From The Spectator. THE OLD CHELSEA BUN-HOUSE.* THE author of "Mary Powell" has introduced the reader to the manners of almost every age in English history of which a sufficient record of manners remain. We had the Plantagenets in “ Queen Phillippa's Golden Book"; the Tudors in "The Household of Sir Thomas More," in "Jack and the Tana tale of Edward the Sixth, and in the story of "Edward Osborne," the founder of the house of Leeds. Mary Powell" repreIsented the first Charles Stuart and the Commonwealth. In "Cherry and Violet," a tale of the great Plague, there was the Restoration. In the present story of The Old Chelsea BunHouse, the author introduces us to the man ner, 66 ners of our great grandfathers of the last century, with its fine-lady coarseness and its beaux and wits, its masquerades, its "long stages, its highwaymen, its strongly-demarcated classes of society, but perhaps after all its greater heartiness, joviality, and enjoy ment. class, there is less sameness than might have been looked for, in consequence of a continual change of age and subject. There is a turn for manners, and with the turn comes the study of them, and the art of painting them. There is skill enough to combine them with the story without rendering them unduly prominent; and although possibly a critic who lived at the time might object to the artifical air and with this generation. Here is a picture with something more, they pass muster well enough which that age was familiar. It occurs when Gatty is going home on a visit to her mother, and meets a neighboring squire in the coach. "The Squire chatted so cordially with me, however, that I had little time to think of disa greeables; and when he had told me all he had to tell, he fell to questioning. Most of the passengers were nodding; which was all the better, as I did not like mentioning names before folks. By-and-by, the Squire became quiet, and I guessed he was going to nod too; but, stealing a look at him, I saw he was only thinking. We were now going slowly over a heavy sandy road, and the coach rocked a good deal, and sometimes The story of the Old Chelsea Bun-House is stuck. I feared once or twice we should be overnot much. Like the other tales of this author, turned; but the Squire said, 'no danger;' and it is a vehicle for a description of manners in to divert my attention, pointed out a gibbet across the heath, on which a highwayman hung the style of the age. There is a respectable in chains; no very pleasant object. As I looked family reduced to keep the bun-house by the somewhat apprehensively towards it, suddenly passion of the father for old china and some- the open window was blocked up by a horseman thing stronger than its appropriate tea. Full with black crape over his face, who, crying Your of good feeling, they receive Gatty, the attend- money or your lives!' fired straight through the ant of a fine lady, who comes with a party to coach, so as to shatter the opposite glass. The enjoy herself in the gardens, and the poor next moment, another highwayman appeared at girl being suddenly taken ill, her mistress, noise, uproar, and confusion, the smoke, stench the other window. There's no describing the dreading infection, is glad to leave her. Gatty of gunpowder, shrieking of women, and barking is the handsome daughter of a country curate, of the puppy. The next moment, our stout old and has taken hard service with a distant Squire, disengaging a blunderbuss from its sling relative to relieve her widowed mother. Her over our heads, presented the muzzle full at the illness at the bun-house naturally introduces highwayman, who had not yet fired, and sprang a physician of the old school; who, however out of the coach with it; on which, the man inferior he might be to his successors in scien-galloped up the bank, stooping low, so as to keep tific acquirements, exercised his profession his horse's neck between his head and the piece; with less of a trader's spirit than is customary at the same time dropping his pistol, which was now. There is a curate lodging at the bun- secured to his waist by a leathern strap. He house for relaxation and country air,-Chelsea called to the postilion who rode our third horse, then was in the country; and being a literary I see another coach coming up, which may conNo-stop!' cries the Squire, for aspirant, he and the girls bring a wit and a tain an unarmed party! The highwayman rebeau or two about the house. The story iterating, Drive on!' galloped across the heath, which connects all these parties is pleasantly conducted, with enough of variety and incident to interest without exciting, and winds up pleasantly, as is the writer's wont. Although the author is limited to one class of work, and has written so many tales of that *The Old Chelsea Bun-House; a Tale of the Last Century. By the Author of "Mary Powell." Published by Hall and Co. · Drive on!' followed by his two companions; for a third had been at our first horse's head all the while. The Squire continued levelling his piece at them as long as they were within range; then took off his hat, wiped his head, and turned about to us who all this while had been as white as death with a look of satisfaction. The other two men, and as still as stones, now cried, Well done, Squire! we're much indebted to you! while the outside passengers gave him three cheers." From The Spectator. In form, the book is an autobiography of WOMEN AS THEY ARE.* Amy Floyd, the native of a beautiful and reTHE world is ever moving however slowly, tired village in the North of Lancashire. Reand those who do not move with it will be left mote position, an unworldly father, a singular behind. This is more especially the case in clergyman of the Calvinistic school, a selfish, authorship, where there may be repose, but vulgar, pushing mother-in-law, and a romantic no standing still. "An author who cannot as- yet self-retiring disposition, contribute to form cend will always appear to sink," says Gibbon. a peculiar character. Mr. Floyd's sudden death In most cases he does sink, and below himself. and embarrassed circumstances eventuallycomUnless there be a new subject or fresh matter, pel Amy to take a "situation" with a coarsethe probability is that the writer will only re-minded but not altogether bad person; from peat the previous theme, with attempts at va- whom she is rescued by a marriage that has riations lacking freshness and spontaneity, to only been delayed by a shipwreck. which may be added a development of mannerism, if the nature of the writer has any tendency towards that ill quality. There is nothing very new in this, nor in the many persons and scenes attached to it. Novelty, however, might have been spared, Something of this will be found in Women had there been movement and more of action as they Are. The writer, indeed, may have to stimulate the reader. But a large portion apparently chosen quite a different walk; but of the book is a minutely full exposition of the "idea" is similar; so is the feeling or character and its growth, often by description, sentiment; and the scheme of the tale is one always by trivial occurrences that are intendwhich encourages a fault visible in the author's ed to derive their interest from the metaphysprevious novel,—a tendency to postpone inci-ical display of the individual. As the story dent and narrative to writing; to descriptions advances, there is more of narrative; but the of external nature or inward feelings, to meta- narrative is pervaded by the personality of the physical speculations, or to reflections that for writer. We are told so and so, rather than want of a more definite term may be termed shown it. Things are less impressed upon us than pointed out to us. This renders the book slow, if not tedious. moral. 66 Margaret, or Prejudice at Home"-that is, The writing, however, is of a remarkable in England-looked at life from a discontented point of view. The misery of the poor was description: close, thoughtful, vigorous, and broadly charged upon the vices and hypocrisy powerful, the result of a painful experience, of the rich; so that to appear respectable, or and as a consequence a hard observation of to be wealthy, sufficed to insure from the life; though it is qualified by such formal adStill the idea missions as that doubtless the amiable is weak writer an odious delineation. and wo was developed in a form at once narrative and the practical necessary. The following and dramatic. If the prejudices of the novel- from the mouth of the clergyman, for awhile list were quite as strong as those she undertook Amy's teacher, Elijah Pyne, is a sample of to expose, the exposure was brought about by the writer. incident and story, with considerable variety You are precocious in a dangerous way: you of persons and adventures, however extreme or unlikely they might be. In a preface to fancy you are clever; perhaps you fancy that you the work before us, defending herself against are a genius; yes, I see you do by that look. Be charges of an imitation of Villette and an at- quiet! You have yet much to learn, and much tempt to run counter to Uncle Tom's Cabin, to suffer; and suffering may set you right. If you live you will shortly be a woman, the writer explains the feelings she displays manhood will teach you that a fearful penalty by a reference to the "recollection of her must be incurred by any straying out of the own joyless and hardly-tasked youth;" a fact bounds prescribed for your sex. which accounts for but does not critically justify the perverted exhibition of society. In the present novel the same feeling is visible in a more modified form. There is less of attack upon society at large, but neither is society so broadly painted. There is, consequently, not There is, so much interest in the picture. however, the same disposition to look at life in order to exhibit depreciatingly and judge sternly those active and practical qualities by which, after all, life is supported and society in many things advanced. * Women as they Are. By One of Them. By the author of Margaret: or Prejudice at Home. In two vols. Published by Bentley. To what ex tent has a disordered imagination bewildered and unfitted you for the common duties of life? What is it you have proposed to yourself to do? what connection have you established betwixt your ideal world and this real one, of which you know nothing? Do you imagine you possess the pow er that enabled some of your favorites to speak to the universal heart, and command the attention and homage that should only await them that have a direct mission from God to His creatures? The greatest man amongst the intellectually great has had his first struggle with apathy, with unbelief, with jealousy, with derision: and his final triumph has rarely tended to make others wiser or better, still less to satisfy himself. This is not woman's work. It is your father's wish that for the future you should receive in-] struction from me, and I undertake the task in the hope of benefitting you both. You will find me a stern monitor; but you may live to see the day in which you will thank me, for these are not times in which to trifle with truth. This is a nice picture of a delicate child, who, unconscious of her danger, only wishes to be at rest. "Not likely to weather the spring, I think,' said Mark. "I saw Mr. Mostyn shake his head as I went out with her and Walter. I looked at her more intently than I had been accustomed to do, startled by what I had seen and heard, and I wondered that I had never noticed before how corpselike her face was. Slowly, scarcely perceptibly, she was fading from our eyes, melting away like a veritable image of snow; and we had become accustomed to this process, so quiet that it was no trouble to us. But who amongst us was prepared for the final passing from mortal sight, at which Mark hinted? "Not I. I clung tenaciously to the few ties that made my home upon earth, and I shrank from such a severing of them as this new-born thought threatened. With all the love that was in my heart, quickened by my dread of what might be coming, and by some remorse for past apathy, I took the child in my arms when we had reached the garden, and caressed her with all the passionate eagerness of my alarmed and dissatisfied affection. But Ellen, placid, undemonstrative, save in her shrinking calmness, as if this outburst of mine was a shock to her, feeble in her whole organization as she was, gently struggled in my clasp, and in low, wailing tones, asked me to release her. "Oh, Ellen,' I said, hurt at meeting no response, you don't love sister Amy!' "I do love you very much,' said Ellen; but I am so tired, sister. I like to sit still and look at the sky and the weeds here. I love the weeds. They don't grow in other gardens as they do in ours; and I don't like other gardens. The bright flowers make my eyes ache, and they are always coming and going, and that wearies me. I like the long grass and the moss, green and gray. When the wind blows it shakes the tall trees, and they disturb me; but the grass waves gently, and the moss scarcely stirs; that's why I like the moss and grass. I like everything that is quiet.'" RAILWAYS IN RUSSIA. THE carriage allotted for my special use was about ten feet square; it was furnished with two sofas and chairs, a small card-table, and two side tables. On the sofas I could have reclined at full length-a convenience very desirable, and generally denied us on English railways: the sofas and chairs had air-cushions, and were very comfortable. I looked into several first and second class carriages, and they all appeared nicely fitted up, although not like the one assigned to me; the second class carriages had seats and cushions superior to those of the first class on English railways, and afforded plenty of room to each individual, allowing of his sitting without cramping his knees upon those of the person opposite to him. people on the continent do not give way to that nervous hurry which fidgets us and shortens our lives. Who in England has time to look around him? Rich and poor seem to be urged along by an impetus which prevents their thinking of anything except of their next appointment; and as soon as that is kept, their thoughts fly to the next.-Roger's English Prisoners in Russia. A CENTENNIAL PEAL.-The bells of Christ Church were first chimed on the 31st of December, 1754, one hundred years ago. They constituted the second full chime introduced into America, the first having been erected in Boston. These bells rung out a merry peal last night, as the old year left us to join the venerWe left Moscow at eleven able past, and the new year dawned. A huno'clock precisely; Mr. Sharman, my servant, and dred years ago those old bells rung out a greetmyself, occupying this little room to ourselves; ing to a new year, when old Philadelphia had no our luggage was stowed away in another carriage dream of the glorious events which were to be I was pleased to perceive that there was no transacted within her limits, and her most pubunnecessary hurry in the railway movements. lic spirited citizens no conception of the proud such as those which annoy the English traveller: position she was destined to achieve in the eyes plenty of time was allowed at every station to of the world. The city has outgrown the sound the passengers to take their meals, and in each of that sweet chime which, a hundred years ago, there was all that could be required in the way reached every inhabitant; but still the old bells of refreshments. The time allowed for the train remain to ring out merry music when a new to pass from one station to another is carefully year arrives; and long may they be spared, till fixed for the driver, who dare not arrive a minute the sound of Christ Church bells shall become to sooner or later; so that in some cases we had to a Philadelphian what the sound of Bow Bells are go very slowly, in order not to arrive before the to a citizen of London-" an old familiar" sound time. This, however, is not unpleasant, as a sound of home.-North American. ... From The Times. THE LATE JOHN LOCKHART. dered. Unfortunately, the strife was not confined to squibs, and at least one fatal catastrophe was the result. These events left a THE hand of death, though most conspicu- lasting impression on Lockhart's mind, and ous of late in the battlefield, has not been idle when, in 1826, he was invited to become editor in the walks of science and literature. Some, of the Quarterly Review, he quitted Edinmdeed, of the men of note whom we have burgh without regret, with his family, as he recently lost are of so great eminence that we received from the Government of Sir Robert look around among the rising generation with something like despair to find any capable of filling the gaps which have been left. man. Peel and the Duke of Wellington the post of Auditor of the Duchy of Lancaster. The management of the Quarterly Review, to Such a one was John Gibson Lockhart, the which he contributed many valuable papers, biographer and son-in-law of Sir Walter Scott, chiefly biographical, continued in his hands who now lies in the same grave with him at for 28 years, down to 1853, when his failing Dryburgh. Mr. Lockhart was the second sur-health compelled him to resign the labor. viving son of a Scotch clergyman, of gentle The latter years of his life were mournfully descent and old family, in the county of La- darkened by domestic calamity. The deaths nark. He was born, 1794, in the manse of in succession of his eldest boy-the pet of Sir Cambusnethen, whence his father was trans-Walter, the " Hugh Littlejohn" for whose ferred, 1796, to Glasgow, where John Lock- instruction he wrote Tales of a Grandfatherhart was reared and educated. The inheri- of his wife, and all the other members of Sir tance of genius (as in many other instances) Walter Scott's family, were followed and would appear to have come from his mother, wound up by that of his only surviving son, who had some of the blood of the Erskines in under circumstances of poignant grief to a her veins. His appetite for reading, even as father's heart. The vials of sorrow seemed to a boy, was great. Though somewhat idle as have been emptied upon his head. With regards school study, he yet distinguished broken health and spirits he betook himself to himself both at school and college, outstripping Rome, by medical advice, with slight hope on his more studious competitors, and finally ob- his own part of benefit. Having little taste taining, by the unanimous award of the Pro- for foreign travel, he returned home in the fessors, the Snell Exhibition to Balliol College, spring of the present year. He made a partial Oxford, where he was entered, 1809, at the rally on his arrival in Scotland, but a very early age of 15. Dr. Jenkyns, the present severe attack of diarrhoea in the month of Dean of Wells, was his tutor. Before leaving October shattered his already enfeebled frame; the University he took honors as a first-class he was removed from Milton Lockhart, the After a sojourn in Germany sufficiently house of his eldest brother, M. P. for Lanark, long to enable him to acquire its language and under the care of his old friend, Dr. Ferguson, a taste for its literature, he was called to the to Abbotsford, where he breathed his last, on Scottish bar in 1816; but, though endowed the 25th of November, in the arms of his with perseverance and acuteness sufficient to daughter, the sole survivor of the line of constitute a first-rate lawyer, he wanted the Scott in the second generation. gift of eloquence to enable him to shine as an It is not in the first few days of regret for advocate. As he naively confessed to a party Mr. Lockhart's loss that the extent of it can of friends assembled to bid him farewell on be best defined. Long will it be before those his departure from Scotland for London, who knew him can admit his life and his death "You know as well as I that if I had ever into the same thought; for much as he had been able to make a speech there would have suffered, mind and body, and precarious as been no cause for our present meeting." His had been his state, there had been no decline wit, his learning, and extensive reading found. of that which constituted Lockhart—the acutehowever, a ready outlet through his pen. In ness, the vigor, the marvellous memory, the 1818 Lockhart was introduced to Scott, who flashing wit, swift to sever truth from falsein 1820 evinced his esteem and affection for hood-the stores of knowledge, ever ready him by giving him in marriage his eldest and bright, never displayed. Although his daughter. At Scott's death in 1832, he was reputation has been confined to literature, and left sole literary executor. Many of the clev- although, by early-amassed knowledge and erest things in Blackwood's Magazine (estab- long-sharpened thought, he had reared himself lished in 1817) were written by Lockhart in into a pillar of literary strength, yet the leadconcert with his friends John Wilson, Captain ing qualities of his mind would have fitted Hamilton, Hogg, etc., and much ill-blood was him for any part where far-sighted sagacity, caused among the Whigs, who, from assailants, iron self-control, and rapid instinctive judg now began to be assailed by opponents of no ment mark the born leader of others. Nor mean skill in fence. Party warfare then ran did he care for literary triumphs, or trials of high in Edinburgh; much ill-blood was engen- strength, but rather avoided them with shrink ing reserve. Far from seeking, he could genuine feeling. All could see how he des never even be induced to take the place pised every species of vanity, pretension, and which his reputation and his talents assigned cant; but few had the opportunity of witnesshim; he entered society rather to unbend his ing his unfailing homage to the humblest or powers than to exert them. Playful raillery, even stupidest worth. Many will believe what inimitable in ease and brilliancy, with old caustic he was to a false grief; few could credfriend, simple child, or with the gentlest or it what balm to a real one. His indomitable humblest present, was the relaxation he most reserve never prevented his intellect from cared to indulge, and if that were denied him, having fair play, but it greatly impeded the and especially if expected to stand forward justice due to his nobler part. and shine, he would shut himself up altogether. It was characteristic of Lockhart's peculiar Reserve, indeed-too often misunderstood individuality that, wherever he was at all in its origin, ascribed to coldness and pride known, whether by man or woman, by poet, when its only source was the rarest modesty man of business, or man of the world, he and hatred of exhibition-with shyness both touched the hidden chord of romance in alk personal and national, was his strong ex- No man less affected the poetical, the myste ternal characteristic. Those whose acquaint-rious, or the sentimental; no man less affected ance he was expressly invited to make anything; yet, as he stole stiffly away from would find no access allowed them to his the knot which, if he had not enlivened, he mind, and go disappointed away, knowing had hushed, there was not one who did not only that they had seen one of the most inter- confess that a being had passed before them esting, most mysterious, but most chilling of who stirred all the pulses of the imagination, men, for their very deference had made him retire further from them. Most happy was Lockhart when he could literally take the lowest place, and there complacently listen to the strife of conversers, till some dilemma in the chain of recollection or argument arose, and then the ready memory drew forth the highest order of manly beauty, both of feamissing link, and the keen sagacity fitted it ture and expression, he retained the brilliancy home to its place, and what all wanted and no of youth and a stately strength of person one else could supply was murmured out in comparatively unimpaired in ripened life; choice, precise, but most unstudied words.—and then, though sorrow and sickness suddenAnd there were occasions also when the ex-ly brought on a premature old age, which pression of the listener was not so complacent none could witness unmoved, yet the beauty when the point at issue was not one of of the head and of the bearing so far gained memory or of fact, but of the subtler shades in melancholy loftiness of expression what of right and wrong and then the scorn on they lost in animation, that the last phase, the lip and the cloud on the brow were but whether to the eye of painter or of anxious the prelude to some strong, wiry sentence, friend, seemed always the finest. withering in its sarcasm and unanswerable in its sense, which scattered all sophistry to the winds before it. and realized what is generally only ideal in As in social intercourse, so in literature, Lockhart was guilty of injustice to his own sarpassing powers. With all his passion for Far remote was he from the usual condi- letters, with all the ambition for literary fame tions of genius-its simplicity, its foibles, and which burnt in his youthful mind, there was its follies. Lockhart had fought the whole still his shyness, fastidiousness, reserve. No battle of life, both within and without, and doubt he might have taken a higher place as borne more than its share of sorrow. So a poet than by the Spanish Ballads, as a writer acute, satirical, and unsparing was his intel- of fiction than by his novels. These seem to lect that, had Lockhart been endowed with have been thrown off by a sudden unconthat alone, he would have been the most bril- trollable impulse to relieve the mind of its liant, but the most dangerous of men; but so fulness, rather than as works of finished art or strong, upright, and true were his moral quali- mature study. The Ballads first appeared in ties also that, had he been a dunce in attain- Blackwood's Magazine; the novels without his ments or a fool in wit, he must still have been name. They were the flashes of a genius recognized as an extraordinary man. We which would not be suppressed; no one eswill not call it unfortunate, for it was the teemed them more humbly than Lockhart, or, necessary consequence of the very conditions having once cast them on the world, thought of his life and nature, that while his intellect less of their fame. So, too, in his other was known to all, his heart could be known writings of that period. The ice once broken, comparatively to few. All knew how unspar- the waters went dashing out in irresistible ing he was to morbid and sickly sentiment, force; his exuberant spirits, his joyous humor, but few could tell how tender he was to his satiric vigor, his vehement fun, when the |
