EUROPEAN LIFE AND MANNERS.* THE object of Mr. Colman's journey to Europe appears to have been entirely agricultural, and not with a view to writing a book upon European life and manners. His home correspondence, preserved by his friends, has however, in a not unusual course of events, brought about the production of the present volume. It consists of a series of letters which have all the simple, natural, conversational tone which is the peculiar charm of private correspondence, and not a doubt arises that they were, as the preface declares, not designed for publication. Notwithstanding Mr. Colman's declaration that if his work gives pleasure to his friends he shall be fully satisfied, we will venture to hope he may not reject a more extended approbation. He has given, he says, "what may be called proof impressions" of the scenes, objects, persons, and places he has visited, and we have no intention to assume the office of corrector. We take the book, and we think the public will do likewise, as an acceptable gift, that should not, according to the adage be looked into with too close an inspection. Mr. Colman's wisdom teeth were evidently cut long ago but for our own part we have enjoyed many a pleasant jaunt with a crib-biter, amid beautiful scenes which a more spirited animal would scarcely have given us a chance to notice. We consider it an idle and ill-natured proceeding to sit at one's window, secure from annoyance, and make impertinent observations upon those who are about their business in the toilsome and dusty public way; and especially would we avoid such a proceeding when, as in the present instance, we may, overlooking occasional accidents and peculiarities, gather therefrom much that is curious and interesting. Not travelling for pleasure expressly, Mr. Colman seems, nevertheless, to have found it in abundance: illustrating the old moral of the Search after Happiness. Full of faith in humanity, and with the eager desire of a social disposition to communicate to others what has strongly affected himself, he gives his experience with such open-hearted truthfulness that he cannot fail to call out the sympathies of his readers. Charmed with the frank and earnest way in which he abandons himself to his enthusiastic nature, we find ourselves travelling as familiarly in his company as if we had known him all our days; and aided by his own autographic sketches we can even bring him to our mind's eye in proper person. We see him in his French deshabille of grey frockcoat, plaid waistcoat, grey trowsers, silk neckcloth, and varnished black slippers, looking grave and wise, with his spectacles dropped on the end of his nose, combing "the few straggling grey locks" with his fingers. Or in his more elegant English dining costume-straight coat, black satin vest, silk stockings, and pumps--but it is not dress that makes the man; and we know him better by imagining a pair of keen, half laughing, half scrutinizing eyes, taking in at a glance everything worthy of notice; the high, bare forehead of the intellectual, the affable smile of the amiable man; the bland manners and the agreeable voice-the body slightly bowed and the hair thinned and silvered by the touch of time, heightening, not abating the interest of the picture. In Mr. Colman's humorous and occasionally pathetic delineations, and still more in the spirit of universal benevolence which diffuses itself over every thought and expression, we are not unfrequently reminded of the Sentimental Journey of Sterne. His style is light and easy; he sometimes makes too much of his subject, European Life and Manners; in Familiar Letters to Friends. By HENRY COLMAN. Boston: Charles C. Little and James Brown. London: John Petherham, 94 High Holborn. 1849. but is acute, discriminating, and often eloquent. Mr. Colman's travels are not calculated to induce another to go over the same ground, for who, truly, would go to the mountain when the mountain can be brought home? In reading these details of life in Europe, as if under the influence of mesmerism, one feels actually transferred by the author's will to the presence of the scenes and persons described. The principal fault of the book, and one which might easily have been avoided in arranging the correspondence for publication, is that the author so frequently repeats himself, that portions of almost every letter might as well, if not better, have been omitted for instance, ciety he is created an honorary member, and, called up by Lord Spencer, he acknowledges the honor conferred in being thus enrolled, and states the objects of his mission, which immediately procures him invitations from noblemen and gentlemen interested in the subject; from the Earl of Hardwicke and the Marquis of Devonshire in Ireland; from Mr. Bates, the great cattle breeder and "greatest talker in England;" from the Bishop of Exeter, and from Lord Morpeth, who shows him every possible attention. Mr. Pusey, M. P., a gentleman who in point of practical science is represented as standing at the head of the agricultural community in England, proposes to go with him on an excursion through the farming districts. Earl Talbot invites him "P. S. Tell Miss D., Dr. Outram has been into the fine agricultural district of Stafvery polite to me.' With his warm heart and genial manner, our cheerful traveller goes from city to city, and from one great house to another, and with the simplest, unsophisticated admiration of the unaccustomed splendor that surrounds him-with a keen but good-natured appreciation of the ridiculous, and an earnest thoughtfulness at the bottom of all, inspires confidence and esteem, and thus acquiring advantages which fall to the lot of few travellers in a strange country, is enabled to present new views of European society and manners. His letters, addressed to a wide circle of friends, were consequently adapted to various tastes, and afford abundant detail for the curious and the intelligent. The agriculturist, the political and domestic economist, the lover of nature and of the fine arts, the admirers of equipage and style, of dress and fashion; the philanthropist interested in the details of misery and want--each and all may find wherewith to engage attention. Mr. C. leaves America for Liverpool, and proceeds thence to London, where, as soon as his agricultural mission is declared, he receives every possible civility and aid, and has opened to him the best sources of information. Facilities in the pursuit of his observations are offered on every side. Earl Spencer proposes to mark out a route for him. At one of the meetings of the London Agricultural So fordshire, the Duke of Richmond to a sheep-shearing, and the Duke of Devonshire to visit Chatsworth, "that museum of what is most beautiful in art and nature-one of the wonders of England if not of the world." These civilities are followed by visits to cattle-shows, corn-markets and horticultural establishments, by introductions to farms and farmers, and by sojourns, on the most intimate footing, in the families of noblemen and gentlemen where everything in the way of family economy, within and without, is freely exhibited, even in some cases to the extent of giving written lists and rules of domestic management, with liberty to use them according to his pleasure; advantages which he seems fully to appreciate and enjoy. "The publication of my book," he says, "will give me great advantages in visiting the what I want, say they shall be most happy to country, as several gentlemen, now seeing assist me; and especially, I am persuaded, feeling that I do not come as a spy, and shall not deal in miserable personalities, they will assist me so much the more readily.” Mr. Colman's first impressions of London are confused, as is apt to be the case with a stranger, taking for the first time a part in the stir of the great Babel." Every traveller gives his own description of the city. Mr. Colman's varies but little from the rest in outline, but is filled up with a vividness of coloring peculiarly his own. The people seem to him very imperfectly to appreciate the difficulties of a stranger, and he finds himself frequently bewildered in his peregrinations amid the narrow streets, stretching through long ranges of shops and stalls; the broad and magnificent avenues, running for miles through the city, with their splendid stores; the crowded thoroughfares, the main arteries of this mighty body beating continually with tremendous pulsations; the palaces and public buildings, the monuments, bridges, and parks; the carriages and the people almost piled upon each other; the wilderness of houses, streets, lanes, courts, and kennels. He describes his first alighting from a close carriage in the very centre of the city. "And this,' said I to myself, this is London, is it? Well, this is not much.' But, how wofully was I mistaken! I recollect the same kind of impression when I first saw Niagara. 'Very beautiful,' said I, very beautiful.' What conceit-what insolence on my part! Soon, however, I came to my senses; soon I saw the depth of the flood and the height of the cataract; soon I saw the vast inland oceans of the unexplored West pouring down their mighty volumes of water in one immense and irresistible torrent; soon I saw the tumultuous waves, miles beyond me, contending for supremacy and hurrying on in broken and foaming masses to make the fearful plunge; soon I considered the Almighty Power, which could take up this torrent in the palm of his hand, and had fashioned every drop which formed this commingled mass, and smoothed every glittering orb which poured itself along without jostling its neighbor, and painted every beautiful beam of glory reflected from this mighty aggregate of jewels; and soon I gathered strange ideas of the duration of its flood, and my bosom swelled more and more with convictions, too vast for utterance, of God's eternity, of which I here saw an humble emblem. "Not at all unlike have been my impressions of London; they have grown larger and larger every day and hour. I had been absent from it four months, and I came back with new wonder at its extent. I have just returned to it again, after a fortnight's absence, and it seemed to me, on my way to my lodgings, as if the population had quadrupled in that time. Here are two millions of human beings-to say nothing of other living things-crowded into one place, from one extremity of which to the other a man may ride in two hours. Go through the Strand and Fleet Street at noon day, and Threadneedle Street and Bishopsgate Street, and there seems to be an uninterrupted interlockage of carriages and vehicles of every description, and the sidewalks are thronged with crowded assembly. Mount the top of an ompeople as if they had just rushed out of some nibus, and look down the whole length of Fleet Street and the Strand, and nothing can bear any likeness to the view but the breaking up of one of our great rivers in the spring by some sudden flood, when the ice comes down in fearful and tumbling masses, bringing with it trees broken fences, and remnants of cottages, here and uprooted stumps, and logs, and boards, and moving in a swift torrent, there circling in some rapid eddy, and presenting only a picture of indescribable confusion, and yet all hastening on with a steady and certain progress to their destination, save only, that in the streets of London there are counter-streams, passing each other without obstruction and without interference. "Then again the vastness of London. Go into what quarter you will, and you will find something, some place, some square you have not seen before. Turn into any by-passage, court-yard, close, or wynd, where scarcely a wheelbarrow can be driven, and you will find every place occupied, from the cellar to the attic. The subterranean apartments of the houses are as much tenanted as the celestial; and you may literally find many a humble tailor and cobbler occupying portions of cellardoorways or halves of shop windows, where the cobbler cannot stand erect, and where the tailor, if he did not sit cross-legged, could not sit at all. The squares, the streets, the rows and blocks of buildings, the terraces, the crescents, the public edifices, the monuments, the private palaces, above all, the parks and pleasure-grounds, are numerous and extensive beyond description. I thought I had seen all the markets some time ago; to-day I stumbled upon one covering several acres, of which I had never heard, filled with fruits, and vegetables, and meats. One's astonishment is increased, when you observe the perfect order prevailing in this vast multitude. By day or night, you may walk as securely in most of the streets of London as in your own yard. I have strolled into all parts of the city-into the most public and the most profligate and I have seldom seen a quarrel; and I have seen carriages, again and again, by hundreds, passing each other in the narrowest passages, and oftentimes hindered when they were evidently most impatient to get on, and yet I have seen no passion displayed, and heard no harsh language uttered; but I have heard more profane swearing in one hour among the boatmen on the New York Canal, than I have heard during my seven months' residence in England. "A man here believes what he pleases; says what he has to say; does what he chooses to camel's back, so, presently, it would seem, that she must be crushed by her own weight." of the admiration excited at a block of ice Mr. Colman gives an amusing account exhibited at a shop in London, which many of the passers by felt themselves compelled to go in and examine, that by the test of touch they might satisfy themselves it was not glass;-looking upon it as a standing miracle, never melting, but always there, and entirely unsuspicious that the cunning Connecticut yankee, who exhibited it, could take a fresh piece from his refrigerator every morning. Mr. Colman overhears one wise head gravely informing another, that the ice was imported from the West Indies! do; and has all the liberty, without censure, without surveillance, which a rational man can desire, provided he keeps out of the hands of the police. Here nobody is of any importance; and the proudest man only floats upon society like a cork upon the rapids of Niagara, sure to be hurried along; sure, presently, to go over, and as sure not to be thought of or cared for after he has gone over. Every man is for himself, and if he does not take care of himself, there is nobody will take care of him. It is not that persons here are more selfish than others; but, really, no one has any time to spend upon the affairs of other men. In the busy season the streets of London present a sort of Waterloo rout-save himself who can;'-saunter, and you'll be run down; fall down, and you'll be run over. Sometimes I have thought that a man might walk from the Exchange to Charing Cross, two miles, through the busiest and most crowded part of London, and at the busiest time of day, with nothing Our author enters sufficiently into the else on than Adam's cast-off paradisaical suit, excitements of London life to get a pretty and he would not be noticed farther than that clear understanding of its clubs, societies, some hasty passenger might venture to remark, places of amusement, meetings, schools, en passant, that is a queer fellow; what tailor hospitals, &c. &c. He describes particularmade his dress? So, too, the Queen mightly "the Blue" Coat School at Christ's Hosdie to-morrow; her body would not be cold pital, where he attended one of the public Lent suppers, and saw eight hundred and fifty boys, consisting of noblemen's and gentlemen's sons, as well as charity scholars, taking their frugal meal, of bread and butter, "with a drink of beer from a wooden piggin, and nothing more and nothing else." They are said to dine on mutton five days out of seven, which our author, with professional acuteness, considers advantageous to sheep-raising, but is doubtful regarding its tendency to make "mutton heads." "The board and education of the boys," he says, "is wholly gratuitous. Why the sons of noblemen and men of wealth should be found in an establishment purely charitable is a question"-not easily solved. before her successor must be found; and a few tolling bells, a few muffled drums, and a few glittering swords and nodding plumes, and the world would go on precisely as it was going before. This is a humiliating but an instructive lesson, and a most wholesome extinguisher of all pride, if pride in man can be extinguished unless the candle of life be snuffed out at the same time. What comes of all this? What composes this mighty, moving mass? Many aching limbs; many heated and burning brains; many agonized hearts; wealth beyond the dreams of the Arabian Nights; luxury as brilliant as gold and silver and diamonds, and human art and labor can make it; indulgence without restraint; destitution complete; poverty extreme; wretchedness, vice, and suffering unmitigated, and absolutely hopeless. What a picture of life! Who can unravel this web and draw the threads straight? What shall settle this turbid cauldron, and cause the waters to become clear? Alas! no human power or sagacity can even approach the task; and man, standing upon the shore of the mighty ocean, may think as well to assuage its tempests by his breath, and stay its rising tides at his command, and smooth its broken surface with the palm of his hand. Yet what is to come of this great city? It is growing at this very hour much faster than ever. Thousands and thousands of houses are in the process of erection, and thousands and thousands are being born to fill them. Rome had her six millions of inhabitants; London has as yet but two. What is to prevent her having twenty, unless, as it was the last feather that broke the One of the most interesting sights is the meeting, in St. Paul's Church, of the charity children, amounting in number to nearly ten thousand, dressed in different uniforms according to the school to which they belonged. appeared one half so beautiful. I was greatly excited, and was half tempted, in a state of delirium, to throw myself over the railing After the service, the schools went out in different processions and directions, it requiring a long time to clear the chapel; and I went up to the cupola of the church, from which we could see them winding off in different directions, and threading the different streets like so many beautiful ribands." Mr. Colman attends the sessions at Old Bailey, and takes his seat on the bench of justice, where he sees hundreds of prisoners arraigned, tried, and sentenced, "with as much sang froid," on the part of the judge, "as a butcher in Cincinnati would get into his pen of swine and knock down his victims by the dozen." This judge, whose sole dignity must surely have lain in either his title or his wig, is represented as following up his heartrending sentences upon some wretched boy, or poor, miserable, affrighted woman, with jokes and laughter. There could scarcely be a stronger comment upon the extreme moral and physical degradation of the lower classes in London, than the fact of its being reported as a common case that parents entrap their children to crime, in order to throw them upon the state, and thus rid themselves of the cost and care of their bringing up. brilliant than was ever swayed before by human hands," with grave judges, peers and nobles kneeling before her in token of obedience, becomes lifted at once into the "personification of political grandeur and power." One smiles at the freshness with which our open-hearted countryman marvels at the manners of English high life. Again and again he returns to the theme, and never tires of expressing his admiration. Prepared to meet with English coldness and hauteur, he is most agreeably surprised by a politeness accessible and communicative, and is particularly impressed by the universal attention to good manners; he remarks that good manners are not put on by ladies for the occasion, but grow up with them as matters of course, and adds that even in the freest conversation in parties of gentlemen he has never heard an obscene story or indecent allusion; nor even a double entendre. He is fond of enumerating petty, yet not uninteresting details, and naively informs us that introductions to the company are not usual, unless the party is small; but that it is not improper to enter into conversation with your neighbors. He comments admiringly upon dinner services of silver and gold, and cups and saucers of Sevrès china, every one differing in pattern from another; " that is" he explains, "one cup and saucer was different from another cup and saucer.' He remarks that a gentleman is expected to sit next the lady he hands in to dinner; and that, at the tables of the nobility, cigars and pipes are not presented; that invitations to parties specify in general half-past eight to nine, but that half-past nine to ten is the hour to go; and that the dresses of the ladies are often almost wholly of silk. Dr. Primrose himself could not have related these facts with a graver simplicity. Among the various objects of interest which have attracted his attention, our author does not omit the Queen, whom he describes as "a very small person, not very handsome, but pleasing, with a brightblue eye, and dressed quite modestly," and of whom one might say, meeting her without recognition, "there is a pretty, genteel, little woman." With her Majesty, at the prorogation of Parliament, he seems, however, much more deeply impressed. He is not willing to speak of this great assemblage of the princes, peers, peeresses, and great officers of state, in Many a man, nevertheless, far more the light and trivial tone which is assumed habitually observant of the forms of etiby many. This same pretty, genteel-quette, better conversant with luxury and looking little woman, rises into the most elegance, and withal less incautious of dignified importance, when he considers betraying his inexperience, might be surher as holding the sovereignty of one prised into expressions of admiration at hundred and fifty millions of human the almost eastern magnificence and sumpbeings, and her power extending into all tuous style in the palaces to which Mr. parts of the civilized globe. This little Colman had the fortunate admittance. lady, embodying in her own person "a dominion perhaps more extensive and and His first visit at the house of a nobleman is at Althorpe, where he goes by |