For the next few months Mr. Colman passes his time in the most elevated regions of polite society; surprising us, however, in one respect, by his refusal to go to court, though repeatedly urged to do so by at least half the nobility, and though Lord Bathurst offered to lend him his shoe-buckles, bagwig, and other articles of costume. This is a mystery which we are unable to explain; and we leave it unsolved, to go with Mr. Colman to an evening party.

The dresses of the ladies, at their evening parties, are most splendid, and almost wholly of silk of a superior description. The refreshments are of a very simple character. Tea and coffee are seldom handed round. Sometimes you find it in the anteroom, where you disrobe, and the servants hand it to you before you are announced in the drawing-room. You are announced always by the servant at the foot of the staircase to the servant at the head, and by the servant at the head to the company. It is very rare that you are introduced to any person on any occasion, either dinner or evening, unless you go to stay, or the party is small; but it is not deemed improper that you enter into conversation with your neighbors. The hair [whose hair?] is generally dressed entirely plain, without jewels or flowers, frequently à la Madonna, but often with ringlets in front. Elderly ladies wear their gowns very low in front; young ladies wear their gowns rather high in front, but very low behind, so as to show the bust to advantage.

These are peculiarities of costume which Mr. Colman seems to have studied with some attention; we therefore venture upon no opinion of our own, though we confess the last corollary puzzles us. But, criticise them as we may, we are glad to see the following admission:

The dress of the ladies here, in general society, is altogether more elegant than with us

and I must add, that a longer acquaintance convinces me that they are better educated than the majority of the same class amongst ourselves.

We have mentioned, we think, elsewhere that Mr. Colman has opportunities which do not fall in the way of people generally. He never hears any one swear or quarrel in London; but, to make up for these deficiencies, he sometimes sees a great deal more than

ral fondness for flowers in this country, and says: "So strong is this passion, that you see persons of all conditions sticking flowers in their buttonholes, or wearing them in their hats." We confess, to our sorrow, that, except by the chimney-sweeps on May-day, we have never seen nosegays worn in hats, though it is the fashion with " persons of all conditions" to place them there. We would give something to see one in the Duke of Wellington's hat, or in the Bishop of Exeter's.

Were we to follow Mr. Colman through all his peregrinations in England only, we should fill the magazine, instead of the remaining page allotted to this notice of his volumes. We shall, however, quote one or two more characteristic passages before we close the work. Of dress, he says:

To go to dinner here, without being in full dress, would be a sad mistake. I have long since found out that; and though, in staying at a nobleman's or gentleman's house, he will often say to you, "You need not dress much," I have found the only safe way is to be perfectly well dressed, for so always you are sure to find your host and his company. I came near, in one case, making

a mistake in this matter which would have been mortifying. I had supposed myself invited to dine only with two or three gentlemen in London, and thought at first I would go without much alteration, having an impression that my host was living in bachelors' quarters. My good fortune, however, saved me, and I went as well prepared as I could be. I found, on going, one of the most elegant houses in London, and a brilliant party of ladies and gentlemen of the highest rank. The gentleman was the son of the Archbishop of York, and there I met the Rev. Sydney Smith, whom the Pennsylvanians love so well. My rule, therefore, is invariably to put myself daily in the best condition, humble on my part as it must be, to meet any and everybody. I like the practice. You may dress yourself as you please in the morning, wear the coarsest clothes and the thickest shoesa checkered shirt and a tarpaulin cap [with a bunch of flowers in it], but at dinner, which is seldom before seven o'clock, every one appears full-dressed, which is, upon the whole, as much a matter of comfort and satisfaction to the individual himself, as it is of proper respect to the company whom you meet.

We wind up with an account of the manner in which Mr. Colman lived at Tredegar, the seat of Sir Charles Morgan, who began his hospitalities by giving his guest "a list of his house servants in the order of their rank," an act of kindness by which Mr. Colman and the American public have largely profited. It was thus he passed his time:

We breakfasted at ten o'clock, and dined at seven; for those who took lunch it was always on table at two. I had the mornings to myself, until twelve or one o'clock, without interruption; the servant-woman came into my chamber at half past six to make my fire, and the valet soon after to bring my clothes and shoes.

We had eight men-servants at dinner constantly, seven of them in livery, with their heads fully powdered; and one in black, looking like a grave old clergyman, who was the butler, who handed the wine and put every dish on the table. At table no one helps himself to anything I had almost said, even if it is directly before him-but a servant always interferes. Even the person sitting at your side does not hand his own plate to be helped. Water cups are placed by your side, and oftentimes with perfumed water, to wash your hands and lips after dinner; and these are taken away, and others are put on with the dessert. You are never urged to eat, and seldom asked what you will have, excepting by the servant. In most cases, an elegantly written bill of fare, sometimes on embossed silk paper, is passed quietly round the table, and you whisper to the servant, and tell him what you will have. The vegetables are never put upon the plate by the person who helps, but are always passed round by the servants. Each guest is of course furnished with a clean napkin, which, after dinner, is never left on the table, but either thrown into your chair, or upon the floor, under

the table.

We omit the details of the coffee, tea, conversation, and "whisky-and-water at eleven o'clock," and follow Mr. Colman fairly into bed, where

Everything is always in the best order; a blazing fire, and a rushlight to burn all night, in a safe, so that no danger can come of it. Your windows and bed-clothes are always closely drawn, your night-clothes hung by the fire to be aired, the boot-jack and slippers placed by the side of the bed, and spare blankets folded near you. A bell-rope is always within reach, and not unfrequently a worked night-cap, to be used if you choose it.

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Then comes, for at least the twentieth time in these volumes, an account of the "pitcher of hot water" in the morning, the "bright copper tea-kettle," the ham and eggs on the table," the "cold beef, cold fowl, cold everything on the sideboard;" the "letters by your plate," the "mail-bag," the "entry," the " arrangements for the day," the "greatcoat neatly folded," the "hat neatly brushed," the "gloves laid out upon your hat," and the "umbrella in its place."

In describing which, Mr. Colman is anxious that the partner of his bosom, for whose especial behoof this information was originally written, should not imagine that he is violating confidence.

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Let us at once set his mind easy on this point. We are of opinion that he has only taken a laudable and humane view of a great social question. Mr. Colman passed nearly five years and a half in Europe, the greater part of it in the houses of the English nobility; his "mission" was to acquire a knowledge of the savoir vivre, and impart it to his countrymen for their use and edification. If he has not succeeded in his object, the fault cannot well be his, as we think we have shown by the extracts which we have given. We could have adduced many more proofs of his painstaking endeavor to inoculate the New World with the manners of the Old; by quoting, inter alia, from what took place at the seat of the Earl of (the only anonymous nobleman in the book), where the lady" wore "crimson velvet" one day, "white muslin, a red sash, and a crimson turban," on another, and "a splendid silk dress and a circlet of pearls," on a third; and also by showing how at Woburn he found "a tea-kettle of hot water, and a tub of cold," in his bed-room; how the usher in the hall" had "the appearance of a gentleman" in "black shorts," and how this gentlemanly man showed him into the drawing-room, where the Duke (of Bedford) met him, and where he met "a very large party of élégantes." But the reason we have already given compels us to pause, and we therefore bid Mr. Colman farewell as heartily as any of his numerous noble entertainers; more heartily, perhaps-for we, at all events, are very sorry to part with him. In doing so we have one request to make, which is, that instead of the grave work promised in his preface, he make a round of visits in the United States, and inform us faithfully whether the boot-jack, the clothes-brush, the pitcher of hot water, the worked night-cap, and the soap and towel, have yet found their way into the dressing-rooms of the smartest people in creation. Until we are assured of this fact by so competent an authority as Mr. Colman has shown himself to be, we must consider his mission to Europe as still unaccomplished.

THESE Volumes form part of the Standard Library issued by Mr. Bohn. No series of books has ever appeared which, taken as a whole, equals this in value; and no part of the series are we disposed to estimate more highly than the volumes now before us. It has often been matter of regret with the admirers of Milton that his prose writings should be so little known by the reading part of the English public; for, of that rich inheritance of mental treasure which the genius, the thoughtfulness, and the learning of former ages have bequeathed to us, there are few portions which it would more advantage the people of these realms to be familiar with than this. But hitherto this part of our hereditary wealth has been almost inaccessible to the great mass of the people, owing to the inconvenient or expensive forms in which Milton's Prose Works have been published. Mr. Bohn has at length removed this obstacle. He has rolled the stone from the mouth of the well, and we hope many will hasten to fill their pitchers at this copious and healthful spring.

Mr. St. John has done the part assigned to him for the most part well. He rightly appreciates in general Milton's true character and sentiments, and shows a worthy sympathy with both. His Preliminary Remarks and Notes often supply very needful information, and place the reader in the right point of view for apprehending and justly estimating Milton's statements; but his Notes are sometimes irrelevant, and sometimes frivolous. If some he has inserted have a just claim to be there, we do not see why he might not with equal reason have inserted a thousand such besides.

It is not our purpose at present to offer any remarks on Milton's Prose Writings in general. The theme is tempting-as what theme connected with Milton is not?-and

though it has already engaged some illustrious pens, it is by no means so exhausted as to render another survey of it presumptuous or hopeless. But our object at present is more limited. We wish to write the history of a section of Milton's life which has not, we think, received due attention from any of his biographers, and to take note of the works which during that period he composed. We wish to survey his connection with the Commonwealth, to describe the services he rendered to it, and to estimate the worth of his relation to it.

On the 30th of January, 1649, the protracted struggle between arbitrary sovereignty and popular liberty which, for more than twenty years, had agitated England, was brought to a solemn close by the execution of the infatuated prince, who, despising the claims of equity, the auguries of wisdom, and the lessons of experience, had resolved at all hazards to govern a high-minded people according to his sole pleasure. With the life of Charles terminated, for the time, the kingly form and name in Britain. Whilst the snow was yet falling on the velvet pall that covered the headless trunk of the once haughty representative of an imperious line, and whilst the few faithful adherents, who still persisted in showing their allegiance to his memory, were comforting themselves around his bier by interpreting "this sudden whiteness" into a token from heaven of their master's innocence, the bold men, who had fearlessly done the deed, were engaged in drawing up a proclamation in which they forbade all persons whatsoever to presume to declare "Charles Stuart, son of the late Charles, or any other person to be king or chief magistrate of England or Ireland, or of any dominions belonging thereunto," on pain of "being deemed and adjudged a traitor," and made to "suffer accordingly." Seven