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 discovering, 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. 66 sient and perishing glories of art, amidst the ever We know nothing more beautiful than the the reader be not struck with its music, we melody of this concluding sentence; and if think he has no right to admire the Vision of Mirza, or any of the other delicious cadences of Addison. it is matter to which we shall miss no fit oc The Farewell we quote for the matter; and casion to recur,-being persuaded not only 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 perse verance, 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 before us, are most anxious to allay. There is no word in the following quotation in which we do not most cordially concur. We receive with peculiar satisfaction the assurances of the accomplished author, as to the kindly disposition of the better part of his countrymen; and are disposed to place entire contidence 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 "And here let me acknowledge my warm, my sight of enormous piles of architecture, grey with thankful feelings, at the effect produced by one of antiquity, and sinking to decay. I cannot describe my trivial lucubrations. I allude to the essay m 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 attribu'e departed power. They spread a grand and melan. the effect to no merit of my pen. The paper in 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 veved were simple and obvious. It was the cause old age, and empire's decay; and proofs of the tran- the cause' alone. There was a predispost tion on the part of my readers to be favourably affected. My countrymen responded in heart to the filial feelings I had avowed in their name towards the parent country; and there was a generous sympathy in every English bosom towards a solitary individual, lifting up his voice in a strange land, to vindicate the injured character of his nation.There are some causes so sacred as to carry with them an irresistible appeal to every virtuous bosom; and he needs but little power of eloquence, who defends the honour of his wife, his mother, or his country. spirit is daily becoming more and more prevalent in good society. There is a growing curiosity concerning my country; a craving desire for correct information, that cannot fail to lead to a favourable understanding. The scoffer, I trust, has had his day; the time of the slanderer is gone by. The ribald jokes, the stale commonplaces, which have so long passed current when America was the theme, are now banished to the ignorant and the vulgar, or only perpetuated by the hireling scrib. blers and traditional jesters of the press. The intelligent and high-minded now pride themselves upon making America a study. Vol. ii. pp. 396-403. "I hail, therefore, the success of that brief paper, as showing how much good may be done by a kind word, however feebie, 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 favourable feeling towards England. I repeat this assertion, because I think it a truth that cannot too often be reiterated, and because it has met with some contradiction. Among all the liberal and enlightened minds of my countrymen, among all those which eventually give a tone to national opinion, there exists a cordial desire to be on terms of cour tesy and friendship. But, at the same time, there unfortunately exists in those very minds a distrust of reciprocal goodwill on the part of England. They have been rendered morbidly sensitive by the attacks made upon their country by the English press; and their occasional irritability on this subject has been misinterpreted into a settled and unnatural hostility. For my part, I consider this jealous sensibility as belonging to generous natures. I should look upon my countrymen as fallen indeed from that independence of spirit which is their birth-gift; as fallen indeed from that pride of character, which they inherit from the proud nation from which they sprung, could they tamely sit down under the infiction of contumely and insult. Indeed, the very impatience which they show as to the misrepresentations of the press, proves their respect for Eng. lish opinion, and their desire for English amity; for there is never jealousy where there is not strong regard. To the magnanimous spirits of both countries must we trust to carry such a natural alliance of affection into full effect. To pens more powerful than mine I leave the noble task of promoting the cause of national amity. To the intelligent and enlightened of my own country, I address my parting voice, entreating them to show themselves superior to the petty attacks of the ignorant and the worthless, and still to look with a dispassionate and philosophic eye to the moral character of England, as the intellectual source of our own rising great ness; while I appeal to every generous-minded Englishman from the slanders which disgrace the press, insult the understanding, and belie the mag. nanimity of his country: and I invite him to look to America, as to a kindred nation, worthy of its origin; giving, in the healthy vigour of its growth, the best of comments on its parent stock; and reflecting, in the dawning brightness of its fame, the moral effulgence of British glory. "I am sure, too, that such appeal will not be made in vain. Indeed I have noticed, for some time past, an essential change in English sentiment with regard to America. In Parliament, that fountain-head of public opinion, there seems to be an emulation, on both sides of the House, in holding the language of courtesy and friendship. The same legend of "the Stout Gentleman," of which we will not trust ourselves with saying one word more. The following, however, is perfect, independent of its connections. I "It was a rainy Sunday, in the gloomy month of November. I had been detained, in the course of a journey, by a slight indisposition, from which I was recovering; but I was still feverish, and was obliged to keep within doors all day, in an inn of the small town of Derby. A wet Sunday in a country inn! whoever has had the luck to experience one can alone judge of my situation. The rain pattered against the casements; the bells tolled for church with a melancholy sound. went to the windows in quest of something to amuse the eye; but it seemed as if I had been placed completely out of the reach of all amuse. ment. The windows of my bed-room looked out among tiled roofs and stacks of chimneys, while those of my sitting-room commanded a full view of the stable-yard. I know of nothing more calcu lated to make a man sick of this world than a stableyard on a rainy day. The place was littered with wet straw that had been kicked about by travellers and stable-boys. In one corner was a stagnant pool of water, surrounding an island of muck. There were several half-drowned fowls crowded together under a cart, among which was a miserable, crest-fallen cock, drenched out of all life and spirit; his drooping tail matted, as it were, into a single feather, along which the water trickled from his back. Near the cart was a half-dozing cow, chewing the cud, and standing patiently to be rained on, with wreaths of vapour rising from her reeking hide. A wall-eyed horse, tired of the loneliness of the stable, was poking his spectral head out of a window, with the rain dripping on it from the eaves. An unhappy cur, chained to a dog-house hard by, uttered something every now and then, between a bark and a yelp. A drab of a kitchen wench tramped backwards and forwards through the yard in pattens, looking as sulky as the weather itself. Every thing, in short, was comfortless and forlorn-excepting a crew of hard-drinking ducks, assembled like boon companions round a puddle, and making a riotous noise over their liquor. 'I sauntered to the window and stood gazing at the people, picking their way to church, with petticoats hoisted mid-leg high, and dripping umbrellas. The bells ceased to toll, and the streets became silent. I then amused myself with watching the daughters of a tradesman opposite; who, being con. fined to the house for fear of wetting their Sunday finery, played off their charms at the front win dows, to fascinate the chance tenants of the inn. They at length were summoned away by a vigiani vinegar-faced mother, and I had nothing further from without to amuse me. 46 "The day continued lowering and gloomy. The slovenly, ragged, spongy clouds, drifted heavily along. There was no variety even in the rain; it was one dull, continued, monotonous patter-patfer-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 hack neyed 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 car roty-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 ar Wo 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 establishment. There is a noble stag-hound, a great favouris 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 cc. 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. mementos of past times, is the picture gallery; and 'The place, however, which abounds most with there is something strangely pleasing, though melancholy, 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 is the family chronicler, prompted occasionally by the assistance of the venerable housekeeper, who Master Simon. There is the progress of a fine lady, for instance, through a variety of portrags. 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 she could not turn her head. In another we fi her in the freshness of youthful beauty, when the was a celebrated belle, and so hard-hearted as to cause several unfortunate gentlemen to run despe picted as a stately dame, in the maturity of her rate and write bad poetry. In another she is decharms, next to the portrait of her husband, a gal lant colonel in full-bottomed wig and gold-laced 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 egus, 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 thev 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 the they have long since bloomed, reigned, grown cd. 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 win dows 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 to 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 exeite 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 told, 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 644 from that celebrated production. The lauda- other purpose, but to mortify himself mtu a tory and argumentative tone which he main- proper condition for the next;-that all our tains throughout, gives an air of partiality to feelings of ridicule and sociality, and all the his statements which. naturally diminishes spring and gaiety of the animal spirits of our reliance on their accuracy and as the youth, were given us only for our temptation; argument is often extremely bad, and the and that, considering the shortness of this life, praise apparently unmerited, we are rather and the risk he runs of damnation after it, inclined to think that his work will make a man ought evidently to pass his days in de less powerful impression in favour of the jection and terror, and to shut his heart to "friends," than might have been effected by every pleasurable emotion which this transia more moderate advocate. With many praise- tory scene might hold out to the unthinking. worthy maxims and principles for their moral The fundamental folly of these ascetic maxconduct, the Quakers, we think, have but little ims has prevented the Quakers from adoptto say for most of their peculiar practices; and ing them in their full extent; but all the make a much better figure when defending peculiarities of their manners may evidently their theological mysteries, than when vindi- be referred to this source; and the qualifica cating the usages by which they are separated tions and exceptions under which they mainfrom the rest of the people in the ordinary in-tain the duty of abstaining from enjoyment, tercourse of life. It will be more convenient, serve only, in most instances, to bring upon however, to state our observations on their their reasonings the additional charge of inreasonings, as we attend Mr. Clarkson through consistency. his account of their principles and practice. He enters upon his task with such a wretched display of false eloquence, that we were very near throwing away the book. Our readers will scarcely accuse us of impatience, when we inform them that the dissertation on the moral education of the Quakers begins with the following sentence: "When the blooming spring sheds abroad its benign influence, man feels it equally with the rest of created nature. The blood circulates more freely, and a new current of life seems to be diffused in his veins. The aged man is enlivened, and the sick Good spirits and man feels himself refreshed. cheerful countenances succeed. But as the year changes in its seasons, and rolls round to its end, the tide seenis to slacken, and the current of feeling to return to its former level."--Vol. i. p. 13. This may serve, once for all, as a specimen of Mr. Clarkson's taste and powers in fine writing, and as an apology for our abstaining, in our charity, for making any further observations on his style. Under the head of moral education, we are informed that the Quakers discourage, and strictly prohibit in their youth, all games of chance, music, dancing, novel reading, field sports of every description, and, in general, the use of idle words and unprofitable conversation. The motives of these several prohibitions are discussed in separate chapters of extreme dulness and prolixity. It is necessary, however, in order to come to a right understanding with those austere persons and their apologist, to enter a little into the discussion. Their objection to cards, dice, wagers, horseraces, &c. is said to be, first, that they may lead to a spirit of gaming, which leads, again, to obvious unhappiness and immorality; but chiefly, that they are sources of amusement unworthy of a sober Christian, and tend, by producing an unreasonable excitement, to disturb that tranquillity and equanimity which they look upon as essential to moral virtue. "They believe," says Mr. Clarkson, that st ness and quietness both of spirit and of body, are necessary, as far as they can be obtained. Hence, Quaker children are rebuked for all expressions of anger, as tending to raise those feelings which ought to be suppressed: a raising even of the voice beyond due bounds, is discouraged as leading to the disturbance of their minds. They are taught to rise in the morning in quietness; to go about their ordinary occupation with quietness; and o retire in quietness to their beds." Now this, we think, is a very miserable picture. The great curse of life, we believe, in all conditions above the lowest, is its excessive stillness and quietness, and the want of interest and excitement which it affords: and though we certainly do not approve of cards and wagers as the best exhilarators of the spirits, we cannot possibly concur in the which they are rejected with principle upon such abhorrence by this rigid society. A remark which Mr. Clarkson himself makes afterwards, might have led him to doubt of the soundness of their petrifying principles. says, ** that "It has often been observed," he Quaker Boy has an unnatural appearance. The idea has arisen from his dress and his sedateness, which, taken together, have produced an appear; ance of age above the youth in his countenance, I have often been surprised to hear young Quakers talk of the folly and vanity of pursuits in which persons, older than themselves, were then embarking in pursuit of pleasure." &c. The basis of the Quaker morality seems evidently to be, that gaiety and merriment ought, upon all'occasions, to be discouraged; that everything which tends merely to exhilaration or enjoyment, has in it a taint of criminality; and that one of the chief duties We feel no admiration, we will confess, for of man is to be always serious and solemn, and constantly occupied, either with his prodigies of this description; and think that worldly prosperity, or his eternal welfare. If the world is but little indebted to those moralit were not for the attention which is thus ists, who, in their efforts to ameliorate our permitted to the accumulation of wealth, the condition, begin with constraining the volatile Quakers would scarcely be distinguishable spirit of childhood into sedateness, and extin from the other gloomy sectaries, who main-guishing the happy carelessness and anima. tain, that man was put into this world for notion of youth, by lessons of eternal quietness |