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The courteous hospitality of the English nobility, the method and exact order of their domestic arrangements, the grand scale upon which their estates are improved, the beauty, affability, and elegance of the ladies, the magnificence of their palaces and their princely style of living, Mr. Colman never tires of eulogizing; but the splendor with which, at times, his fancy is dazzled, blinds him not to the abuses of power, nor to the misery which groans in their midst. The philanthropic heart of our traveller bleeds at the destitution and misery which present the opposite extreme. The state of the poor in England, and the state of crime," he says, "are the most distressing features."

"In the midst of the most extraordinary abundance, here are men, women, and children dying of starvation; and running along side of the splendid chariot, with its gilded equipages, its silken linings, and its liveried footmen, are poor, forlorn, friendless, almost naked wretches, looking like the mere fragments of humanity. Is there any remedy for this evil? I know of no panacea. You must not think, because this misery exists, that all men's hearts are steeled against it. I do not believe there exists a country fuller than this of kind hearts or of charitable establishments for the relief of the distressed. A great problem is to be solved, and the heart of humanity is everywhere burning with an intense and aching desire for its solution.

"I am often asked, if I like England? Yes, much, very much; but the inhabitants of New England, I fear, very imperfectly appreciate their own blessings."

"London abounds with an incalculable amount of misery, which scarcely sees the light. The wretchedness of the poor Irish is beyond all description; that of many parts of Scotland is quite equal." From Manchester, in England, he writes thus:

"I have seen enough already in Edinburgh to chill one's blood, and make one's hair stand on end. Manchester is said to be as bad as Edinburgh, and Liverpool still worse. Wretched, defrauded, oppressed, crushed human nature, lying in bleeding fragments all over the face of society. Every day I live I thank Heaven that I am not a poor man with a family in England."

In Edinburgh, he finds such a population as he had never seen before, and a lower degree of human degradation. His


heart sickens at the horrible condition of streets and yards, families piled one above another, in houses from seven to eleven stories high, without windows in the passages, or any light except that which comes through the opening at the foot. where door is never hung;-the barefooted and bareheaded people who crowd the streets, starving, drunken, ignorant, dissolute, forlorn. At Dundee he finds the condition of the inhabitants more frightful still. "Hardly one woman or child," he says, "in twenty-I might perhaps more properly say one in fiftyhas either shoe, stocking, bonnet or shawl; and I have some doubts whether petticoat either, and probably are not washed once in a month. The offensiveness of the place is beyond endurance."

Indeed, the "land of purple mountains and purple faces," seems on the whole, to be no great favorite with our author; not in its scenery, or its farms and agricultural interest, but rather in regard to its cities, and the Scotch generally, as a people. The Scotch farms are described as extensive, and the farmers wealthy beyond comparison; their tables frequently covered with silver, and furnished with wines of the most costly character.

"The farmers here never do the slightest work, of any kind, themselves, but then, they are thoroughly acquainted with their business, and make it as much a matter of study and calculation as any professional man or merchant does his business. They have none of their laborers in their houses, and, in most cases, the laborers provide for themselves. they live; at least, we should think it so. You would be surprised to find how poorly They have oatmeal porridge and skim-milk for breakfast, bread and potatoes for dinner, with beer, and porridge again at night. They cook their porridge for themselves, and I was going to add, do their own washing, but I am inclined to believe that a Scotch laborer never sees any washing, either for his person or his clothes. The degree of dirt in which they live in a Scotch bothie is unsurpassed. I have forgotten to tell you how fine the small fruits are here-gooseberries, currants, strawberries and raspberries. Strawberries were in the market when I arrived, or rather in May, and are still

to be had. They are sold now for about twelve and a half cents a pint, and the best Dundee of which ten weighed a pound, and raspberries for less. I saw strawberries in one I measured, was nearly as long as my little finger."

"On Friday, I went to a farm where the farmer pays about $10,000 a year rent, or about £2000, and he and his two brothers, in the immediate neighborhood of each other, had more than four hundred people engaged in harvesting and threshing. I went into a cottage, where one of the laborers told me he had lived on the farm more than fifty years, and another said he had been there sixty years. I wonder what our laborers would say to such keeping as the Scotch laborers have-oat porridge and skim-milk, or buttermilk, for breakfast, a pound of bread and a bottle of small beer at noon, and

supper like breakfast, at night, without lunch, or anything else of any kind, and a shilling per day for their labor."

Edinburgh does not equal Mr. Colman's expectations. The new town he describes as elegant, but the old city, "perfectly odious-a compound of degradation and nastiness." He hears, while there, a good deal of the church secession, and thinks that instead of venting passion upon that subject, it would be a far more noble act of religion to spend their zeal and their money in providing for their poor. In understanding and intelligence, he considers the Scotch men and women superior to the English, but without beauty and without humor. We imagine he will scarcely find himself borne out in the latter assertion. Where shall we look for humor, if not in the country of Scott, of Burns, and Hogg?

The Scotch snuff-takers are said to practise a most charming refinement in the custom of wearing a small ivory spoon, with which to facilitate the insertion of the snuff up the olfactories; and at the hotels an ox-horn is found hanging, filled with snuff, elegantly mounted with silver, having a brush attached for general use, though some persons carry a small brush in their pockets to wipe their noses and upper lips at the close of the ceremony.

The beautiful country of Ireland is robbed of half its charm to our feeling traveller, by the presence on every side of squalid want and beggary. "I never met," he says, "with a more hospitable, generous and witty people; but the wretchedness of the great mass of the population, is utterly beyond description." It is not hundreds, nor thousands, but millions, whom he has seen living in cabins dug out of the bog, without chimney, window, door or floor, bed, chair or table,

sitting on the ground, like Hottentots, round their basket of potatoes, eating this, their only food, with their fingers; whole families huddled together at night, naked, in the straw, with the pig, the the ass or horse, and sometimes the cow in the same room. In one cabin he found a woman and six young children and a sow with nine pigs, a flock of poultry and a jackass, all living together in one small parlor." "And this," he exclaims, "is a country belonging to the richest and most refined people on the globe, not forty-eight hours journey from London; a country not one-fourth part of which is cultivated, and containing millions of untilled acres of as rich land as the sun shines upon." Yet, strange as it may seem," in another place he remarks, “the common people-the men, I mean―are, in some respects, well educated." In a school of one hundred and twenty scholars, he finds, in regard to improvement, everything going on extremely well, and relates the circumstance of an inn-keeper at Killarney calling in a ragged boy from the street, who bore a good examination in Greek, and recited well in Virgil; also of another whom he met going to school to recite Homer in Greek.

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England and Scotland, in every part, among the lower classes, are described in respect of dissoluteness, as "rotten at the core," but Ireland, in this respect, is made an exception.

At Killarney, our independent friend received an amusing check to his self-sufficiency. He was going to visit the lakes, and he wished to satisfy himself that he could do so without a guide, or any other aid than a horse and his own wit. It was in one of the most public streets, crowded with market-women, pony-letters, importunate guides, beggars, &c., &c.-a woman, armed with a large, sharp-pointed shillelah, brought to him a most forlornlooking red pony, so low that he had only to throw one leg over, and with his feet dangling within an inch of the ground commenced, or would have commenced his journey; but though two ragged boys pulled at the bridle, and two barefooted wenches, with only the semblance of a petticoat, beat and punched behind, the pony refused to stir; so without swearing, but with looks that he is certain must

have indicated a terrible, ferocity, he was compelled to throw the reins over the creature's head, and sneak into his lodgings, amid a tumultuous shout of derision, of which he says, "I still fancy I hear the shrill and guttural notes."

Contrasted with such scenes, Mr. Colman is particularly observant of the cleanliness, the regulation, industry and sobriety, gaiety and happiness of the French. We now find him up one hundred and thirteen stairs, La Rue Chaussee D'Antin, looking down upon the moving world of Paris. The gay and social disposition, the readiness to be pleased with trifles, the laughing philosophy of the French, are especially congenial to his own cheerful temperament. The French appear to think the world made for enjoyment, and our author thinks "they are right." The reports he has had of their treachery and hypocrisy, their frivolity and profligacy, their abandonment to sensual pleasures, he considers as gross slanders. In all his intercourse, private and public, he professes never to have met with a single act of incivility. At the fetes and fairs, in the thickest crowds of the common people of Paris, he finds every individual clean, welldressed, well-behaved, and not a single instance of intoxication, rudeness or indecorum, "The peasantry, in this respect, contrast strongly with the English and Scotch."


"I seldom went among a field of laborers in England or Scotland, especially if they were women, without some coarse joke, or some indecent leer; at least, it has happened to me many times; and seldom without being solicited for something, "to drink your honor's health;" and never, especially in Scotland, without finding them sallow, haggard, barefooted, ragged and dirty. In France, it is the reverse; they are well clad, with caps white as snow, or neat handkerchiefs tied around their heads; the men with neat blouses or frocks, and good hats; I have scarcely ever seen a barefooted or bare-legged woman in France; let them be doing what they will, they are always tidy; the address even of the poorest (I do not exaggerate) is as polite as that of the best people you find in a city; and so far from ever soliciting money, they have refused it in repeated instances, when for some little service, I have offered some compensation; Count de Gourcy told me again and again, that even the most humble of them would consider it as an offense to have it offered to them.

I do not believe there ever was a happier peasantry than the French; drunkenness is entirely unknown among them; and they are preemin into one field, with a large farmer, where there ent for their industry and economy. I went were nearly a hundred, principally women and children, gathering grapes, and I did not see one among them, whom I should not have been perfectly willing to have met at table, or in any other situation."

"I never knew a people where there is so going, so far as that constitutes religion, no much charity to the poor; and as to churchpeople go before them; and in no places of religious worship have I ever seen more attention, more decorum, or more apparent devotion. I should as soon think of seeing a dead man sitting erect in a chair at church, as seeYou may

ing an individual in the congregation asleep. make some contribution at the door, if you

The churches, too, are all free.

choose, but nothing is demanded."

"A very well-informed and most respectable American of my acquaintance, who has resided in France twenty-five years, in Paris and in the country, says, he does not believe that there is in any country more conjugal fidelity, this respect, the best French society is a picor stronger domestic affections; and that in ture of what is most charming in domestic life. I have another friend who has been intimate in French society for seven years, and he emphatically confirms this statement."

In short, he characterizes the French, in general, as the best behaved, best dressed and most economical, most industrious and most sober people, and at the same time the happiest he has met with.

Their notions of economy and domestic Mr Colman says, "The English and the expense appear to differ widely from ours. Americans spend lavishly; the people on the continent never." He represents fuel as being twice as dear in France as in England or America, and yet using fire only when absolutely necessary, it costs a French family not more than half as much. This habitual endurance of cold is, no doubt, healthful, and is probably a cause of their freedom from catarrhs and colds.

Mr. Colman imagines that few Americans who go to France, see or know much of French society; especially if they go through England, and become prejudiced by preconceptions given there. His own French experiences have certainly been. peculiarly happy. Few persons are so eminently fortunate as to have no advantage taken of them in dealing with trades

people--as to have their alms refused in the streets, and to secure a seat at public places of amusement by leaving on it his gloves or pocket-handkerchief, recovering on his return, seat, gloves and handkerchief into the bargain.

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In Paris Mr. Colman has never seen a drunken man, and at the theatres not the slightest irregularity, which he remarks is "very different from the state of things in London, New York, or Philadelphia.' Of the many descriptions of public places, edifices, monuments, chapels, &c., we have room to notice but few. Of Fontainbleau he writes to a friend, If you have not been there, come back to Paris at once, and go, or never say you have seen the glories of France." We extract the description of the Chapel Expiatoire, not only as being less commonly noticed, but as having connected with it an interest apart from the beauty of its structure.

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"The Chapel Expiatoire, near the end of the Rue Madeleine, is well deserving of a visit. In my opinion it is a perfect gem of art, and cannot be too much admired for the simplicity both of its exterior and interior. It is entered by a considerable flight of steps, through a long passage and a vestibule or portico detached from the church, and presenting, with the church, a beautiful specimen of architectural taste and skill. The chapel itself would scarcely contain more than two hundred people, and may be considered rather as a funeral monument than as a place of religious worship. It is lighted entirely from above; and the altar within is remarkable for its plainness, and is ornamented with the usual furniture of Catholic worship. On the right side of the church, upon entering, in a semicircular recess on a raised pedestal, is a figure of the king, Louis XVI. in marble, of the size of life, in his royal robes, and with his arms extended in the attitude of supplication, while a winged angel is supporting his head. On the other side, in a corresponding recess, is a statue of the queen, Marie Antoinette, in a kneeling posture, while a figure in robes, supposed to represent Faith, is presenting the cross to her, to which she seems to be looking with intense fervor. The angel supporting the king is pointing with its finger towards heaven; the queen's flowing locks overspread her shoulders; and this, like every other statue which I have seen of her, is distinguished for its remarkable beauty of countenance and expression. Beneath the statue of the king, on the front of the pedestal, is a transcript of his will; and in front of that of the queen, a copy

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of a letter written by her to the Princess Elizabeth.

"The chapel was erected in honor of these unfortunate victims of revolutionary madness,

by Louis XVIII. The bodies of Louis XVI. and his beautiful queen were buried here. The ground was purchased by an eminent loyalist, who carefully marked the spot where this affecting deposit was made, and converted it into an orchard, that the graves might not be recognized and desecrated by a mob, whose vindictiveness knew no bounds. It is said that the loyal owner of the grounds sent every year a bouquet, gathered from the graves of her parents, to the Duchess d'Angouleme ; an act most beautiful in its taste and sentiment, After the restoration of Louis XVIII. to the throne, this chapel was, by his authority, erected to commemorate this spot so full of affecting associations; but the remains of the king and queen were disinterred and reinoved to the royal vaults in the cathedral church of St. Denis, the common burying-place of a long line of French kings and princes.

"The grounds around the chapel, and the approaches to it, are lined with cypress trees, that everything may be in keeping with the painful recollections inevitably connected with it. In the vaults under the chapel are monuments which mark the spots where the bodies were interred. The chairs in the church are covered with crimson velvet, which seemed to indicate that it was frequented only by the higher classes, In the niches of the wall are several gilted candelabras, and the chapel, when lighted for an evening service, must be singularly beautiful, and the rays reflected from the statues of marble of purest white, must give them an extraordinary splendor.

Mr. Colman considers French preaching as one of the things immeasurably superior to the English, which he characterizes as dull, formal, cold, and uninstructive, especially in the Established Church, where it seems to him to have but two objects: "one, to fill up the fifteen or twenty minutes' interval in the service; and the other to persuade the people that the church is the church, the whole church, and nothing but the church, and that they must stand at their posts to keep it up and defend it against heretics, and what they call infidels.' Our author is of opinion that all this trouble is quite in vain, and that the church is quite likely to tumble about their ears in spite of it. "A few more quarrels," he says, “among the bishops, and a few more prosecutions in courts of law, and their fabric will be shaken." The French, on the other hand,

strengthens, and renders active the great principles of duty, reverence to the Supreme Being, and love to fellow men." Orthodoxy or heresy are only things for metaphysical theologians to quarrel about, and not, to any sensible man, worth the snap of your finger."

"I hear," he writes, on another occasion, "that there is a great noise among the clergy of Boston and its vicinity, and that the infallible Unitarian body is divided." He describes the same contest to be going on in London, where he holds himself as a looker-on, sometimes with amusement, sometimes with disgust; and winds up with this remark, "With all their quar

he represents as full of life, preaching prac- | tical as well as doctrinal sermons, and throwing themselves entirely into their subject. Mr. Colman it appears is, or has been, a clergyman himself; of what particular sect does not appear. He is quite free and independent in his observations upon religious subjects, and certainly speaks not too reverentially of the clergy of any denomination. It is no small affair, he says, to get through a Scotch service, the prayer being more than three-fourths of an hour long, and the sermon two hours. In the Highlands, it is carried still farther, the length of the first service being that of two ordinary services, and the second being in Gaelic, which, he says, is accom-rels, I only wonder the clergy have not long panied with the greatest vehemence of gesticulation, and seemed to him "the most extraordinary splutter one could listen to." The congregation, however, sitting quietly, and many of them going to sleep under all this "hurricane of thunder and lightning," satisfied him that it was mere "powder without. balls."

Upon the divines of Ireland he is still more severe. In his opinion, one of the greatest curses of that country is its clergy, "all parties of which," he says, "are full of hate to each other, and uniting to oppress and crush all systems of education and improvement, which do not involve the direct extension of their peculiar tenets." After giving an extract from probates of fortunes left by Irish bishops, laid before the House of Commons in 1832, the amount of which, within a period of forty or fifty years, the number of bishops being eleven, presents a total of £1,875,000, Mr. Colman, in his usual vein of quiet humor, suggests that the use of these bishops and the value of their services should be left for those who enjoy such luxuries to calculate; adding, "Perhaps it is only just, as Dr. Jortin says, that they who feed the sheep should fleece the sheep." Mr. Colman professes to hold to no Jewish Sabbath, or peculiar sacredness of one day over another, approving the institution as conducive to good morals, and preserving a sense of religion by external forms. He has no complacency with what are commonly called religious people, especially in extravagance of profession. "That form," he says, "is best for any one man which best calls out, expresses,

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since thoroughly extinguished all religion."

After leaving France, Mr. Colman travels over various parts of the continent. We find him at the field of Waterloo, at the Lake of Geneva, and on the mountains of Switzerland; on the verdant plains of Lombardy and among the palaces of Venice; treading the silent streets of Herculaneum and Pompeii; in the crowd before St. Peter's, waving his hat and shouting viva to the Pope-not, to be sure, in his pontifical relation, but in compliment to the greatness and worth of his private character; and in a fit of enthusiasm actually falling down and worshipping at the foot of Mont Blanc. At Rome he witnesses the Pope's celebration of the Feast of the Assumption, and at Florence a Te Deum, celebrated, together with an illumination, in honor of the accouchment of the Archduchess, to whom, on this occasion, as well as to his Holiness on the former, supposing both events to have transpired out of kind regard to his own curiosity, our author expresses his sense of obligation. In addition to these civilities of the Pope and the Archduchess, Vesuvius accommodates him with one of her most brilliant eruptions, and his gratitude and amiability become at length so wrought upon, that we find him at Naples, when almost ejected from his bed by the fleas, cherishing the satisfactory reflection that, either in the way of subsistence or enjoyment, he can, to the meanest of the animal creation become valuable, and "keep up that bright chain of mutual dependence and subserviency which prevails as


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