Costa's boat, having been magnified so as to throw a wonderful light on the subject, my uncle in his letter says, (in that familiar phraseology, which he sometimes chose to use in writing as well as in speaking,)— "Eh, Ned! 'tis well thee didst not lose either life or limb in the attack on the Galleon; how much did come to thy share ?-'Tis a secret, may be : thee must have got a pretty penny; did hear thou hast a large iron chest full, besides the schooner thou bought, and what didst send to Awbury: well, thou art a good-hearted fellow, Ned; and now thy brother and his wife wish to join thee, I will let Taylor take them out for 201. a head, in his way to the Bay, as he tells me he can pop in on you, without going much out of his way; and I take upon me to send out an investment by him, of which thee mayest make good profit on them, if thou knowest how; but if thou wilt not take them, I may be loser. The amount, to be sure, is large, but if not convenient to pay ready money (for which will allow five per cent. discount), thee shall have credit for twelve months, till Taylor makes his next voyage." My uncle enclosed in his letter a counterstatement to mine, respecting the disbursements for the brig, and the prices of the things I had taken out of her while she lay a wreck; contriving to make the balance considerably more in his own favour than I had done; however, I resolved to let it pass, without objection or comment, and pay agreeable to his own statement. After breakfast, Captain Drake employed himself in taking an inventory of the things landed, and in superintending their removal to the great storehouse. Meanwhile, I was engaged in settling accounts with Captain Taylor; in doing which I took my uncle at his word, deducting five per cent. from the amount of the invoice; a subtraction, in truth, it could well bear. This being done, I gave Captain Taylor a set of bills on Messrs. Perry and Co. of London, for the amount of the invoice, and balance of the other accounts, for which I took his receipts.' -vol. ii. pp. 120, 121.

The colony being now established, we need not go further into the details of Seaward's proceedings, which were all attended with so much good fortune, that he found himself free to pay a longlooked-for visit to England, in 1736. We mention the date, in order to fix the time of the sketches of costume and society which we shall now introduce to the reader's notice. Upon the arrival of the governor and his lady in London, they were, in the first instance, to provide themselves with undress suits à la mode.

'Before dinner-time the milliner and mantua-maker arrived; and also a tailor I had sent for. After a long consultation, and much discussion with these important personages, all points were at length settled; and on Saturday evening our undress suits came home. On Sunday morning we prepared for church, a happiness looked forward to by us with pleasure ever since our arrival; and in truth we much needed some spiritual help through the ordinary means of grace, for we felt the high tone of devotional feeling much subdued since we quitted our intertropical paradise, My dear wife being dressed in the new mode, found great difficulty in walking with high heels, not having worn any for more than two years, and those were low compared with the present mode. Her farthingale, too, was cumbrous, and altogether she felt very uncomfortable; a little black hat with feathers being the only tolerable part of her attire. I had less to

complain of, the good taste of my Eliza having decided for me against lace. My suit, therefore, was a plain one, for which I was thankful; deep ruffles had been appended to my shirts at the breast and wrists, my knee and shoe buckles were handsome, and as I would not submit to the torture of a toupee, my head was accommodated with a morning peruke in tie, and a plain hat, with a silver loop and button. Thus attired, we attended divine service in a hired carriage, at the church of St. Martin-le-Grand; and on our return to the hotel, after having dined, we endeavoured to keep alive the good habit of reading the Scriptures.'-vol. ii. pp. 195, 196.

The great object of his ambition was to obtain from the minister, then Sir Robert Walpole, a grant of Seaward Islands, for which, of course, he was prepared to pay a sufficient consideration, in the way of douceurs, then so disgracefully common in all our public departments. Mr. Perry, one of his bankers, of the house of Perry, Child, and Co., undertook to assist him in this negociation, in which also Mrs. Seaward took a considerable part. It is not a a little amusing to contemplate them both in their carriage, in Cheapside, in those days, when the London cries must have been in all their glory.

'My Eliza was not tired waiting for me, but she was glad to see me again, and as I stepped into the coach, my eyes were met by her endearing smile. 66 My Edward," said she, "I thought I had lost you." As we drove back to the hotel, I would have recounted to her all that had passed between Mr. Perry and myself; but the noise of the wheels, and of carts, and other carriages, and of people bawling about the streets all sorts of things to sell, and chairs to mend, and bellows to mend, as if the crier himself had a pair of blacksmith's bellows within him, she could not make out a single sentence I uttered. I therefore covered my mouth with my hand, which diverted her a good deal, and placing my other hand around her waist to keep her steady, the rough-going coach jolted along, until at length we reached our quiet hotel.'-vol. ii. p. 199.

There is a good deal of character also in the following scenes of preparation, for going out to their banker's dinner party.

After dinner, Mother Osborne, our hostess, came in, with many courtesies and apologies, saying there was a tire-woman without, she could recommend, and if the Lady Seaward would see her, she should feel obliged. (Mrs. Osborne was an unconscious prophetess.) My dear wife could not resist this; and where is the wife, under similar circumstances, that could? Madame Filibert was introduced, and she commenced her address in French. When she had proceeded for a considerable time with the complimentary prologue, in which "milady" and "beaucoup d'honneur," were repeated twenty times, my simple-minded Eliza told her she did not understand French; and therefore would only trouble her to show some of the head-dresses, if she had brought any with her, one of which, perhaps, she might take to oblige Mrs. Osborne. Two women were now called in, carrying a large covered wicker basket, out of which were brought indescribable things: they were placed severally on the table; and, to my great amusement, Madame Filibert took them up one after another, putting them on her own head before the looking-glass. One was charmante,

another magnifique, a third superbe ; but the fourth “O milady, regardez celle là; c'est une tire téte unique. J'avois faite la meme pour sa majesté la Reine." It certainly was handsome, being made chiefly of gold tissue, but of a quality far inferior to that we had found in the cave. After some parley, my wife purchased it. "Now," said she, “Madame Filibert, is this the richest tissue of gold that is made?" The tirewoman answered in tolerable English, that nothing in Europe could surpass it; if she did not speak true, she would give it for nothing. "I will not tie you to your word," returned my Eliza, "but I will show you a piece of tissue, with which it cannot be compared." She then went up to the bed-room, and brought down a piece of the plain gold; two of the four being richly wrought. The tirewoman, at sight of it, expressed her astonishment, exclaiming "It was all gold! there was never any thing like it seen in Europe! it was certainly from Persia, or China, or the gold mines." She anxiously desired a little bit of it, which my dear wife would have given to her; but at my whisper that some possible mischief might come out of it, she politely declined complying with Madame Filibert's wish so the business concluded with her by paying for the tire she had chosen; on which Madame, with her women, made their obeisance and departed. This scene afforded us abundance of pleasantry for the evening.

On the following day we received an invitation to dinner from Mr. and Mrs. Child, and in consequence, care was taken that our dress-clothes should be brought home in time. When the day arrived, we dressed: my dear wife's brocade was rich, and no doubt highly fashionable; the hoop large; the ruffles were of blonde, and she wore the tire purchased of Madame Filibert. I had presented her with a diamond necklace and ear-rings, the price of which is the only secret I ever kept from her in my life; but she placed it to the right account, and accepted them, as I gave them, with feelings of deep regard. My suit was embroidered velvet, with white silk stockings, and a peruke in the best mode. As I took her hand to lead her down stairs to the carriage, she looked up at me with her own sweet smile, saying, My Edward has given me a diamond necklace and ear-rings, will he stop at the jeweller's, and give his Eliza a diamond ring also?"—"With the greatest pleasure, my beloved," I replied. The coachman was then ordered to stop on Ludgate-hill, at Harding's, where we both got out; and I was proceeding to choose for her a ring. "No, Edward," she said, "I must be selfish for once; it must be of my own choosing, and the finest brilliant I can find." In a little time she fixed her eye on a splendid gem, elegantly set, but not a lady's ring; then taking my hand, she put it on my finger, saying, “It is here I shall always love to see my brilliant:" then raising my hand to her lips, added to it a mark of her affection more precious than the gem itself.'-vol. ii. pp. 200-202.

66

The intelligent reader will hardly be surprised at the exposition which follows, of the conversation at the dinner table. The character of Gil Blas again breaks out in Seaward, in his intercourse with Mr. Powis.

The company were numerous and somewhat gorgeously attired; the dinner was sumptuous; and the liveries of the servants vied with their masters in the richness of the lace on their coats. We got through the ceremonies pretty well; but felt no inclination to copy the tone of conver

sation that was kept up afterwards. The subjects were low, and some of the expressions worse than low: the ribaldry of Fielding seemed to be the standard of wit, and some of the coarsest jokes of the Dean the signal for a general laugh; the ladies drank rather freely, and few of them were without a snuff-box. I perceived early in the afternoon, how much my dear Eliza was disgusted with the society around her, although the ladies commended her fine taste, and more than one gentleman told her she was an angel. In the evening Mrs. Child pressed her to take a seat at the quadrille table; and, although she knew little of the game, politeness obliged her not to refuse. In the course of the evening, a gentleman, Mr. Powis, who, with myself, had refused cards, engaged me in conversation. He talked on a variety of political subjects, with the merits of which I was totally unacquainted; I, however, listened with great attention, being glad of an opportunity to pick up information in any way; and, as I listened with attention, so I took care not to disclose my ignorance, but masked it by a well-timed assent, now and then adding a short, but, I hope, pertinent remark. He told Mr. Child the next day, I was one of the most sensible men he had conversed with for many years. The truth is, he went on flowingly from subject to subject for an hour, without my ever crossing his path; and, if I stopped him a moment, it was only to set him off again with increased vigour and self-approbation; and therefore, forsooth, I was the most sensible man he had conversed with for many years! A moralist might adduce a maxim, by no means contemptible, from this man's folly:It is easier to listen than talk yourself into some people's good opinion. However, Mr. Powis took a fancy to me in consequence, and afterwards, if I am not mistaken, interested himself to serve me.'—vol. ii. pp. 202-204.

The efforts made by Mrs. Child and her friends to induce Mrs. Seaward to enter the circles of fashionable life, and to set up for a fine lady, are most happily described, but they savour more of the novel than any other portion of this production. We have a characteristic sketch of an interview between Seaward and Sir R. Walpole, and a probable, as well as an amusing account of the intrigues and bribes to which it was necessary for the former to resort, in order to obtain the object of his ambition, in which he at length succeeds. He and his lady are presented at court, where he receives the honour of knighthood; he is subsequently confirmed in the command of the islands, after which he pays a visit to Gloucestershire, purchases an estate, and wanders, with inexpressible delight, over the scenes of his own and his dear wife's childhood. His career, after this period, becomes less interesting. Returning to his islands, he becomes engaged in the war that broke out with Spain in 1739, and the strain of the composition is altogether changed. The scenes that enchanted us in the earlier part of the work no longer appear. They are lost sight of amid a variety of dangers and vicissitudes in which Sir Edward is involved; and after all his sufferings, he sees, with indescribable mortification, his islands surrendered at the peace to the crown of Spain. But although there be this striking difference between the earlier and latter portions of the work, we may assure the reader that his in

terest in the tale will not grow cold. The spirit-stirring sounds of human contention, hair-breadth escapes, and sketches of the men who influenced the events of that war, though opposed in all things to the rural tranquillity and happiness which was the lot of our hero and heroine at the outset of their lives, nevertheless possess charms of their own, which do not lose by the contrast. We fully agree in the judgment which Miss Jane Porter has passed upon these scenes of battle, which she describes as admirable for their painting, both with regard to the events themselves, and the living personages to whom they introduce us-reminding us of the pictures of Hogarth and of Wilkie, and bringing before us the incident and the actors just as they were, simple, natural, and true to the fact.'

ART. V.-The History of English Dramatic Poetry, to the time of Shakespeare: and Annals of the Stage to the Restoration. By J. P. Collier, Esq., F.S.A. In three volumes. 8vo. London: Murray. 1831.

THIS work, which must have cost Mr. Collier a world of labour, supplies, in some degree, a desideratum that has long been felt in English literature. Several authors have incidentally touched upon the history of our dramatic poetry; but no one has hitherto attempted to trace it from its infancy upwards, so as to give us a complete view of that most interesting department of composition. Mr. Collier has here presented us with the commencement, or rather, indeed, with some of the materials of such a history; ascending to the origin of our dramatic productions, he pursues them down to the time of Shakespeare, doubtless with the intention of carrying forward his task to the period in which we live. He will thus be the historian, not only of the rise and progress of our dramatic poetry, but also of its decline; and it may possibly be reserved for him to make some suggestions for rescuing that branch of our literature, once so pre-eminent above all others, from its present deplorable state of degradation. Intimately connected with this subject, is the history of the different theatres, which have existed in London, or its vicinity: to these Mr. Collier has paid a degree of attention, that shews he was dealing with a favourite theme. Indeed, he must have devoted many years, (he says twenty), to the collection of the data from which his volumes have been framed. They every where indicate a most indefatigable, as well as a most successful system of investigation. Many facts that have hitherto lain concealed in manuscripts-and in manuscripts, too, from which dramatic information could hardly have been expected are here produced and rendered availabie, which had either been unknown to Malone, Steevens, Reed, and Chaloner, or had been neglected by them. These facts have been carefully gleaned from documents which the author found in the State-paper