakings-down. They discussed the credits of different merchants and different inns; and the two wags told several choice anecdotes of pretty chambermaids and kind landladies. All this passed as they were quietly taking what they called their night-caps, that is to say, strong glasses of brandy and water and sugar, or some other mixture of the kind; after which, they one after another rang for "Boots" and the chambermaid, and walked off to bed, in old shoes, cut down into marvellously uncomfortable slippers.

and moan if there is the least draught of air When any one enters the room, they make a most tyran. nical barking that is absolutely deafening. They are insolent to all the other dogs of the establish ment. There is a noble stag-hound, a great favourite of the squire's, who is a privileged visitor to the parlour; but the moment he makes his appearance, these intruders fly at him with furious rage; and I have admired the sovereign indifference and coa tempt with which he seems to look down upon his puny assailants. When her ladyship drives out, these dogs are generally carried with her to take the air; when they look out of each window of the carriage, and bark at all vulgar pedestrian dogs." | Vol. i. pp. 75-77.

We shall venture on but one extract more and it shall be a specimen of the author's more pensive vein. It is from the chapter of "Family Reliques ;" and affords, especially in the latter part, another striking instance of the pathetic melody of his style. The introductory part is also a good specimen of his sedulous, and not altogether unsuccessful imitation of the inimitable diction and colloquial graces of Addison.

"The place, however, which abounds most with mementos of past times, is the picture gallery; and there is something strangely pleasing, though mel ancholy, in considering the long rows of portraits which compose the greater part of the collection. They furnish a kind of narrative of the lives of the family worthies, which I am enabled to read with the assistance of the venerable housekeeper, who is the family chronicler, prompted occasionally by Master Simon. There is the progress of a fine lady, for instance, through a variety of portraits. One represents her as a little girl, with a long waist and hoop, holding a kitten in her arms, and ogling the spectator out of the corners of her eyes, as if she could not turn her head. In another we find her in the freshness of youthful beauty, when she was a celebrated belle, and so hard-hearted as to cause several unfortunate gentlemen to run despe rate and write bad poetry. In another she is de picted as a stately dame, in the maturity of her charms, next to the portrait of her husband, a gal lant colonel in full-bottomed wig and gold-lace hat, who was killed abroad: and, finally, her monument is in the church, the spire of which may be seen from the window, where her effigy is carved in marble, and represents her as a venerable dame of The whole description of the Lady Lilly-seventy-six.-There is one group that particularly craft is equally good in its way; but we can only make room for the portraits of her canine attendants.

"There was only one man left; a short-legged, long-bodied, plethoric fellow, with a very large sandy head. He sat by himself with a glass of port wine negus, and a spoon; sipping and stirring, and meditating and sipping, until nothing was left but the spoon. He gradually fell asleep bolt upright in his chair, with the empty glass standing before him; and the candle seemed to fall asleep too! for the wick grew long, and black, and cabbaged at the end, and dimmed the little light that remained in the chamber. The gloom that now prevailed was contagious. Around hung the shapeless, and almost spectral box-coats of departed travellers, long since buried in deep sleep. I only heard the ticking of the clock, with the deep-drawn breathings of the sleeping toper, and the drippings of the rain, drop -drop-drop, from the eaves of the house."

Vol. i. pp. 112-130.

"She has brought two dogs with her also, out of a number of pets which she maintains at home. One is a fat spaniel, called Zephyr-though heaven defend me from such a zephyr! He is fed out of all shape and comfort; his eyes are nearly strained out of his head; he wheezes with corpulency, and cannot walk without great difficulty. The other is a little, old, grey-muzzled curmudgeon, with an unhappy eye, that kindles like a coal if you only look at him; his nose turns up; his mouth is drawn into wrinkles, so as to show his teeth; in short, he has altogether the look of a dog far gone in misanthropy, and totally sick of the world. When he walks, he has his tail curled up so tight that it seems to lift his hind feet from the ground; and he seldom makes use of more than three legs at a time, keeping the other drawn up as a reserve. This last wretch is called Beauty.

These dogs are full of elegant ailments unknown to vulgar dogs; and are petted and nursed by Lady Lillycraft with the tenderest kindness. They have cushions for their express use, on which they lie before the fire, and yet are apt to shiver

interested me. It consisted of four sisters of nearly the same age, who flourished about a century since, and, if I may judge from their portraits, were ex tremely beautiful. I can imagine what a scene of gaiety and romance this old mansion must have Been, when they were in the hey-day of their charms; when they passed like beautiful visions through its halls, or stepped daintily to music in the revels and dances of the cedar gallery; or printed, with delicate feet, the velvet verdure of these lawns," &c.

"When I look at these faint records of gallantry and tenderness; when I contemplate the fading portraits of these beautiful girls, and think that they have long since bloomed, reigned, grown old, died, and passed away, and with them all their graces, their triumphs, their rivalries, their admi rers; the whole empire of love and pleasure in which they ruled-all dead, all buried, all forgotten,'I find a cloud of melancholy stealing over the pres ent gaieties around me. I was gazing, in a musing mood, this very morning, at the portrait of the lady whose husband was killed abroad, when the fair Julia entered the gallery, leaning on the arm of the captain. The sun shone through the row of windows on her as she passed along, and she seemed to beam out each time into brightness, and relapse

Addison. Of the exotic Tales which serve te fill up the volumes, that of "Dolph Heyliger" is incomparably the best-and is more char. acteristic, perhaps, both of the author's turn of imagination and cast of humour, than any thing else in the work. "The Student of Salamanca" is too long; and deals rather largely in the commonplaces of romantic adventure:- while "Annette de la Barbe," though pretty and pathetic in some passages, is, on the whole, rather fade and finical-and too much in the style of the sentimental afterpieces which we have lately borrowed from the Parisian theatres.

again into shade, until the door at the bottom of the gallery finally closed after her. I felt a sadness of heart at the idea, that this was an emblem of her lot; a few more years of sunshine and shade, and all this life, and loveliness, and enjoyment,' will have ceased, and nothing be left to commemorate this beautiful being but one more perishable portrait: to awaken, perhaps, the trite speculations of some future loiterer, like myself, when I also and my scribblings shall have lived through our brief existence and been forgotten."-Vol. I. pp. 64, 65. We can scarcely afford room even to allude to the rest of this elegant miscellany. "Ready-money Jack" is admirable throughout-and the old General very good. The lovers are, as usual, the most insipid. The On the whole, we are very sorry to receive Gypsies are sketched with great elegance as Mr. Crayon's farewell-and we return it with well as spirit-and Master Simon is quite de- the utmost cordiality. We thank him most lightful, in all the varieties of his ever versa- sincerely, for the pleasure he has given us tile character. Perhaps the most pleasing for the kindness he has shown to our country thing about all these personages, is the perfect and for the lessons he has taught, both innocence and singleness of purpose which seems to belong to them and which, even when it raises a gentle smile at their expense, breathes over the whole scene they inhabit an air of attraction and respect-like that which reigns in the De Coverley pictures of

here and in his native land, of good taste, good nature, and national liberality. We hope he will come back among us soon-and remember us while he is away; and can assure him, that he is in no danger of being speedily forgotten.

(April, 1807.)

▲ Portraiture of Quakerism, as taken from a View of the Moral Education, Discipline, Peculiar Customs, Religious Principles, Political and Civil Economy, and Character of the Society of Friends. By THOMAS CLARKSON, M. A. Author of several Essays on the Subject of the Slave Trade. 8vo. 3 vols. London: 1806.

THIS, we think, is a book peculiarly fitted for reviewing: For it contains many things which most people will have some curiosity to hear about; and is at the same time so intolerably dull and tedious, that no voluntary reader could possibly get through with it.

The author, whose meritorious exertions for the abolition of the slave trade brought him into public notice a great many years ago, was recommended by this circumstance to the favour and the confidence of the Quakers, who had long been unanimous in that good cause; and was led to such an extensive and cordial intercourse with them in all parts of the kingdom, that he came at last to have a more thorough knowledge of their tenets and living manners than any other person out of the society could easily obtain. The effect of this knowledge has evidently been to excite in him such an affection and esteem for those worthy sectaries, as we think can scarcely fail to issue in his public conversion; and, in the mean time, has produced a more minute exposition, and a more elaborate defence of their doctrines and practices, than has recently been drawn from any of their own body.

The book, which is full of repetitions and plagiarisms, is distributed into a number of needless sections, arranged in a most unnatural and inconvenient order. All that any body can want to know about the Quakers,

might evidently have been to, either under the head of their Doctrinal tenets, or of their peculiar Practices; but Mr. Clarkson, with a certain elaborate infelicity of method, chooses to discuss the merits of this society under the several titles, of their moral education-their discipline-their peculiar customs-their religion-their great tenets and their character; and not finding even this ample distribution sufficient to include all he had to say on the subject, he fills a supplemental half-volume, with repetitions and trifles, under the humiliating name of miscellaneous particulars.

Quakerism had certainly undergone a considerable change in the quality and spirit of its votaries, from the time when George Fox went about pronouncing woes against cities, attacking priests in their pulpits, and exhorting justices of the peace to do justice, to the time when such men as Penn and Barclay came into the society "by convincement," and published such vindications of its doctrine, as few of its opponents have found it convenient to answer. The change since their time appears to have been much less considerable. The greater part of these volumes may be considered, indeed, as a wilful deterioration of Barclay's Apology: and it 18 only where he treats of the private manners and actual opinions of the modern Quakers, that Mr. Clarkson communicates any thing which a curious reader might not have learnt